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It was a terrible blow; there was no doubt of that; very terrible to
Lionel Verner, so proud and sensitive. Do not take the word proud in its
wrong meaning. He did not set himself up for being better than others,
or think everybody else dirt beneath his feet; but he was proud of his
independence, of his unstained name--he was proud to own that fine
place, Verner's Pride. And now Verner's Pride was dashed from him, and
his independence seemed to have gone out with the blow, and a slight
seemed to have fallen upon him, if not upon his name.
He had surely counted upon Verner's Pride. He had believed himself as
indisputably its heir, as though he had been Stephen Verner's eldest
son, and the estate entailed. Never for a moment had a doubt that he
would succeed entered his own mind, or been imparted to it from any
quarter. In the week that intervened between Mr. Verner's death and
burial, he had acted as entire master. It was he who issued orders--from
himself now, not from any other--it was he who was appealed to. People,
of their own accord, began to call him Mr.


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