distinguished family. Does that interest you?"

"Ye-es. But I'm a distant relation--as well as a poor one," Annesley
reminded him with her old humility.

"You're not poor now. And blood is thicker than water--when it's in a
golden cup. It's Lord and Lady Annesley-Seton's turn to play the poor
relations. It seems they're stony. Even the shillings the public pay to
see the place are an object to them."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" exclaimed Annesley.

"That's generous, seeing they never bothered themselves about you when
they had plenty of shillings and you had none."

"I don't suppose they knew there _was_ a me."

"Lord Annesley-Seton must have known, if his wife didn't know. But we'll
let that pass. I was thinking we might go to the house on one of the
public days, with the man who wrote the local guide-book. I've made his
acquaintance through writing him a note, complimenting him on his work
and his knowledge of history. He answered like a shot, with thanks for
the appreciation, and said if he could help me he'd be delighted. He's
the editor of a newspaper in Torquay.

"If we invite him to lunch here at the Knowle, he'll fall over himself to
accept. Then we'll be able to kill two birds with one stone. He'll tell
us things about the heirlooms at Valley House we shouldn't be able to
find out without his help--or a lot of dreary drudgery--and also he'll
put a paragraph about us in his newspaper, which he'll send to your