“I think it more probable that Mr. Chillingly is doing some kindness to others which he wishes to keep concealed.”
Sir Peter was pleased with this reply, and drew his chair nearer to Cecilia’s. Lady Glenalvon, charmed to bring those two together, soon rose and took leave.
Sir Peter remained nearly an hour talking chiefly with Cecilia, who won her way into his heart with extraordinary ease; and he did not quit the house till he had engaged her father, Mrs. Campion, and herself to pay him a week’s visit at Exmundham, towards the end of the London season, which was fast approaching.
Having obtained this promise, Sir Peter went away, and ten minutes after Mr. Chillingly Gordon entered the drawing-room. He had already established a visiting acquaintance with the Traverses. Travers had taken a liking to him. Mrs. Campion found him an extremely well-informed, unaffected young man, very superior to young men in general. Cecilia was cordially polite to Kenelm’s cousin. Altogether that was a very happy day for Sir Peter. He enjoyed greatly his dinner at the Garrick, where he met some old acquaintance and was presented to some new “celebrities.” He observed that Gordon stood well with these eminent persons. Though as yet undistinguished himself, they treated him with a certain respect, as well as with evident liking. The most eminent of them, at least the one with the most solidly established reputation, said in Sir Peter’s ear, “You may be proud of your nephew Gordon!”
“He is not my nephew, only the son of a very distant cousin.”
“Sorry for that. But he will shed lustre on kinsfolk, however distant. Clever fellow, yet popular; rare combination,—sure to rise.”
Sir Peter suppressed a gulp in the throat. “Ah, if some one as eminent had spoken thus of Kenelm!”
But he was too generous to allow that half-envious sentiment to last more than a moment. Why should he not be proud of any member of the family who could irradiate the antique obscurity of the Chillingly race? And how agreeable this clever young man made himself to Sir Peter!
The next day Gordon insisted on accompanying him to see the latest acquisitions in the British Museum, and various other exhibitions, and went at night to the Prince of Wales’s Theatre, where Sir Peter was infinitely delighted with an admirable little comedy by Mr. Robertson, admirably placed on the stage by Marie Wilton. The day after, when Gordon called on him at his hotel, he cleared his throat, and thus plunged at once into the communication he had hitherto delayed.
“Gordon, my boy, I owe you a debt, and I am now, thanks to Kenelm, able to pay it.”