Dora was now nearly eighteen, and very soon he would be expected to ask her father's consent to their marriage. To Dora herself he would of course not say a word until he had her father's leave.
He was in a most difficult position, poor fellow! He was fond of Dora; and he was fond of his parents, who would be greatly vexed if he disappointed them in this matter. It was a serious thing to vex one's parents, especially when they had it in their power to disinherit one! His father was a generous, hot-tempered soldier; he would warmly resent any insult put upon his old friend's daughter; Master Peter might resent it too, though no word had yet passed between himself and his intended son-in-law. Truly a difficult position! But for all that, he meant to please himself, if he could safely do so.
Paul was turning these things over in his mind, and was pitying himself and racking his brains to discover some way by which his parents might be induced to take a reasonable view of things, when it occurred to him that two heads were better than one.
He was staying just now with the Szirmays at their castle, where he was always made much of, and Master Stephen was constantly arranging hunting parties and other country amusements in his honour.
Somehow, he never quite knew how it was, he found himself, during a moment of leisure, near the room occupied by one of the pages; and just for the sake of talking to somebody he went in, and was received with obsequious delight by Libor, who murmured his thanks for the great honour done him by the visit of so high and mighty a gentleman.
The little room was of the plainest description, and not too light, but the unglazed windows were at least filled in with bladder-skin, and the bare walls were painted white; the furniture consisted of a small open stove of earthenware, a roughly-made, unpainted bedstead, a primitive wooden table, and two or three stools. It was bare enough for a monk's cell, and it was unceiled, open to the roof, which appeared to consist of old boards and lattice-work of a rough description.
Libor was attired in a pair of red trousers, rather the worse for wear, and fastened round his waist by a leather strap, a waistcoat of the same colour, and a coarse shirt with wide, hanging sleeves. He was wearing neither coat nor jacket, and he had a slender reed pen stuck behind his ear. There were writing materials and a book or two on the table, and the page was busy with his pen, when, to his immense surprise, there entered the haughty young noble, a tall handsome personage clad in a "dolmány" of bright blue woollen stuff which reached down to his ankles, and was not unlike a close-fitting dressing-gown.
Libor started to his feet, and bowed almost to the ground as he expressed his sense of the great man's condescension, while he wondered in his own mind to what it was due, and what was wanted of him—something, he felt pretty confident, and he was quite ready to serve such an one as Paul, who would be sure to make it worth his while. But what could it be?
After a little beating about the bush, and a little judicious flattery, which drew forth many humble thanks for his good opinion from Libor, coupled with an expression of his hope that Mr. Héderváry would find that opinion justified if ever he should need his services, Paul at once proceeded to business.
Some men would have been disgusted to see a fellow-man, bowing, bending, and cringeing before them, as Libor was doing, but to Paul it was merely natural, and it pleased him, as showing that the clerk had a proper respect for his "betters."