There was one lady who conceived all manner of bad things as to Harry Annesley, because, as she alleged, of the want of a profession and of any fixed income.  Mrs. Mountjoy, Florence’s mother, was this lady.  Florence herself had read every word in Harry’s language, not knowing, indeed, that she had read anything, but still never having missed a single letter.  Mrs. Mountjoy also had read a good deal, though not all, and dreaded the appearance of Harry as a declared lover.  In her eyes Captain Scarborough was a very handsome, very powerful, and very grand personage; but she feared that Florence was being induced to refuse her allegiance to this sovereign by the interference of her other very indifferent suitor.  What would be Buston and two thousand a year, as compared with all the glories and limitless income of the great Tretton property?  Captain Scarborough, with his mustaches and magnificence, was just the man who would be sure to become a peer.  She had always heard the income fixed at thirty thousand a year.  What would a few debts signify to thirty thousand a year?  Such had been her thoughts up to the period of Captain Scarborough’s late visit, when he had come to Cheltenham, and had renewed his demand for Florence’s hand somewhat roughly.  He had spoken ambiguous words, dreadful words, declaring that an internecine quarrel had taken place between him and his father; but these words, though they had been very dreadful, had been altogether misunderstood by Mrs. Mountjoy.  The property she knew to be entailed, and she knew that when a property was entailed the present owner of it had nothing to do with its future disposition.  Captain Scarborough, at any rate, was anxious for the marriage, and Mrs. Mountjoy was inclined to accept him, encumbered as he now was with his father’s wrath, in preference to poor Harry Annesley.

In June Harry came up to London, and there learned at his club the singular story in regard to old Mr. Scarborough and his son.  Mr. Scarborough had declared his son illegitimate, and all the world knew now that he was utterly penniless and hopelessly in debt.  That he had been greatly embarrassed Harry had known for many months, and added to that was now the fact, very generally believed, that he was not and never had been the heir to Tretton Park.  All that still increasing property about Tretton, on which so many hopes had been founded, would belong to his brother.  Harry, as he heard the tale, immediately connected it with Florence.  He had, of course, known the captain was a suitor to the girl’s hand, and there had been a time when he thought that his own hopes were consequently vain.  Gradually the conviction dawned upon him that Florence did not love the grand warrior, that she was afraid of him rather and awe-struck.  It would be terrible now were she brought to marry him by this feeling of awe.  Then he learned that the warrior had gone down to Cheltenham, and in the restlessness of his spirit he pursued him.  When he reached Cheltenham the warrior had already gone.