“This is a painful subject, my lord—most peculiarly painful at the present time; but, surely, after all that has passed—but especially after what has not passed”—Lord Cashel thought this was a dead hit—“you cannot consider your engagement with Miss Wyndham to be still in force?”
“Good gracious!—and why not, my lord? I am ready to do anything her friends—in fact I came solely, this morning, to consult yourself, about—I’m sure Fanny herself can’t conceive the engagement to be broken off. Of course, if Miss Wyndham wishes it—but I can’t believe—I can’t believe—if it’s about the horses, Lord Cashel, upon my word, I’m ready to sell them to-day.”
This was not very dignified in poor Frank, and to tell the truth, he was completely bothered. Lord Cashel looked so more than ordinarily glum; had he been going to put on a black cap and pass sentence of death, or disinherit his eldest son, he could not have looked more stern or more important. Frank’s lack of dignity added to his, and made him feel immeasurably superior to any little difficulty which another person might have felt in making the communication he was going to make. He was really quite in a solemn good humour. Lord Ballindine’s confusion was so flattering.
“I can assure you, my lord, Miss Wyndham calls for no such sacrifice, nor do I. There was a time when, as her guardian, I ventured to hint—and I own I was taking a liberty, a fruitless liberty, in doing so—that I thought your remaining on the turf was hardly prudent. But I can assure you, with all kindly feeling—with no approach to animosity—that I will not offend in a similar way again. I hear, by mere rumour, that you have extended your operations to the other kingdom. I hope I have not been the means of inducing you to do so; but, advice, if not complied with, often gives a bias in an opposite direction. With regard to Miss Wyndham, I must express—and I really had thought it was unnecessary to do so, though it was certainly my intention, as it was Miss Wyndham’s wish, that I should have written to you formally on the subject—but your own conduct—excuse me, Lord Ballindine—your own evident indifference, and continued, I fear I must call it, dissipation—and your, as I considered, unfortunate selection of acquaintance, combined with the necessary diminution of that attachment which I presume Miss Wyndham once felt for you—necessary, inasmuch as it was, as far as I understand, never of a sufficiently ardent nature to outlive the slights—indeed, my lord, I don’t wish to offend you, or hurt your feelings—but, I must say, the slights which it encountered—.” Here the earl felt that his sentence was a little confused, but the viscount looked more so; and, therefore, not at all abashed by the want of a finish to his original proposition, he continued glibly enough:
“In short, in considering all the features of the case, I thought the proposed marriage a most imprudent one; and, on questioning Miss Wyndham as to her feelings, I was, I must own, gratified to learn that she agreed with me; indeed, she conceived that your conduct gave ample proof, my lord, of your readiness to be absolved from your engagement; pardon me a moment, my lord—as I said before, I still deemed it incumbent on me, and on my ward, that I, as her guardian, should give you an absolute and written explanation of her feelings:—that would have been done yesterday, and this most unpleasant meeting would have been spared to both of us, but for the unexpected—Did you hear of the occurrence which has happened in Miss Wyndham’s family, my lord?”
“Occurrence? No, Lord Cashel; I did not hear of any especial occurrence.”
There had been a peculiarly solemn air about Lord Cashel during the whole of the interview, which deepened into quite funereal gloom as he asked the last question; but he was so uniformly solemn, that this had not struck Lord Ballindine. Besides, an appearance of solemnity agreed so well with Lord Cashel’s cast of features and tone of voice, that a visage more lengthened, and a speech somewhat slower than usual, served only to show him off as so much the more clearly identified by his own characteristics. Thus a man who always wears a green coat does not become remarkable by a new green coat; he is only so much the more than ever, the man in the green coat.
Lord Ballindine, therefore, answered the question without the appearance of that surprise which Lord Cashel expected he would feel, if he had really not yet heard of the occurrence about to be related to him. The earl, therefore, made up his mind, as indeed he had nearly done before, that Frank knew well what was going to be told him, though it suited his purpose to conceal his knowledge. He could not, however, give his young brother nobleman the lie; and he was, therefore, constrained to tell his tale, as if to one to whom it was unknown. He was determined, however, though he could not speak out plainly, to let Frank see that he was not deceived by his hypocrisy, and that he, Lord Cashel, was well aware, not only that the event about to be told had been known at Handicap Lodge, but that the viscount’s present visit to Grey Abbey had arisen out of that knowledge.
Lord Ballindine, up to this moment, was perfectly ignorant of this event, and it is only doing justice to him to say that, had he heard of it, it would at least have induced him to postpone his visit for some time. Lord Cashel paused for a few moments, looking at Frank in a most diplomatic manner, and then proceeded to unfold his budget.
“I am much surprised that you should not have heard of it. The distressing news reached Grey Abbey yesterday, and must have been well known in different circles in Dublin yesterday morning. Considering the great intercourse between Dublin and the Curragh, I wonder you can have been left so long in ignorance of a circumstance so likely to be widely discussed, and which at one time might have so strongly affected your own interests.” Lord Cashel again paused, and looked hard at Frank. He flattered himself that he was reading his thoughts; but he looked as if he had detected a spot on the other’s collar, and wanted to see whether it was ink or soot.