“Won’t to-morrow morning do?”
“I shall leave Grey Abbey early to-morrow, my lord; immediately after breakfast.”
“Good heavens, Kilcullen! what do you mean? You’re not going to run off to London again?”
“A little farther than that, I’m afraid, will be necessary,” said the son. “I have offered to Miss Wyndham—have been refused—and, having finished my business at Grey Abbey, your lordship will probably think that in leaving it I shall be acting with discretion.”
“You have offered to Fanny and been refused!”
“Indeed I have; finally and peremptorily refused. Not only that: I have pledged my word to my cousin that I will never renew my suit.”
The earl sat speechless in his chair—so much worse was this catastrophe even than his expectations. Lord Kilcullen continued.
“I hope, at any rate, you are satisfied with me. I have not only implicitly obeyed your directions, but I have done everything in my power to accomplish what you wished. Had my marriage with my cousin been a project of my own, I could not have done more for its accomplishment. Miss Wyndham’s affections are engaged; and she will never, I am sure, marry one man while she loves another.”
“Loves another—psha!” roared the earl. “Is this to be the end of it all? After your promises to me—after your engagement! After such an engagement, sir, you come to me and talk about a girl loving another? Loving another! Will her loving another pay your debts?”
“Exactly the reverse, my lord,” said the son. “I fear it will materially postpone their payment.”