This was a blow to Lady Scroope, but she bore it with dignity and courage.  “You would hardly wish it to be said that you had copied the only one of your ancestors who did amiss.  The world was rougher then than it is now, and he of whom you speak was a soldier.”

“I’m a soldier too,” said the Earl.

“Oh, Fred, is it thus you answer me!  He was a soldier in rough times, when there were wars.  I think he married when he was with the army under Marlborough.”

“I have not seen anything of that kind, certainly.”

“Your country is at peace, and your place is here, among your tenantry, at Scroope.  You will promise me, Fred, that you will not marry this girl in Ireland?”

“If I do, the fault will be all with that old maid at Castle Quin.”

“Do not say that, Fred. It is impossible.  Let her conduct have been what it may, it cannot make that right in you which would have been wrong, or that wrong which would have been right.”

“She’s a nasty meddlesome cat.”

“I will not talk about her.  What good would it do?  You cannot at any rate be surprised at my extreme anxiety.  You did promise your uncle most solemnly that you would never marry this young lady.”

“If I did, that ought to be enough.”  He was now waxing angry and his face was becoming red.  He would bear a good deal from his uncle’s widow, but he felt his own power and was not prepared to bear much more.

“Of course I cannot bind you.  I know well how impotent I am,—­how powerless to exercise control.  But I think, Fred, that for your uncle’s sake you will not refuse to repeat your promise to me, if you intend to keep it.  Why is it that I am so anxious?  It is for your sake, and for the sake of a name which should be dearer to you than it is even to me.”

“I have no intention of marrying at all.”

“Do not say that.”

“I do say it.  I do not want to keep either you or Jack in the dark as to my future life.  This young lady,—­of whom, by the by, neither you nor Lady Mary Quin know anything, shall not become Countess of Scroope.  To that I have made up my mind.”

“Thank God.”

“But as long as she lives I will make no woman Countess of Scroope.  Let Jack marry this girl that he is in love with.  They shall live here and have the house to themselves if they like it.  He will look after the property and shall have whatever income old Mellerby thinks proper.  I will keep the promise I made to my uncle,—­but the keeping of it will make it impossible for me to live here.  I would prefer now that you should say no more on the subject.”  Then he left her, quitting the room with some stateliness in his step, as though conscious that at such a moment as this it behoved him to assume his rank.