He bowed to the first, and extended his hand to the last. Randal felt the distinction, and his sullen, bitter pride was deeply galled,—a feeling of hate towards Harley passed into his mind. He was pleased to see the cold hesitation with which Frank just touched the hand offered to him. But Randal had not been the only person whose watch upon Beatrice the keen-eyed Harley had noticed. Harley had seen the angry looks of Frank Hazeldean, and divined the cause. So he smiled forgivingly at the slight he had received. “You are like me, Mr. Hazeldean,” said he. “You think something of the heart should go with all courtesy that bespeaks friendship—
“‘The hand of Douglas is his own.’”
Here Harley drew aside Randal. “Mr. Leslie, a word with you. If I wished to know the retreat of Dr. Riccabocca, in order to render him a great service, would you confide to me that secret?”
“That woman has let out her suspicions that I know the exile’s retreat,” thought Randal; and with quick presence of mind, he replied at once,
“My Lord, yonder stands a connection of Dr. Riccabocca’s. Mr. Hazeldean is surely the person to whom you should address this inquiry.”
“Not so, Mr. Leslie; for I suspect that he cannot answer it, and that you can. Well, I will ask something that it seems to me you may grant without hesitation. Should you see Dr. Riccabocca, tell him that I am in England, and so leave it to him to communicate with me or not; but perhaps you have already done so?”
“Lord L’Estrange,” said Randal, bowing low, with pointed formality, “excuse me if I decline either to disclaim or acquiesce in the knowledge you impute to me. If I am acquainted with any secret intrusted to me by Dr. Riccabocca, it is for me to use my own discretion how best to guard it. And for the rest, after the Scotch earl, whose words your Lordship has quoted, refused to touch the hand of Marmion, Douglas could scarcely have called Marmion back in order to give him—a message!”
Harley was not prepared for this tone in Mr. Egerton’s protege, and his own gallant nature was rather pleased than irritated by a haughtiness that at least seemed to bespeak independence of spirit. Nevertheless, L’Estrange’s suspicions of Randal were too strong to be easily set aside, and therefore he replied, civilly, but with covert taunt,
“I submit to your rebuke, Mr. Leslie, though I meant not the offence you would ascribe to me. I regret my unlucky quotation yet the more, since the wit of your retort has obliged you to identify yourself with Marmion, who, though a clever and brave fellow, was an uncommonly—tricky one.” And so Harley, certainly having the best of it, moved on, and joined Egerton, and in a few minutes more both left the room.
“What was L’Estrange saying to you?” asked Frank. “Something about Beatrice, I am sure.”