I looked down, dreading another direct appeal to my judgment; and Uncle Silas, I suppose, referred those downcast looks to maiden modesty, for he forbore to task mine by any new interrogatory.

Dudley Ruthyn’s cool and resolute denial of ever having seen me or the places I had named, and the inflexible serenity of his countenance while doing so, did very much shake my confidence in my own identification of him.  I could not be quite certain that the person I had seen at Church Scarsdale was the very same whom I afterwards saw at Knowl.  And now, in this particular instance, after the lapse of a still longer period, could I be perfectly certain that my memory, deceived by some accidental points of resemblance, had not duped me, and wronged my cousin, Dudley Ruthyn?

I suppose my uncle had expected from me some signs of acquiesence in his splendid estimate of his cub, and was nettled at my silence.  After a short interval he said—­

’I’ve seen something of the world in my day, and I can say without a misgiving of partiality, that Dudley is the material of a perfect English gentleman.  I am not blind, of course—­the training must be supplied; a year or two of good models, active self-criticism, and good society.  I simply say that the material is there.’

Here was another interval of silence.

’And now tell me, child, what these recollections of
Church—­Church—­what?’

‘Church Scarsdale,’ I replied.

‘Yes, thank you—­Church Scarsdale and Knowl—­are?’

So I related my stories as well as I could.

’Well, dear Maud, the adventure of Church Scarsdale is hardly so terrific as I expected,’ said Uncle Silas with a cold little laugh; ’and I don’t see, if he had really been the hero of it, why he should shrink from avowing it.  I know I should not.  And I really can’t say that your pic-nic party in the grounds of Knowl has frightened me much more.  A lady waiting in the carriage, and two or three tipsy young men.  Her presence seems to me a guarantee that no mischief was meant; but champagne is the soul of frolic, and a row with the gamekeepers a natural consequence.  It happened to me once—­forty years ago, when I was a wild young buck—­one of the worst rows I ever was in.’

And Uncle Silas poured some eau-de-cologne over the corner of his handkerchief, and touched his temples with it.

’If my boy had been there, I do assure you—­and I know him—­he would say so at once.  I fancy he would rather boast of it.  I never knew him utter an untruth.  When you know him a little you’ll say so.’

With these words Uncle Silas leaned back exhausted, and languidly poured some of his favourite eau-de-cologne over the palms of his hands, nodded a farewell, and, in a whisper, wished me good-night.

‘Dudley’s come,’ whispered Milly, taking me under the arm as I entered the lobby.  ’But I don’t care:  he never gives me nout; and he gets money from Governor, as much as he likes, and I never a sixpence.  It’s a shame!’