"At twelve, if you like, my dear fellow; but I am really unhappy about the manner in which you take this up. I wish something could be done to get you out of it."
"But nothing can be done, sir, and the greatest kindness you can show me is to say no more about it. We must only make the best of a bad case. At twelve I will meet you in the coffee-room."
So saying Mr. Barkley returned to his own room and began to dress.
The Molyneuxes left Paris a few days after this and went to London, whither Lord Barkley and his son had preceded them. The latter urged his father to get the settlements drawn up as quickly as possible, as he declared that the shorter time he had to sustain the lover's part towards his "marble bride" elect, the better it would be for them both, and he undertook to get Miss Molyneux to name an early day for the wedding. Accordingly it was fixed for the second week in April.
Towards the end of the month—February—the Barkleys left London for Ireland, on the plea of seeing that all the preparations for receiving the bride were being properly executed. Mr. Barkley however was to return to London in a fortnight or three weeks. In the meantime he, as well as his father, was delighted to get home to their beautiful place, and the attractions of a country life; even the old lord was still a keen sportsman.
A short time after their return there was to be a meet in the neighbourhood, and some eight or ten gentlemen were invited to dine and sleep at Barkley Castle the night before. It was a sort of farewell bachelor party, which Mr. Barkley induced his father to give. There was a good deal of joking about the approaching marriage, but the only answer which Mr. Barkley deigned to give to all the questions which were asked about his "ladye love" was—"When you see her you'll all acknowledge that I have imported something worth looking at."
Lord Barkley, however, saw by the impatient twitching of his lip how disagreeable the subject was to him, and although later in the evening he became boisterously gay, sang comic songs, and related many a good story, his father felt that his gaiety was forced, and more than ever did he regret the hastiness with which he had entered into the engagement with Miss Molyneux; yet he said to himself, "Perhaps it is better so. Once married he'll be proud of having such a magnificent looking wife, and they'll get on right well, I daresay. If he does not marry he would always have a hankering after that little Marie; not that I am a bit astonished at it, for she is a sweet little creature, and the other is so stiff and cold; but it would be ruin for him not to get a large fortune, so it's all as well that he is going to be settled,—only I wish with all my heart that the poor fellow seemed to like the idea of it a little better."
After this soliloquy his lordship sought his couch; nevertheless, as he rose next morning and donned his hunting suit, he could not shake off an unaccountable feeling of sadness and remorse about "Edmund's" coming marriage, and the latter happening to go in to him to ask some question relative to the starting, he said, laying his hand upon his shoulder—
"Come, boy, you and I must not go out to-day with any ill-will between us."
"How now, father; surely you are not growing nervous?"