"Lord Alston," said Sir Peregrine, rising from his chair, "I trust that my grandson may never rest his hopes on any woman whose heart could be hardened against him by such a thought as that."
"But what if she should be guilty?" said Lord Alston.
"Permit me to say," said Sir Peregrine, still standing, and standing now bolt upright, as though his years did not weigh on him a feather, "that this conversation has gone far enough. There are some surmises to which I cannot listen, even from Lord Alston."
Then his lordship shrugged his shoulders, declared that in speaking as he had spoken he had endeavoured to do a friendly duty by an old friend,—certainly the oldest, and almost the dearest friend he had,—and so he took his leave. The wheels of the chariot were heard grating over the gravel, as he was carried away from the door at a gallop, and the two ladies looked into each other's faces, saying nothing. Sir Peregrine was not seen from that time till dinner; but when he did come into the drawing-room his manner to Lady Mason was, if possible, more gracious and more affectionate than ever.
"So Lord Alston was here to-day," Peregrine said to his mother that night before he went to bed.
"Yes, he was here."
"It was about this marriage, mother, as sure as I am standing here."
"I don't think Lord Alston would interfere about that, Perry."
"Wouldn't he? He would interfere about anything he did not like; that is, as far as the pluck of it goes. Of course he can't like it. Who can?"
"Perry, your grandfather likes it; and surely he has a right to please himself."