Lord Cecil certainly looked surprised. The marquis smiled.
“Y—es,” he said, slowly, as if he enjoyed making the statement. “It appears that I have spent rather more than double my income for say fifty years since, and I imagine that my father and grandfather must have done the same; at least that is the only way in which I can account for the fact that the whole of the free estates are mortgaged up to the neck. Up to the neck,” he added, as if it were a line of especially beautiful poetry.
Lord Cecil sat silent and attentive.
“The land that couldn’t be mortgaged will, of course, come to you,” continued the marquis, and his tone conveyed his infinite regret; “but even the income from that will be drawn upon to pay the interest on the others. Consequently,” with bland and icy politeness, “you will probably be the poorest peer of the realm.”
Lord Cecil remained silent, his eyes fixed gravely on the pale, set face, which bore not the faintest indication of regret.
“It is an uncomfortable position! I cannot imagine a more deplorable one, can you?”
Lord Cecil nodded.
“I—I don’t think I have realized it yet, sir,” he replied.
“Ah!” said the marquis. “But you will. I haven’t felt it because, you see, I have been able to raise money for myself! That is unfortunate for you, of course, but I imagine you would have done the same in my place.”
Lord Cecil did not reply. The heartlessness of the speech simply staggered him.