A week ago, and Legard's utmost ambition would have been amply gratified by this post; he now hesitated.
"My dear lord," said he, "I cannot say how grateful I feel for your kindness; but—but—"
"Enough; no thanks, my dear Legard. Can you go to town to-morrow?"
"Indeed," said Legard, "I fear not; I must consult my uncle."
"I can answer for him; I sounded him before I wrote. Reflect! You are not rich, my dear Legard; it is an excellent opening: a seat in parliament, too! Why, what can be your reason for hesitation?"
There was something meaning and inquisitive in the tone of voice in which this question was put that brought the colour to the colonel's cheek. He knew not well what to reply; and he began, too, to think that he ought not to refuse the appointment. Nay, would his uncle, on whom he was dependent, consent to such a refusal? Lord Vargrave saw the irresolution, and proceeded. He spent ten minutes in combating every scruple, every objection: he placed all the advantages of the post, real or imaginary, in every conceivable point of view before the colonel's eyes; he sought to flatter, to wheedle, to coax, to weary him into accepting it; and he at length partially succeeded. The colonel petitioned for three days' consideration, which Vargrave reluctantly acceded to; and Legard then stepped into his uncle's carriage, with the air rather of a martyr than a maiden placeman.
"Aha!" said Vargrave, chuckling to himself as he took a turn in the grounds, "I have got rid of that handsome knave; and now I shall have Evelyn all to myself!"
CHAPTER VI.
I AM forfeited to eternal disgrace if you do not commiserate.
. . . . . .
Go to, then, raise, recover.—BEN JONSON: Poetaster.
THE next morning Admiral Legard and his nephew were conversing in the little cabin consecrated by the name of the admiral's "own room."