She must be nearly seventy-five.' 'You may be sure she'll play till the last trump,' said Eugenie.
'Papa!'-- her tone changed--'is that Elsie's chair ?' The group to which she pointed was still distant, but Lord Findon, even at seventy, had the eyes of an eagle, and could read an _affiche_ a mile off.
'It is.' Lord Findon looked a little disturbed, and, turning, he scanned the terrace up and down before he bent towards Eugenie.
'You know, darling, it's an awkward business about these two men.

I don't believe Arthur's patience will hold out.' 'Oh yes, it will, papa.

For our sakes, Arthur would keep the peace.' 'If the other will let him! I used to think, Eugenie, you had tamed the bear--but, upon my soul!'-- Lord Findon threw up his hands in protest.
'He's in low spirits, papa.

It will be better soon,' said Eugenie, softly, and as she spoke she rose and went down the steps to meet the Welbys.
Lord Findon followed her, tormented by a queer, unwelcome thought.
Was it possible that Eugenie was now--with her widowhood--beginning to take a more than friendly interest in that strange fellow, Fenwick?
If so, _he_ would be tolerably punished for his meddling of long ago! To have snatched her from Arthur, in order to hand her to John Fenwick!--Lord Findon crimsoned hotly at the notion, all his pride of race and caste up in arms.
Of course she ought now to marry.

He wished to see her before he died the wife of some good fellow, and the mistress of a great house.