‘May I have a few moments of conversation with you?’ said he; and in the tone of his words, and a certain gravity in his manner, Kearney thought he could perceive what the communication portended.
‘I am at your orders,’ said Kearney, and he placed a chair for the other.
‘An incident has befallen my life here, Mr. Kearney, which, I grieve to say, may not only colour the whole of my future career, but not impossibly prove the barrier to my pursuit of public life.’
Kearney stared at him as he finished speaking, and the two men sat fixedly gazing on each other.
‘It is, I hasten to own, the one unpleasant, the one, the only one, disastrous event of a visit full of the happiest memories of my life. Of your generous and graceful hospitality, I cannot say half what I desire—’
‘Say nothing about my hospitality,’ said Kearney, whose irritation as to what the other called a disaster left him no place for any other sentiment; ‘but just tell me why you count this a misfortune.’
‘I call a misfortune, sir, what may not only depose me from my office and my station, but withdraw entirely from me the favour and protection of my uncle, Lord Danesbury.’
‘Then why the devil do you do it?’ cried Kearney angrily.
‘Why do I do what, sir? I am not aware of any action of mine you should question with such energy.’
‘I mean, if it only tends to ruin your prospects and disgust your family, why do you persist, sir? I was going to say more, and ask with what face you presume to come and tell these things to me?’