"Ah, then of course that settles it! But suppose Master Peter should have suspected your intentions?"
"There is just the rub! He is an old friend of my father's, and I should be sorry to hurt him; but I have made up my mind to ask for Jolánta."
"H-m, h-m," murmured the page thoughtfully. "Rather an awkward state of things, sir."
"Of course it is! but look you here, Libor, if you can help me out of it, I will make it worth your while. I know how modest and unselfish you are, but I shall be able to find you something, something which will set you up for life."
Libor's eyes sparkled. This was even more than he had looked for.
But Paul was growing rather impatient; this long interview with a person so far beneath him was distasteful to him, and he cut short the page's servile protestations of devotion and gratitude. What was to be done? that was the question.
"First make sure of Mistress Jolánta herself, before anything was said to her father," suggested Libor, "and then finish his visit and take his leave without proposing for either. Visits were not always bound to end with a proposal, and Master Peter could not possibly be hurt therefore. As for Mr. Stephen, when the time should come to ask his consent, he would certainly not refuse such a son-in-law as the son of the Palatine. Mr. Héderváry's parents"—Libor hesitated a little—"they could not blame him if—suppose—disappointed they might be, but they could not blame him—if he were able to say that Dora had another suitor, and one whom she preferred to himself, though Master Peter was not aware of the fact."
"H-m!" said Paul, "that would settle it, of course; but—there is none."
"No, there is not," said the clerk thoughtfully, with one of his deferential laughs, "but—we might find or invent someone."
"Find someone! Who is there?"