“Sir!” exclaimed Egerton, turning white.
“Don’t be angry,—all’s fair in love as in war; and L’Estrange will live yet to thank you for saving him from such a misalliance. But you are seriously angry: pray, forgive me.”
With some difficulty and much fawning, the usurer appeased the storm he had raised in Audley’s conscience. And he then heard, as if with surprise, the true purport of Nora’s letter.
“It is beneath me to answer, much less to satisfy, such a doubt,” said Audley. “I could have seen her, and a look of reproach would have sufficed; but to put my hand to paper, and condescend to write, ‘I am not a villain, and I will give you the proofs that I am not’—never!”
“You are quite right; but let us see if we cannot reconcile matters between your pride and her feelings. Write simply this: ‘All that you ask me to say or to explain, I have instructed Levy, as my solicitor, to say and explain for me; and you may believe him as you would myself.’”
“Well, the poor fool, she deserves to be punished; and I suppose that answer will punish her more than a lengthier rebuke.—My mind is so distracted, I cannot judge of these trumpery woman-fears and whims; there, I have written as you suggest. Give her all the proof she needs, and tell her that in six months at furthest, come what will, she shall bear the name of Egerton, as henceforth she must share his fate.”
“Why say six months?”
“Parliament must be dissolved, and there must be a general election before then. I shall either obtain a seat, be secure from a jail, have won field for my energies, or—”
“Or what?”
“I shall renounce ambition altogether, ask my brother to assist me towards whatever debts remain when all my property is fairly sold—they cannot be much. He has a living in his gift; the incumbent is old, and, I hear, very ill. I can take orders.”