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Updated: June 6, 2025
The lawyer paused a moment, looked at his companion, and at last said "There are, of course, your own expectations from Lord Dagnall. I do not know whether you and your father have considered them. But I imagine it would be possible to raise money on them." Falloden laughed. The sound was a mixture of irritation and contempt. "Uncommonly little!
But I understand he's the heir to his old uncle, Lord Dagnall, and is going to be enormously rich. His father's a millionaire already. So of course he'll soon forget his Greek. A horrid waste!" "He's detested in college!" Alice's small face lit up vindictively. "There's a whole set of them. Other people call them 'the bloods. The dons would like to send them all down."
But Douglas Falloden belonged to one of the oldest English families, settled on large estates in Yorkshire, with distinguished records in all the great services; he was heir presumptive to a marquisate, so long as his uncle, Lord Dagnall, now past seventy, did not take it into his head to marry; and there was his brilliant career at Oxford, his good looks and all the rest of it.
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