CHAPTER VIII. ROLAND DISCOVERS THAT HE HAS OVERDRAWN
– His counsel, like his physic,
If hard to take, was good when taken.
Village Worthies.
Long before the guests of Tubbermore were astir, Cashel sat in his library awaiting the arrival of Dr. Tiernay. In obedience to Roland’s request, Mr. Kennyfeck was present, and affected to look over books or out of windows, – to scan over prints or inspect maps, – anything, in short, which should pass the time and shorten the interval of waiting, doubly awkward from being the first moment he had been alone with Cashel since his arrival. Cashel was silent and absorbed, and, more intent upon following out the train of his own thoughts, never noticed the various arts by which Kennyfeck affected to interest himself. The solicitor, too, bent from time to time a stealthy look on the young man, on whose features he had rarely seen the same traces of deep reflection.
At last, with a half start, as if suddenly awaking, Cashel sat up in his chair, and said, —
“Have I explained to you what Dr. Tiernay’s business is here this morning? It is to make a proposition from Mr. Corrigan for the sale of his interest in Tubber-beg. He wishes to leave the country and go abroad.”
“His interest, sir,” replied Kennyfeck, calmly, “although more valuable to you than to any one else, must be a matter of small amount; for years back, he has done little more than vegetate on the property, without capital or skill to improve it.”
“I ‘m not asking you to appraise it, just yet,” said Roland, snappishly; “I was simply informing you of the object of the gentleman’s visit. It is the advantage of this purchase that I wished you to consider, not its cost.”
“The cost will define the advantage, sir,” rejoined Kennyfeck, “particularly as the demand may be high, and the payment inconvenient.”
“How do you mean, inconvenient?”
Kennyfeck hesitated. There was something in the hurried abruptness of the question, as well as in the excited expression of the questioner’s face, that confused him; so that Cashel had time to repeat the words before he could reply.
“Is it that I am straitened for money?” said he, passionately.
“Not quite – that – sir,” replied Kennyfeck, stopping between every word. “You have resources – very great resources – untouched, and you have considerable sums in foreign securities, intact – ”
“Never mind these,” broke in Roland, hurriedly. “How do we stand with those London fellows?”
Kennyfeck shook his head gravely, but without speaking.
“I pray you, sir,” said Roland, in a voice of hardly suppressed passion, “keep pantomime for another moment, or a keener interpreter of it, and condescend, in plain English, to answer me my last question.”
“There is no difficulty with Bigger and Swain, sir,” said Kennyfeck, as his cheek grew slightly red. “They will neither be pressing for a settlement, nor exacting when making it; besides, you have not overdrawn very heavily, After all.”
“Overdrawn, said you? – did you say overdrawn, Mr. Kennyfeck?”
“Yes, sir. In the account last forwarded, your debit was eleven thousand four hundred and forty pounds; since that you have drawn – but not for any large amount.”
“Overdrawn!” repeated Cashel, as though his thoughts had never wandered beyond the first shock of that fact; then rallying into something like his habitual easy humor, he said, “I am, I need not tell you, the stupidest man of business that ever breathed, so pray forgive me if I ask you once more if I understood you aright, that I have not only expended all the money I owned in these people’s hands, but actually had contracted a debt to them?”
“That is the case, sir,” said Kennyfeck, gravely.
A deep groan broke from Cashel, and he sat silent and still.
“I would wish to observe, sir,” said Kennyfeck, who was shocked at the alteration a few moments had made in the young man’s countenance – “I would wish to observe, sir, that if you desire a sum of money for any purpose – ”
“Stay – let me interrupt you here,” said Cashel, laying his hand on Kennyfeck’s arm, and using a tone whose earnest distinctness thrilled through his hearer’s heart; “I should deceive you, were you to suppose that it is the want of money gives me the pain I am now suffering. That I had believed myself rich a few moments back, and now found myself a beggar, could not give one-thousandth part of that suffering which I feel here. I have braved poverty in every form, and I could brave it again; but I ‘ll tell you what it is that now cuts me to the soul, and lowers me to myself. It is that, in a senseless, heartless career, I should have squandered the wealth by which I once imagined I was to bless and succor hundreds. It is to think, that of all the gold I have wasted, not one memory has been purchased of a sick-bed consoled, a suffering lessened, a sinking spirit encouraged, – I have done nothing, actually nothing, save pamper vice and sensual heartlessness. I came to this kingdom a few months back, my very dreams filled with schemes of benevolence; I felt as if this wealth were given to me that I might show the world how much of good may be done by one who, having experienced narrow fortune, should best know how to relieve it in others; and now, here am I, the wealth and the high aspirations alike departed, with no tradition to carry away, save of a life passed in debauch, the friendship of worthless, the pitying contempt of good men! Hear me out I was nurtured in no school of sentiment; I belonged to a class who had too little time or taste to indulge in scruples. We were reckless, passionate, – cruel, if you will, – but we were not bad in cold blood; we seldom hated long; we never could turn on a benefactor. These are not the lessons I ‘ve lived to learn here! It is over, however – it is past now! I ‘ll go back to the old haunts, and the old comrades. It will go hard with me if I quarrel with their rude speech and rough demeanor. I ‘ll think of gentlemen! and be grateful.”
The rapid utterance in which he poured forth these words, and the fervid excitement of his manner, abashed Kenny-feck, and deterred him from reply. Cashel was the first to speak.
“This arrangement, however, must be provided for; whatever Mr. Corrigan’s interest be worth – or rather, whatever he will accept in lieu of it – I insist upon his having. But I see Dr. Tiernay coming up to the door; we can talk of these things at another time.”
When Tiernay entered the library he was heated with his walk, and his face betrayed unmistakable signs of recent irritation; indeed, he did not long conceal the reason.
“Is it true, Mr. Cashel, that Mr. Linton is your nominee for the borough of Derraheeny?”
“Yes; what of that?”
“Why, that he canvasses the constituency in a fashion we have not yet been accustomed to; at least your tenants, of whom I am one, are told that our votes are the condition on which our leases will receive renewal; that you will not brook opposition in any one who holds under you. Are these your sentiments, Mr. Cashel, or only his?”
“Not mine, assuredly,” replied Cashel, gravely.
“I said as much. I told several of my neighbors that if this mode of canvass had your sanction, it was from not knowing the privileges of an elector.”
“I neither sanctioned nor knew of it,” rejoined Cashel, eagerly.
“So much the better – at least for me,” said Tiernay, seating himself at the breakfast-table, “for I shall not lose a good breakfast, as I should have been forced to do had these been your intentions.”
“I would observe, Dr. Tiernay,” interposed Kennyfeck, mildly, “that the borough, being entirely the property of Mr. Cashel, its charities maintained by his bounty, and its schools supported at his cost, he has a fair claim on the gratitude of those who benefit by his benevolence.”
“Let him stand himself for the borough, and we ‘ll not deny the debt,” said Tiernay, roughly; “but if for every ten he should expend a hundred, ay, sir, or a thousand, on the village, I ‘d not vote for Mr. Linton.”
“Most certainly, doctor; I’d never seek to coerce you,” said Cashel, smiling.
“Labor lost, sir. I am your tenant for a holding of twenty-two pounds a year. I have never been in arrear; you, consequently, have not granted me any favor, save that of extending your acquaintance to me. Now, sir, except that you are a rich man and I a poor one, how is even that condescension on your part a favor? and how could you purpose, upon it, to ask me to surrender my right of judgment on an important point to you, who, from your high station, your rank and influence, have a thousand prerogatives, while I have but this one?”
“I never heard the just influence of the landed proprietor disputed before,” said Kenny feck, who felt outraged at the doctor’s hardihood.
“It is only just influence, sir,” said Tiernay, “when he who wields it is an example, as much by his life, as by the exercise of an ability that commands respect. Show me a man at the head of a large property extending the happiness of his tenantry, succoring the sick, assisting the needy, spreading the blessings of his own knowledge among those who have neither leisure nor opportunity to acquire it for themselves. Let me see him, while enjoying to the fullest the bounteous gifts that are the portion of but few in this world, not forgetful of those whose life is toil, and whose struggle is for mere existence. Let me not know the landlord only by his liveries and his equipage, his fox-hounds, his plate, his racers, and his sycophants.”
“Hard hitting, doctor!” cried Cashel, interrupting.
“Not if you can take it so good-humoredly,” said Tiernay; “not if it only lose me the honor of ever entering here, and teach you to reflect on these things.”
“You mistake me much,” said Cashel, “if you judge me so narrowly.”
“I did not think thus meanly of you; nor, if I did, would it have stopped me. I often promised myself, that if I could but eat of a rich man’s salt, I’d tell him my mind, while under the protection of his hospitality. I have paid my debt now; and so, no more of it. Kennyfeck could tell you better than I, if it be not, in part at least, deserved. All this splendor that dazzles our eyes, – all this luxury, that makes the contrast of our poverty the colder, – all this reckless waste, that is like an unfeeling jest upon our small thrift, is hard to bear when we see it, not the pastime of an idle hour, but the business of a life. You can do far better things than these, and be happier as well as better for doing them! And now, sir, are you in the mood to discuss my friend’s project?”
“Perfectly so, doctor; you have only to speak your sentiments on the matter before Mr. Kennyfeck; my concurrence is already with you.”
“We want you to buy our interest in Tubber-beg,” said the doctor, drawing his chair in front of Kennyfeck; “and though you tell us that flower-plats and hollies, laurustinus and geraniums, are not wealth, we ‘ll insist on your remunerating us for some share of the cost. The spot is a sweet one, and will improve your demesne. Now, what’s it worth?”
“There are difficulties which may preclude any arrangement,” said Kennyfeck, gravely. “There was a deed of gift of this very property made out, and only awaiting Mr. Cashel’s signature.”
“To whom?” said Tiernay, gasping with anxiety.
“To Mr. Linton.”
“The very thing I feared,” said the old man, dropping his head sorrowfully.
“It is easily remedied, I fancy,” said Cashel. “It was a hasty promise given to afford him qualification for Parliament. I ‘ll give him something of larger value; I know he ‘ll not stand in our way here.”
“How you talk of giving, sir! You should have been the Good Fairy of a nursery tale, and not a mere man of acres and bank-notes. But have your own way. It’s only anticipating the crash a month or so; ruined you must be!”
“Is that so certain?” said Cashel, half smiling, half seriously.
“Ask Mr. Kennyfeck, there, whose highest ambition half a year ago was to be your agent, and now he ‘d scarcely take you for a son-in-law! Don’t look so angry, man; what I said is but an illustration. It will be with your property as it was with your pleasure-boat t’other day; you ‘ll never know you ‘ve struck till you ‘re sinking.”
“You affect to have a very intimate knowledge of Mr. Cashel’s affairs, sir,” said Kennyfeck, who was driven beyond all further endurance.
“Somewhat more than you possess, Mr. Kennyfeck; for I know his tenantry. Not as you know them, from answering to their names at rent-day, but from seeing them in seasons of distress and famine, – from hearing their half-uttered hopes that better days were coming when the new landlord himself was about to visit them; from listening to their sanguine expectations of benefits; and now, within some few days, from hearing the low mutterings of their discontent, – the prelude of worse than that.”
“I have seen nothing else than the same scenes for forty years, but I never remember the people more regular in their payments,” said the attorney.
“Well, don’t venture among the Drumcoologhan boys alone; that, at least, I would recommend you,” said the doctor, menacingly.
“Why not? – who are they? – where are these fellows?” cried Cashel, for danger was a theme that never failed to stir his heart.
“It ‘s a bad barony, sir,” said Kennyfeck, solemnly.
“A district that has supplied the gallows and the convict-ship for many a year; but we are wandering away from the theme we ought to discuss,” interposed Tiernay, “and the question narrows itself to this; if this property is still yours, – if you have not already consigned it to another, – what is my friend’s interest worth?”
“That will require calculation and reflection.”
“Neither, Mr. Kennyfeck,” broke in Cashel. “Learn Mr. Corrigan’s expectations, and see that they are complied with.”
“My friend desired a small annuity on the life of his granddaughter.”
“Be it an annuity, then,” replied Cashel.
“By heaven!” exclaimed Tiernay, as if he could not restrain the impulse that worked within him, “you are a fine-hearted fellow. Here, sir,” said he, taking a paper from his pocket, – “here is a document, which my poor friend sat up half the night to write, but which I’d half made up my mind never to give you. You’d never guess what it is, nor your keen friend either, but I ‘ll spare you the trouble of spelling it over. It’s a renunciation of Cornelius Corrigan, Esq., for himself and his heirs forever, of all right, direct or contingent, to the estate of Tubbermore, once the family property of his ancestors for eleven generations. You never heard of such a claim,” said Tiernay, turning to Cashel, “but Mr. Kennyfeck did; he knows well the importance of that piece of paper he affects to treat with such indifference.”
“And do you suppose, sir, that if this claim you speak of be a good and valid one, I could, as a man of honor, maintain a possession to which I had no right? No; let Mr. Corrigan take back that paper; let him try his right, as the laws enable him. If I stand not here as the just owner of this house, I am ready to leave it at this instant; but I am neither to be intimidated by a threat nor conciliated by a compromise.”
“Mr. Corrigan’s claim has nothing to go upon, I assure you,” broke in Kennyfeck. “If we accept the paper, it is by courtesy, – to show that we respect the feeling that suggested it, – nothing more.”
While these words were addressed to Tiernay, Cashel, who had walked towards one of the windows, did not hear them.
“Well,” cried Tiernay, after an awkward pause, “the devil a worse negotiator ever accepted a mission than myself! When I desire to be frank, the only truths that occur to me are sure to be offensive, and I never am so certain to insult as when I fancy I ‘m doing a favor. Goodbye, sir; pardon the liberties of an old man, whose profession has taught him to believe that remedies are seldom painless, and who, although a poor man, would rather any day lose the fee than the patient! You’ll not treat Con Corrigan the less kindly because he has an imprudent friend. I’m sorry to think that I leave an unfavorable impression behind me; but I’m glad, heartily glad, I came here to breakfast, for I go away convinced of two things, that I was far from believing so certain when I entered,” – he paused for a second or two, and then said, – “that a spendthrift could have an unblemished sense of honor, and that an attorney could appreciate it!”
With these words he departed, while Cashel, after staring for a few moments at Kennyfeck, threw himself back in his chair, and laughed long and heartily.
“An original, sir, – quite an original,” said Kennyfeck, who, not exactly knowing whether to accept the doctor’s parting speech as a compliment, or the reverse, contented himself with this very vague expression.
“He’s a fine old fellow, although he does lay on his salve in Indian fashion, with a scalping-knife; but I wish he’d not have said anything of that confounded paper.”
“Pardon me, sir,” interposed Kennyfeck, taking it from his pocket, “but it might prove of inestimable value, in the event of any future litigation.”
“What! you kept it, then?” cried Cashel.
“Of course I did, sir. It is a document scarce inferior to a deed of title; for, although Mr. Corrigan has nothing to substantiate a claim at law, it is incontestable that his family were the original owners of this estate.”
Cashel took the paper from Kennyfeck’s hand, and seemed to peruse it for some minutes, and then approaching the fire he threw it into the blaze, and pressed it down with a poker till it was consumed; while Kennyfeck, too much consternated to utter a word, stood the personification of terror-struck astonishment.
“You have burnt it, sir!” said he at last, in a whisper.
“Why not, sir?” cried Cashel, rudely. “Should I have made use of it against the man who wrote it, or against his heirs, if by chance they should seek one day to dispute my right?”
A deep sigh was all the reply Kennyfeck could make.
“I understand your compassion well,” said Cashel, scornfully. “You are right, sir. It was the buccaneer, not the gentleman, spoke there; but I ‘m sick of masquerading, and I long for a little reality.”
Without waiting for a reply, Roland left the room, and wandered out into the park.
CHAPTER IX. THE BURNT LETTER – “GREAT EXPECTATIONS”
“‘Like Dido’s self,’ she said, ‘I’m free!
Trojan or Tyrian are alike to me.’”
There was but one species of tyranny Mr. Kennyfeck ever attempted in his family: this was, to shroud with a solemn mystery every little event in his professional career which he saw excited any curiosity with his wife and daughters. It was true that on such occasions he became a mark for most sneering insinuations and derisive commentaries, but he rose with the dignity of a martyr above all their taunts, and doubtless felt in his heart the supporting energy of a high-priest standing watch over the gate of the Temple.
The few pencilled lines by Cashel, which had summoned him to the meeting recorded in the last chapter, he threw into the fire as soon as he had read, and then arising from the breakfast-table, dryly observed, —
“Don’t wait breakfast, Mrs. Kennyfeck; I shall not be back for some time.”
“Another secret, Mr. Kennyfeck?” said his wife, scoffingly.
He only smiled in reply.
“It ought to be a duel, at least, pa,” said his eldest daughter, “from the urgent haste of your departure.”
“Or a runaway couple, who wish to have the settlements – ”
“Is that all you know of the matter, Livy?” said her sister, laughing heartily; “why, child, your Gretna Green folks never have settlements – never think of them till six months later, when they are wanting to separate.”
“Is there any occasion for mystery in this case?” rejoined Mrs. Kennyfeck, haughtily.
“To be sure there may, my dear,” broke in Aunt Fanny; “there ‘s many a dirty thing the lawyers have to do they ‘d be ashamed to own before their families.”
Even this did not move Mr. Kennyfeck, and, although from the way he nestled his chin behind the folds of his white cravat, and a certain scarcely perceptible shake of the head, it was clear he longed to refute the foul aspersion.
“I suppose you will appear at dinner, sir?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with her grandest air.
“I hope so, Mrs. Kennyfeck,” was the mild answer.
“Without you should take it into your head, pa, to enter into rivalry with Mr. Linton, and stay away, heaven knows where or how long,” said Miss Kennyfeck.
Mr. Kennyfeck did not wait for more, but left the room with an air whose solemnity well suited any amount of secrecy.
“Is there a carriage at the door?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“No, mamma; there are three saddle-horses – one with a side-saddle. That odious Miss Meek!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck; “what Lord Charles can see in her I cannot conceive. To be sure, she saves a stable-boy the more, and that to him is something.”
“Has your father gone out by the back terrace?” resumed Mrs. Kennyfeck, one only theme occupying her thoughts.
Olivia retired into an adjoining room, and soon returned, saying, —
“No, ma; there’s no one there, except Sir Andrew and Lady Janet, taking their morning walk.”
“Their run, rather, my dear,” chimed in Miss Kennyfeck, “for she chases the poor old man up and down with a cup of camomile tea, which either scalds or sets him a-coughing. I ‘m sure that tiresome old couple have awoke me every day the last week with their squabbling.”
“Step down into the library, my love,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck to her younger daughter, “and bring, me up the ‘Post’ or the ‘St. James’s Chronicle.’”
“And if you meet Phillis, Just ask if he saw your father, for he forgot his gloves.” And, suiting the action to the word, Aunt Fanny dived into a cavern of an apron-pocket, and drew out a pair of knitted things without fingers, which she offered to Olivia.
“Do no such thing, Miss Olivia Kennyfeck,” said her mamma, with an air of imposing grandeur.
“Ma wants the newspaper, Olivia, and is not thinking of papa,” said Miss Kennyfeck; and her eyes sparkled with a malicious fun she well knew how to enjoy.
As Miss Olivia Kennyfeck left the room, her sister approached the fireplace, where a small charred portion of the note thrown down by her father was yet lying. She took it, and walking toward the window, examined it carefully.
And while we leave her thus occupied, let us, for the reader’s information – albeit he may deem the matter trivial – give the contents as Cashel wrote them: —
Dear Mr. Kennyfeck, – Make my excuses to Mrs. Kennyfeck and the Demoiselles Cary and Olivia, if I deprive them of your society this morning at breakfast, for I shall want your counsel and assistance in the settlement of some difficult affairs. I have been shamefully backward in paying my respectful addresses to the ladies of your family; but to-day, if they will permit, I intend to afford myself that pleasure. It is as a friend, and not as my counsel learned in law, I ask your presence with me in my library at ten o’clock. Till then,
Believe me yours,
R. C.
Now, of this very commonplace document, a few blackened, crumpled, frail fragments were all that remained; and these, even to the searching dark eyes of Miss Kennyfeck, revealed very little. Indeed, had they not been written in Cashel’s hand, she would have thrown them away at once, as unworthy of further thought. This fact, and the word “Olivia,” which she discovered after much scrutiny, however, excited all her zeal, and she labored now like an antiquarian who believes he has gained the clew to some mysterious inscription. She gathered up the two or three filmy black bits of paper which yet lay within the fender, and placing them before her, studied them long and carefully. The word “settlement” was clear as print.
“‘Olivia and ‘settlement’ in the same paper,” thought she; “what can this mean?
“Come here, mamma – Aunt Fanny – look at this for a moment,” said she, eagerly; and the two ladies approached at her bidding.
“What is that word?” she said to Mrs. Kennyfeck; “is it not ‘Olivia’? Don’t you see the end of the ‘l’ has been burned away, but the rest is quite plain?”
“So it is – upon my life! – and in Cashel’s hand, too!” exclaimed Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“And what is that?” asked Miss Kennyfeck, triumphantly, pointing to another word.
Aunt Fanny, with her spectacles on, bent down, and examined it long.
“‘Battlement.’ That is ‘battlement’ as clear as day,” said she.
“What nonsense, aunt – it is ‘settlement.’ Look at what you call a ‘b’ – it is an ‘s.’”
“Cary’s quite right. The word is ‘settlement,’” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, in a voice tremulous with joy.
“And there! – I hope you can read!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck, “even without your spectacles – ‘paying’ – ‘addresses.’”
“Show it to me, Cary,” said her mother, eagerly. “I declare I can read it perfectly. Is it possible? – can this be indeed true?”
“Of course it is, mamma. Will you tell me by what other coincidence you could find Olivia’s name coupled with the words ‘settlement’ and ‘addresses’ in the same note?”
“It is very suspicious, certainly,” said Aunt Fanny.
“I think it very convincing, aunt – not suspicious,” said Miss Kennyfeck, proudly. “Here is something about ‘friend,’ and another word I can’t make out.”
“That’s something about a ‘saw,’ my love,” said Aunt Fanny.
“How absurd, aunt; the word is ‘law.’ I have it. See – here is the name – it is the conclusion of the note, and ran, doubtless, thus: ‘Your present friend, and future son-in-law, – R. C.”
Mrs. Kennyfeck leaned forward, and kissed her daughter’s cheek with a degree of fervor she very rarely gave way to; and then, lying back in her chair, pressed her handkerchief to her face, while she, doubtless, revelled in a little excursion of fancy, not the less brilliant because tempered with anxiety.
If the moment was one of maternal ecstasy for Mrs. Kennyfeck, it was no less one of triumphant joy to her daughter. It was she who revealed the secret meaning; her skill and ingenuity had given light to the dark mystery, and consistency to its incoherence. What domination could be too great for such services? It was then, like a legitimate sovereign assuming the reins of government, she said, —
“I beg, Aunt Fanny, that you will not spoil the game this time, as most unquestionably you did before.”
“Let us see that there is one to be spoiled, my dear,” rejoined Aunt Fanny, snappishly.
“You are really too provoking, Fanny,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, removing her handkerchief from two very red eyelids. “You never are satisfied when you see us happy. Cary has shown you enough to convince any one – ”
“Anyone disposed to conviction, mamma,” broke in Miss Kennyfeck, haughtily. “Hush, here’s Olivia.”
“Mr. Meek is reading the ‘Post,’ ma,” said the young lady, entering; “and he has got the other papers in his pocket, but he says there’s really nothing of any interest in them.”
“I think Livy should be told, mamma,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck to her mother.
“I quite agree with you, Cary,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck; “I never was a friend to any secrecy in families. Your father, indeed, I grieve to say, does not participate in my sentiments; but much may be excused in him, from the habits of his profession, and, I will also say, from the class in life he sprang from.” Here Mrs. Kennyfeck, who had spoken like one delivering an oracle, stopped to drop a tear over the sad mésalliance which had condemned her to become the wife of an attorney. “Olivia, my dear, circumstances have disclosed the nature of the interview which Mr. Kennyfeck would not confide to us. It is one in which you are deeply concerned, my dear. Have you any suspicion to what I allude?”
Olivia assumed her very sweetest look of innocence, but made no reply.
“Mamma wants you to be candid enough to say, if there is anything in the way of particular attention you may have received lately, which should corroborate the impressions we entertain.”
Miss Kennyfeck delivered these words so categorically, that her sister well knew how, in the event of refusal, a searching cross-examination was reserved for her.
Olivia looked down, and a very slight embarrassment might be detected in the quickened heaving of her chest.
“Tell us, my darling,” said Aunt Fanny, “if – if any one has, in a manner so to say – you understand – eh?”
“Keep the blushes, Livy, for another time; they look beautiful with orange flowers in the hair,” said her sister; “but be candid with us.”
“If you mean attentions, mamma – ”
“We mean attentions, ‘and something more,’ as Lord Lyndburst says,” interposed Miss Kennyfeck, who felt that she was the proper person to conduct the inquiry.
“I cannot positively say, mamma, that we are engaged, but I believe that if you and pa made no obstacles – if, in fact, you are satisfied that his rank and fortune are sufficient for your expectations, as I own they are for mine – ”
“What humility!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck, holding up her hands.
“Hush, Cary – go on, Livy,” said her mother.
“I have no more to say, mamma. Sir Harvey told me – ”
“Sir Harvey!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“Sir Harvey Upton!” echoed Miss Kennyfeck.
“The man with the hair all over his face!” exclaimed Aunt Fanny, whose western habits had not accustomed her to mustaches.
Olivia stared from one to the other in mingled fear and astonishment. She suddenly saw that she had been betrayed into a confession to which they did not possess the slightest clew; she also perceived that the tidings, for which she anticipated a most joyous welcome, were received with coldness and almost disdain.
“He is a baronet, mamma, with very great expectations,” said she, proudly; for really, it was a large “bird” to bag, in the beginning of the season, too!
“Very possibly,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, looking to her elder daughter with that silent eloquence which the court occasionally bestows upon the crown counsel, meaning to say: “Have you anything to reply to that?”
“Mamma is aware that Sir Harvey is a baronet, and a captain of Hussars, and Jonas Upton of Somerton is his uncle, who may, or may not, leave him his large estates – a circumstance, most probably, mainly dependent on the alliance he may form in marriage.”