Sir John laid the draft down upon the table, and began to smooth the paper with both his hands, regarding it with a puzzled, doubtful look, like one who cannot make up his mind how to act.
“There is no doubt regarding the funds, I hope,” said Butler, growing meanly anxious at this hesitation.
“No,” was the hesitating reply; “but have you any knowledge of the position in which a marriage with Catharine Montour’s daughter places you?”
Now, Butler had no information on this subject, nor had he ever heard it mentioned; but he saw by Sir John’s manner that some mystery was kept from him, and, with characteristic cunning, hinted at a knowledge which he did not possess.
“Have I any knowledge of my position? Now, that is too good, Sir John; can you possibly suppose me fool enough to marry the girl with anything unexplained?”
“Then you know who Catharine Montour really was, and to what her daughter is heiress?”
“Know? of course. Do I look like buying a pig in a poke?”
“Complimentary to your bride, at any rate; but I am glad Lady Granby has been frank at last.”
Butler started, but his surprise was nothing to the effect the announcement of that name made upon the king’s commissioner. He started from his chair with the sharp spasmodic movement of a man shot through the heart. His forehead contracted, his lips grew white as marble. Sir John shrunk from the terrible expression of that face.
“Lady Granby—Lady Granby!”