And so they both fell a-thinking of all that same great amount of riches could buy,—what of power, respect, rank, flattery, political influence, fine acquaintance, fine diamonds, and fine dinners.
“If he play his cards well, he might be a peer,” thought my Lord.
“If he be as ambitious as he ought to be, he might aspire to a peer's daughter,” was the lady's reflection.
“He has failed in my negotiation, however,” said Lord Glengariff, peevishly; “at least, Hankes just told me that it can't be done. I detest that fellow Hankes. It shows great want of tact in Dunn having such a man in his employment,—a vulgar, self-sufficient, over-dressed fellow, who can't help being familiar out of his own self-satisfaction. Now, Dunn himself knows his place. Don't you think so?”
She muttered something not very intelligible, but which sounded like concurrence.
“Yes,” he resumed, “Dunn does not forget himself,—at least, with me.” And to judge from the carriage of his head as he spoke, and the air with which he earned the pinch of snuff to his nose, he had not yet despaired of seeing the world come back to the traditions which once had made it worth living in.
“I am willing to give him every credit for his propriety of conduct, Augusta,” added he, in a still more lofty tone; “for we live in times when really wealth and worldly prosperity have more than their rightful supremacy, and such men as Dunn are made the marks of an adulation that is actually an outrage,—an outrage upon us!”
And the last little monosyllable was uttered with an emphasis of intense significance.
Just as his Lordship had rounded his peroration, the servant presented him with a small three-cornered note. He opened it and read,—
“My Lord,—I think the bearer of this, T. Driscoll, might possibly do what you wish for; and I send him, since I am sure that a personal interview with your Lordship would be more efficacious than any negotiation.