'You might have gone over it at any time.'
'O yes. It is only recently that I have thought much of the place: I feel now that I should like to examine the old building thoroughly, since it was for so many generations associated with our fortunes, especially as most of the old furniture is still there. My sedulous avoidance hitherto of all relating to our family vicissitudes has been, I own, stupid conduct for an intelligent being; but impossible grapes are always sour, and I have unconsciously adopted Radical notions to obliterate disappointed hereditary instincts. But these have a trick of re-establishing themselves as one gets older, and the castle and what it contains have a keen interest for me now.'
'It contains Paula.'
De Stancy's pulse, which had been beating languidly for many years, beat double at the sound of that name.
'I meant furniture and pictures for the moment,' he said; 'but I don't mind extending the meaning to her, if you wish it.'
'She is the rarest thing there.'
'So you have said before.'
'The castle and our family history have as much romantic interest for her as they have for you,' Charlotte went on. 'She delights in visiting our tombs and effigies and ponders over them for hours.'
'Indeed!' said De Stancy, allowing his surprise to hide the satisfaction which accompanied it. 'That should make us friendly.... Does she see many people?'
'Not many as yet. And she cannot have many staying there during the alterations.'
'Ah! yes--the alterations. Didn't you say that she has had a London architect stopping there on that account? What was he--old or young?'
'He is a young man: he has been to our house. Don't you remember you met him there?'
'What was his name?'
'Mr. Somerset.'
'O, that man! Yes, yes, I remember.... Hullo, Lottie!'
'What?'
'Your face is as red as a peony. Now I know a secret!' Charlotte vainly endeavoured to hide her confusion. 'Very well--not a word! I won't say more,' continued De Stancy good-humouredly, 'except that he seems to be a very nice fellow.'
De Stancy had turned the dialogue on to this little well-preserved secret of his sister's with sufficient outward lightness; but it had been done in instinctive concealment of the disquieting start with which he had recognized that Somerset, Dare's enemy, whom he had intercepted in placing Dare's portrait into the hands of the chief constable, was a man beloved by his sister Charlotte. This novel circumstance might lead to a curious complication. But he was to hear more.