And she would certainly be an ornament to the old house.
Her father of course was, and would be, the real difficulty, and the blight which had descended on the once honoured name.

But a man so conscious of many kinds of power as Lord Maxwell could not feel much doubt as to his own and his grandson's competence to keep so poor a specimen of humanity as Richard Boyce in his place.

How wretchedly ill, how feeble, both in body and soul, the fellow had looked when he and Winterbourne met him! The white-haired owner of the Court walked back slowly to his library, his hands in his pockets, his head bent in cogitation.

Impossible to settle to the various important political letters lying on his table, and bearing all of them on that approaching crisis in the spring which must put Lord Maxwell and his friends in power.

He was over seventy, but his old blood quickened within him as he thought of those two on this golden afternoon, among the beech woods.