"Because there is no direct heir now to the Sieur Amadis!" she
answered, almost sadly. "His last descendant is dead. His name was
Hugo--Hugo Jocelyn--and he was a farmer, and he left all he had to
his nephew, the only child of his sister who died before him. The
nephew is very good, and clever, too,--he was educated at Oxford,
--but he is not an actually lineal descendant."

He laughed again, this time quite heartily, at the serious
expression of her face.

"That's very terrible!" he said. "I don't know when I've heard
anything so lamentable! And I'm afraid I can't put matters right!
I should never do for a farmer--I'm a painter. I had better go
down and see this famous old place, and the tomb of my ever so
great-great-grand-uncle! I could make a picture of it--I ought to
do that, as it belonged to the family of my ancestors. Will you
take me?"

She gave him a little fleeting, reluctant smile.

"You are making fun of it all," she said. "That is not wise of
you! You should not laugh at grave and noble things."

He was charmed with her quaintness.

"Was he grave and noble?--Amadis, I mean?" he asked, his blue eyes
sparkling with a kind of mirthful ardour. "You are sure? Well, all
honour to him! And to YOU--for believing in him! I hope you'll
consider me kindly for his sake! Will you?"