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CHAPTER XIV
AT DINNER
They were assembled in the drawing-room before dinner, when Lord Kilgobbin arrived, heated, dusty, and tired, after his twelve miles’ drive. ‘I say, girls,’ said he, putting his head inside the door, ‘is it true that our distinguished guest is not coming down to dinner, for, if so, I’ll not wait to dress?’
‘No, papa; he said he’d stay with Mr. Walpole. They’ve been receiving and despatching telegrams all day, and seem to have the whole world on their hands,’ said Kate.
‘Well, sir, what did you do at the sessions?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ broke in Nina, eager to show her more mindful regard to his rank than Atlee displayed; ‘tell us your news?’
‘I suspect we have got two of them, and are on the traces of the others. They are Louth men, and were sent special here to give me a lesson, as they call it. That’s what our blessed newspapers have brought us to. Some idle vagabond, at his wits’ end for an article, fastens on some unlucky country gentleman, neither much better nor worse than his neighbours, holds him up to public reprobation, perfectly sure that within a week’s time some rascal who owes him a grudge – the fellow he has evicted for non-payment of rent, the blackguard he prosecuted for perjury, or some other of the like stamp – will write a piteous letter to the editor, relating his wrongs. The next act of the drama is a notice on the hall door, with a coffin at the top; and the piece closes with a charge of slugs in your body, as you are on your road to mass. Now, if I had the making of the laws, the first fellow I’d lay hands on would be the newspaper writer. Eh, Master Atlee, am I right?’
‘I go with you to the furthest extent, my lord.’
‘I vote we hang Joe, then,’ cried Dick. ‘He is the only member of the fraternity I have any acquaintance with.’
‘What – do you tell me that you write for the papers?’ asked my lord slyly.
‘He’s quizzing, sir; he knows right well I have no gifts of that sort.’
‘Here’s dinner, papa. Will you give Nina your arm? Mr. Atlee, you are to take me.’
‘You’ll not agree with me, Nina, my dear,’ said the old man, as he led her along; ‘but I’m heartily glad we have not that great swell who dined with us yesterday.’
‘I do agree with you, uncle – I dislike him.’
‘Perhaps I am unjust to him; but I thought he treated us all with a sort of bland pity that I found very offensive.’
‘Yes; I thought that too. His manner seemed to say, “I am very sorry for you, but what can be done?”’
‘Is the other fellow – the wounded one – as bad?’
She pursed up her lip, slightly shrugged her shoulders, and then said, ‘There’s not a great deal to choose between them; but I think I like him better.’
‘How do you like Dick, eh?’ said he, in a whisper.
‘Oh, so much,’ said she, with one of her half-downcast looks, but which never prevented her seeing what passed in her neighbour’s face.
‘Well, don’t let him fall in love with you,’ said he, with a smile, ‘for it would be bad for you both.’
‘But why should he?’ said she, with an air of innocence.
‘Just because I don’t see how he is to escape it. What’s Master Atlee saying to you, Kitty?’
‘He’s giving me some hints about horse-breaking,’ said she quietly.
‘Is he, by George? Well, I ‘d like to see him follow you over that fallen timber in the back lawn. We’ll have you out, Master Joe, and give you a field-day to-morrow,’ said the old man.
‘I vote we do,’ cried Dick; ‘unless, better still, we could persuade Miss Betty to bring the dogs over and give us a cub-hunt.’
‘I want to see a cub-hunt,’ broke in Nina.
‘Do you mean that you ride to hounds, Cousin Nina?’ asked Dick.
‘I should think that any one who has taken the ox-fences on the Roman Campagna, as I have, might venture to face your small stone-walls here.’
‘That’s plucky, anyhow; and I hope, Joe, it will put you on your metal to show yourself worthy of your companionship. What is old Mathew looking so mysteriously about? What do you want?’
The old servant thus addressed had gone about the room with the air of one not fully decided to whom to speak, and at last he leaned over Miss Kearney’s shoulder, and whispered a few words in her ear. ‘Of course not, Mat!’ said she, and then turning to her father – ‘Mat has such an opinion of my medical skill, he wants me to see Mr. Walpole, who, it seems, has got up, and evidently increased his pain by it.’
‘Oh, but is there no doctor near us?’ asked Nina eagerly.
‘I’d go at once,’ said Kate frankly, ‘but my skill does not extend to surgery.’
‘I have some little knowledge in that way: I studied and walked the hospitals for a couple of years,’ broke out Joe. ‘Shall I go up to him?’
‘By all means,’ cried several together, and Joe rose and followed Mathew upstairs.
‘Oh, are you a medical man?’ cried Lockwood, as the other entered.
‘After a fashion, I may say I am. At least, I can tell you where my skill will come to its limit, and that is something.’
‘Look here, then – he would insist on getting up, and I fear he has displaced the position of the bones. You must be very gentle, for the pain is terrific.’
‘No; there’s no great mischief done – the fractured parts are in a proper position. It is the mere pain of disturbance. Cover it all over with the ice again, and’ – here he felt his pulse – ‘let him have some weak brandy-and-water.’
‘That’s sensible advice – I feel it. I am shivery all over,’ said Walpole.
‘I’ll go and make a brew for you,’ cried Joe, ‘and you shall have it as hot as you can drink it.’
He had scarcely left the room, when he returned with the smoking compound.
‘You’re such a jolly doctor,’ said Walpole, ‘I feel sure you’d not refuse me a cigar?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Only think! that old barbarian who was here this morning said I was to have nothing but weak tea or iced lemonade.’
Lockwood selected a mild-looking weed, and handed it to his friend, and was about to offer one to Atlee, when he said —
‘But we have taken you from your dinner – pray go back again.’
‘No, we were at dessert. I’ll stay here and have a smoke, if you will let me. Will it bore you, though?’
‘On the contrary,’ said Walpole, ‘your company will be a great boon to us; and as for myself, you have done me good already.’
‘What would you say, Major Lockwood, to taking my place below-stairs? They are just sitting over their wine – some very pleasant claret – and the young ladies, I perceive, here, give half an hour of their company before they leave the dining-room.’
‘Here goes, then,’ said Lockwood. ‘Now that you remind me of it, I do want a glass of wine.’
Lockwood found the party below-stairs eagerly discussing Joe Atlee’s medical qualifications, and doubting whether, if it was a knowledge of civil engineering or marine gunnery had been required, he would not have been equally ready to offer himself for the emergency.
‘I’ll lay my life on it, if the real doctor arrives, Joe will take the lead in the consultation,’ cried Dick: ‘he is the most unabashable villain in Europe.’
‘Well, he has put Cecil all right,’ said Lockwood: ‘he has settled the arm most comfortably on the pillow, the pain is decreasing every moment, and by his pleasant and jolly talk he is making Walpole even forget it at times.’
This was exactly what Atlee was doing. Watching carefully the sick man’s face, he plied him with just that amount of amusement that he could bear without fatigue. He told him the absurd versions that had got abroad of the incident in the press; and cautiously feeling his way, went on to tell how Dick Kearney had started from town full of the most fiery intentions towards that visitor whom the newspapers called a ‘noted profligate’ of London celebrity. ‘If you had not been shot before, we were to have managed it for you now,’ said he.
‘Surely these fellows who wrote this had never heard of me.’
‘Of course they had not, further than you were on the Viceroy’s staff; but is not that ample warranty for profligacy? Besides, the real intention was not to assail you, but the people here who admitted you.’ Thus talking, he led Walpole to own that he had no acquaintanceship with the Kearneys, that a mere passing curiosity to see the interesting house had provoked his request, to which the answer, coming from an old friend, led to his visit. Through this channel Atlee drew him on to the subject of the Greek girl and her parentage. As Walpole sketched the society of Rome, Atlee, who had cultivated the gift of listening fully as much as that of talking, knew where to seem interested by the views of life thrown out, and where to show a racy enjoyment of the little humoristic bits of description which the other was rather proud of his skill in deploying; and as Atlee always appeared so conversant with the family history of the people they were discussing, Walpole spoke with unbounded freedom and openness.
‘You must have been astonished to meet the “Titian Girl” in Ireland?’ said Joe at last, for he had caught up the epithet dropped accidentally in the other’s narrative, and kept it for use.
‘Was I not! but if my memory had been clearer, I should have remembered she had Irish connections. I had heard of Lord Kilgobbin on the other side of the Alps.’
‘I don’t doubt that the title would meet a readier acceptance there than here.’
‘Ah, you think so!’ cried Walpole. ‘What is the meaning of a rank that people acknowledge or deny at pleasure? Is this peculiar to Ireland?’
‘If you had asked whether persons anywhere else would like to maintain such a strange pretension, I might perhaps have answered you.’
‘For the few minutes of this visit to me, I liked him; he seemed frank, hearty, and genial.’
‘I suppose he is, and I suspect this folly of the lordship is no fancy of his own.’
‘Nor the daughter’s, then, I’ll be bound?’
‘No; the son, I take it, has all the ambition of the house.’
‘Do you know them well?’
‘No, I never saw them till yesterday. The son and I are chums: we live together, and have done so these three years.’
‘You like your visit here, however?’
‘Yes. It’s rather good fun on the whole. I was afraid of the indoor life when I was coming down, but it’s pleasanter than I looked for.’
‘When I asked you the question, it was not out of idle curiosity. I had a strong personal interest in your answer. In fact, it was another way of inquiring whether it would be a great sacrifice to tear yourself away from this.’
‘No, inasmuch as the tearing-away process must take place in a couple of days – three at farthest.’
‘That makes what I have to propose all the easier. It is a matter of great urgency for me to reach Dublin at once. This unlucky incident has been so represented by the newspapers as to give considerable uneasiness to the Government, and they are even threatened with a discussion on it in the House. Now, I’d start to-morrow, if I thought I could travel with safety. You have so impressed me with your skill, that, if I dared, I’d ask you to convoy me up. Of course I mean as my physician.’
‘But I’m not one, nor ever intend to be.’
‘You studied, however?’
‘As I have done scores of things. I know a little bit of criminal law, have done some shipbuilding, rode haute école in Cooke’s circus, and, after M. Dumas, I am considered the best amateur macaroni-maker in Europe.’
‘And which of these careers do you intend to abide by?’
‘None, not one of them. “Financing” is the only pursuit that pays largely. I intend to go in for money.’
‘I should like to hear your ideas on that subject.’
‘So you shall, as we travel up to town.’
‘You accept my offer, then?’
‘Of course I do. I am delighted to have so many hours in your company. I believe I can safely say I have that amount of skill to be of service to you. One begins his medical experience with fractures. They are the pothooks and hangers of surgery, and I have gone that far. Now, what are your plans?’
‘My plans are to leave this early to-morrow, so as to rest during the hot hours of the day, and reach Dublin by nightfall. Why do you smile?’
‘I smile at your notion of climate; but I never knew any man who had been once in Italy able to disabuse himself of the idea that there were three or four hours every summer day to be passed with closed shutters and iced drinks.’
‘Well, I believe I was thinking of a fiercer sun and a hotter soil than these. To return to my project: we can find means of posting, carriage and horses, in the village. I forget its name.’
‘I’ll take care of all that. At what hour will you start?’
‘I should say by six or seven. I shall not sleep; and I shall be all impatience till we are away.’
‘Well, is there anything else to be thought of?’
‘There is – that is, I have something on my mind, and I am debating with myself how far, on a half-hour’s acquaintance, I can make you a partner in it.’
‘I cannot help you by my advice. I can only say that if you like to trust me, I’ll know how to respect the confidence.’
Walpole looked steadily and steadfastly at him, and the examination seemed to satisfy him, for he said, ‘I will trust you – not that the matter is a secret in any sense that involves consequences; but it is a thing that needs a little tact and discretion, a slight exercise of a light hand, which is what my friend Lockwood fails in. Now you could do it.’
‘If I can, I will. What is it?’
‘Well, the matter is this. I have written a few lines here, very illegibly and badly, as you may believe, for they were with my left hand; and besides having the letter conveyed to its address, I need a few words of explanation.’
‘The Titian Girl,’ muttered Joe, as though thinking aloud.
‘Why do you say so?’
‘Oh, it was easy enough to see her greater anxiety and uneasiness about you. There was an actual flash of jealousy across her features when Miss Kearney proposed coming up to see you.’
‘And was this remarked, think you?’
‘Only by me. I saw, and let her see I saw it, and we understood each other from that moment.’
‘I mustn’t let you mistake me. You are not to suppose that there is anything between Mademoiselle Kostalergi and myself. I knew a good deal about her father, and there were family circumstances in which I was once able to be of use; and I wished to let her know that if at any time she desired to communicate with me, I could procure an address, under which she could write with freedom.’
‘As for instance: “J. Atlee, 48 Old Square, Trinity College, Dublin.”’
‘Well, I did not think of that at the moment,’ said Walpole, smiling. ‘Now,’ continued he, ‘though I have written all this, it is so blotted and disgraceful generally – done with the left hand, and while in great pain – that I think it would be as well not to send the letter, but simply a message – ’
Atlee nodded, and Walpole went on: ‘A message to say that I was wishing to write, but unable; and that if I had her permission, so soon as my fingers could hold a pen, to finish – yes, to finish that communication I had already begun, and if she felt there was no inconvenience in writing to me, under cover to your care, I should pledge myself to devote all my zeal and my best services to her interests.’
‘In fact, I am to lead her to suppose she ought to have the most implicit confidence in you, and to believe in me, because I say so.’
‘I do not exactly see that these are my instructions to you.’
‘Well, you certainly want to write to her.’
‘I don’t know that I do.’
‘At all events, you want her to write to you.’
‘You are nearer the mark now.’
‘That ought not to be very difficult to arrange. I’ll go down now and have a cup of tea, and I may, I hope, come up and see you again before bed-time.’
‘Wait one moment,’ cried Walpole, as the other was about to leave the room. ‘Do you see a small tray on that table yonder, with some trinkets? Yes, that is it. Well, will you do me the favour to choose something amongst them as your fee? Come, come, you know you are my doctor now, and I insist on this. There’s nothing of any value there, and you will have no misgivings.’
‘Am I to take it haphazard?’ asked Atlee.
‘Whatever you like,’ said the other indolently.
‘I have selected a ring,’ said Atlee, as he drew it on his finger.
‘Not an opal?’
‘Yes, it is an opal with brilliants round it.’
‘I’d rather you’d taken all the rest than that. Not that I ever wear it, but somehow it has a bit of memory attached to it!’
‘Do you know,’ said Atlee gravely, ‘you are adding immensely to the value I desired to see in it? I wanted something as a souvenir of you – what the Germans call an Andenken, and here is evidently what has some secret clue to your affections. It was not an old love-token?’
‘No; or I should certainly not part with it.’
‘It did not belong to a friend now no more?’
‘Nor that either,’ said he, smiling at the other’s persistent curiosity.
‘Then if it be neither the gift of an old love nor a lost friend, I’ll not relinquish it,’ cried Joe.
‘Be it so,’ said Walpole, half carelessly. ‘Mine was a mere caprice after all. It is linked with a reminiscence – there’s the whole of it; but if you care for it, pray keep it.’
‘I do care for it, and I will keep it.’
It was a very peculiar smile that curled Walpole’s lip as he heard this speech, and there was an expression in his eyes that seemed to say, ‘What manner of man is this, what sort of nature, new and strange to me, is he made of?’
‘Bye-bye!’ said Atlee carelessly, and he strolled away.
CHAPTER XV
IN THE GARDEN AT DUSK
When Atlee quitted Walpole’s room, he was far too full of doubt and speculation to wish to join the company in the drawing-room. He had need of time to collect his thoughts, too, and arrange his plans. This sudden departure of his would, he well knew, displease Kearney. It would savour of a degree of impertinence, in treating their hospitality so cavalierly, that Dick was certain to resent, and not less certain to attribute to a tuft-hunting weakness on Atlee’s part of which he had frequently declared he detected signs in Joe’s character.
‘Be it so. I’ll only say, you’ll not see me cultivate “swells” for the pleasure of their society, or even the charms of their cookery. If I turn them to no better uses than display, Master Dick, you may sneer freely at me. I have long wanted to make acquaintance with one of these fellows, and luck has now given me the chance. Let us see if I know how to profit by it.’
And, thus muttering to himself, he took his way to the farmyard, to find a messenger to despatch to the village for post-horses.
The fact that he was not the owner of a half-crown in the world very painfully impressed itself on a negotiation, which, to be prompt, should be prepaid, and which he was endeavouring to explain to two or three very idle but very incredulous listeners – not one of whom could be induced to accept a ten miles’ tramp on a drizzling night without the prompting of a tip in advance.
‘It’s every step of eight miles,’ cried one.
‘No, but it’s ten,’ asseverated another with energy, ‘by rayson that you must go by the road. There’s nobody would venture across the bog in the dark.’
‘Wid five shillings in my hand – ’
‘And five more when ye come back,’ continued another, who was terrified at the low estimate so rashly adventured.
‘If one had even a shilling or two to pay for a drink when he got in to Kilbeggan wet through and shivering – ’
The speaker was not permitted to finish his ignominiously low proposal, and a low growl of disapprobation smothered his words.
‘Do you mean to tell me,’ said Joe angrily, ‘that there’s not a man here will step over to the town to order a chaise and post-horses?’
‘And if yer honour will put his hand in his pocket and tempt us with a couple of crown-pieces, there’s no saying what we wouldn’t do,’ said a little bandy old fellow, who was washing his face at the pump.
‘And are crown-pieces so plentiful with you down here that you can earn them so easily?’ said Atlee, with a sneer.
‘Be me sowl, yer honour, it’s thinking that they’re not so aisy to come at, makes us a bit lazy this evening!’ said a ragged fellow, with a grin, which was quickly followed by a hearty laugh from those around him.
Something that sounded like a titter above his head made Atlee look up, and there, exactly over where he stood, was Nina, leaning over a little stone balcony in front of a window, an amused witness of the scene beneath.
‘I have two words for yourself,’ cried he to her in Italian. ‘Will you come down to the garden for one moment?’
‘Cannot the two words be said in the drawing-room?’ asked she, half saucily, in the same language.
‘No, they cannot be said in the drawing-room,’ continued he sternly.
‘It’s dropping rain. I should get wet.’
‘Take an umbrella, then, but come. Mind me, Signora Nina, I am the bearer of a message for you.’
There was something almost disdainful in the toss of her head as she heard these words, and she hastily retired from the balcony and entered the room.
Atlee watched her, by no means certain what her gesture might portend. Was she indignant with him for the liberty he had taken? or was she about to comply with his request, and meet him? He knew too little of her to determine which was the more likely; and he could not help feeling that, had he only known her longer, his doubt might have been just as great. Her mind, thought he, is perhaps like my own: it has many turnings, and she’s never very certain which one of them she will follow. Somehow, this imputed wilfulness gave her, to his eyes, a charm scarcely second to that of her exceeding beauty. And what beauty it was! The very perfection of symmetry in every feature when at rest, while the varied expressions of her face as she spoke, or smiled, or listened, imparted a fascination which only needed the charm of her low liquid voice to be irresistible.
How she vulgarises that pretty girl, her cousin, by mere contrast! What subtle essence is it, apart from hair and eyes and skin, that spreads an atmosphere of conquest over these natures, and how is it that men have no ascendencies of this sort – nothing that imparts to their superiority the sense that worship of them is in itself an ecstasy?
‘Take my message into town,’ said he to a fellow near, ‘and you shall have a sovereign when you come back with the horses’; and with this he strolled away across a little paddock and entered the garden. It was a large, ill-cultivated space, more orchard than garden, with patches of smooth turf, through which daffodils and lilies were scattered, and little clusters of carnations occasionally showed where flower-beds had once existed. ‘What would I not give,’ thought Joe, as he strolled along the velvety sward, over which a clear moonlight had painted the forms of many a straggling branch – ‘What would I not give to be the son of a house like this, with an old and honoured name, with an ancestry strong enough to build upon for future pretensions, and then with an old home, peaceful, tranquil, and unmolested, where, as in such a spot as this, one might dream of great things, perhaps more, might achieve them! What books would I not write! What novels, in which, fashioning the hero out of my own heart, I could tell scores of impressions the world had made upon me in its aspect of religion, or of politics, or of society! What essays could I not compose here – the mind elevated by that buoyancy which comes of the consciousness of being free for a great effort! Free from the vulgar interruptions that cling to poverty like a garment, free from the paltry cares of daily subsistence, free from the damaging incidents of a doubtful position and a station that must be continually asserted. That one disparagement, perhaps, worst of all,’ cried he aloud: ‘how is a man to enjoy his estate if he is “put upon his title” every day of the week? One might as well be a French Emperor, and go every spring to the country for a character.’
‘What shocking indignity is this you are dreaming of?’ said a very soft voice near him, and turning he saw Nina, who was moving across the grass, with her dress so draped as to show the most perfect instep and ankle with a very unguarded indifference.
‘This is very damp for you; shall we not come out into the walk?’ said he.
‘It is very damp,’ said she quickly; ‘but I came because you said you had a message for me: is this true?’
‘Do you think I could deceive you?’ said he, with a sort of tender reproachfulness.
‘It might not be so very easy, if you were to try,’ replied she, laughing.
‘That is not the most gracious way to answer me.’
‘Well, I don’t believe we came here to pay compliments; certainly I did not, and my feet are very wet already – look there, and see the ruin of a chaussure I shall never replace in this dear land of coarse leather and hobnails.’
As she spoke she showed her feet, around which her bronzed shoes hung limp and misshapen.
‘Would that I could be permitted to dry them with my kisses,’ said he, as, stooping, he wiped them with his handkerchief, but so deferentially and so respectfully, as though the homage had been tendered to a princess. Nor did she for a moment hesitate to accept the service.
‘There, that will do,’ said she haughtily. ‘Now for your message.’
‘We are going away, mademoiselle,’ said Atlee, with a melancholy tone.
‘And who are “we,” sir?’
‘By “we,” mademoiselle, I meant to convey Walpole and myself.’ And now he spoke with the irritation of one who had felt a pull-up.
‘Ah, indeed!’ said she, smiling, and showing her pearly teeth. ‘“We” meant Mr. Walpole and Mr. Atlee.’
‘You should never have guessed it?’ cried he in question.
‘Never – certainly,’ was her cool rejoinder.
‘Well! He was less defiant, or mistrustful, or whatever be the name for it. We were only friends of half-an-hour’s growth when he proposed the journey. He asked me to accompany him as a favour; and he did more, mademoiselle: he confided to me a mission – a very delicate and confidential mission – such an office as one does not usually depute to him of whose fidelity or good faith he has a doubt, not to speak of certain smaller qualities, such as tact and good taste.’
‘Of whose possession Mr. Atlee is now asserting himself?’ said she quietly.
He grew crimson at a sarcasm whose impassiveness made it all the more cutting.
‘My mission was in this wise, mademoiselle,’ said he, with a forced calm in his manner. ‘I was to learn from Mademoiselle Kostalergi if she should desire to communicate with Mr. Walpole touching certain family interests in which his counsels might be of use; and in this event, I was to place at her disposal an address by which her letters should reach him.’
‘No, sir,’ said she quietly, ‘you have totally mistaken any instructions that were given you. Mr. Walpole never pretended that I had written or was likely to write to him; he never said that he was in any way concerned in family questions that pertained to me; least of all did he presume to suppose that if I had occasion to address him by letter, I should do so under cover to another.’
‘You discredit my character of envoy, then?’ said he, smiling easily.
‘Totally and completely, Mr. Atlee; and I only wait for you yourself to admit that I am right, to hold out my hand to you and say let us be friends.’
‘I’d perjure myself twice at such a price. Now for the hand.’
‘Not so fast – first the confession,’ said she, with a faint smile.
‘Well, on my honour,’ cried he seriously, ‘he told me he hoped you might write to him. I did not clearly understand about what, but it pointed to some matter in which a family interest was mixed up, and that you might like your communication to have the reserve of secrecy.’
‘All this is but a modified version of what you were to disavow.’
‘Well, I am only repeating it now to show you how far I am going to perjure myself.’
‘That is, you see, in fact, that Mr. Walpole could never have presumed to give you such instructions – that gentlemen do not send such messages to young ladies – do not presume to say that they dare do so; and last of all, if they ever should chance upon one whose nice tact and cleverness would have fitted him to be the bearer of such a commission, those same qualities of tact and cleverness would have saved him from undertaking it. That is what you see, Mr. Atlee, is it not?’
‘You are right. I see it all.’ And now he seized her hand and kissed it as though he had won the right to that rapturous enjoyment.
She drew her hand away, but so slowly and so gently as to convey nothing of rebuke or displeasure. ‘And so you are going away?’ said she softly.
‘Yes; Walpole has some pressing reason to be at once in Dublin. He is afraid to make the journey without a doctor; but rather than risk delay in sending for one, he is willing to take me as his body-surgeon, and I have accepted the charge.’
The frankness with which he said this seemed to influence her in his favour, and she said, with a tone of like candour, ‘You were right. His family are people of influence, and will not readily forget such a service.’
Though he winced under the words, and showed that it was not exactly the mode in which he wanted his courtesy to be regarded, she took no account of the passing irritation, but went on —
If you fancy you know something about me, Mr. Atlee, I know far more about you. Your chum, Dick Kearney, has been so outspoken as to his friend, that my cousin Kate and I have been accustomed to discuss you like a near acquaintance – what am I saying? – I mean like an old friend.’
‘I am very grateful for this interest; but will you kindly say what is the version my friend Dick has given of me? what are the lights that have fallen upon my humble character?’
‘Do you fancy that either of us have time at this moment to open so large a question? Would not the estimate of Mr. Joseph Atlee be another mode of discussing the times we live in, and the young gentlemen, more or less ambitious, who want to influence them? would not the question embrace everything, from the difficulties of Ireland to the puzzling embarrassments of a clever young man who has everything in his favour in life, except the only thing that makes life worth living for?’
‘You mean fortune – money?’
‘Of course I mean money. What is so powerless as poverty? do I not know it – not of yesterday, or the day before, but for many a long year? What so helpless, what so jarring to temper, so dangerous to all principle, and so subversive of all dignity? I can afford to say these things, and you can afford to hear them, for there is a sort of brotherhood between us. We claim the same land for our origin. Whatever our birthplace, we are both Bohemians!’
