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Updated: May 10, 2025
Nor would "the daughter of the late Sir Adrian Vanderkist, Baronet, of Ironbeam Park," sound much amiss. He was so late, that his racing doings might be forgotten.
Their mother seemed to be able to live when her twin-sister hung over her, and as soon as she could be moved, the whole party left the gloom of Ironbeam for Vale Leston, where a house was arranged for them. Lady Vanderkist continued a chronic invalid, watched over by her sister Wilmet and her excellent young daughter Mary.
What would you say to an engineer poaching away one of the august house of Vanderkist?" "The awful cad! I'd soon show him what I thought of his cheek," cried Adrian, with a flourish of his knife. "Ha, ha! I bet that he will be shooting over Ironbeam Park long before you are of age." "I shall shoot him, then," cried Adrian.
Little or nothing had been heard direct from poor Alda till Clement was summoned by a telegram from Ironbeam Park to find his sister in the utmost danger, with a new-born son by her side, and her husband in the paroxysms of the terrible Nemesis of indulgence in alcohol.
"Not improbably there will be nothing else to shoot by that time," quietly said Gerald. "I shall have a keeper in every lodge, and bring up four or five hundred pheasants every year," boasted the little baronet, quite alive to the pride of possession, though he had never seen Ironbeam in his life.
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