'Not one of the Willoughbys of the Wicket, a most worthy, though
unfortunate house, nearly allied, as I told you, to my own, about three
hundred years ago?' said the Earl.

'Yes, she is a daughter of the last squire.'

'Ruined in the modern race for wealth, like so many!' exclaimed the peer,
and he sat in silence, deeply moved; his lips formed a name familiar to
Law Courts.

'Excuse my emotion, Mr. Logan,' he went on. 'I shall be happy to see and
arrange with this lady, who, I trust will, as my cousin, accept my
hospitality at Rookchester. I shall be deeply interested, as you, no
doubt, will also be, in the result of her researches into an affair which
so closely concerns both you and me.'

He was silent again, musing deeply, while Logan marvelled more and more
what his real original business might be. All this affair of the
documents and the muniment-room had arisen by the merest accident, and
would not have arisen if the Earl had found Merton at home. The Earl
obviously had a difficulty in coming to the point: many clients had. To
approach a total stranger on the most intimate domestic affairs (even if
his ancestor and yours were in a big thing together three hundred years
ago) is, to a sensitive patrician, no easy task. In fact, even members
of the middle class were, as clients, occasionally affected by shyness.

'Mr. Logan,' said the Earl, 'I am not a man of to-day. The cupidity of
our age, the eagerness with which wealthy aliens are welcomed into our
best houses and families, is to me, I may say, distasteful. Better that