“Come, come, Harry, don’t look so fiercely. Remember, first of all, he is, or he was, a priest.”
“No reason that I shouldn’t throw him over the Clunk rock!” said Luttrell, doggedly.
“I think we might feel somewhat more benevolently towards him,” said she, with a malicious twinkle of the eye, “seeing how generously he offers to go all the way to Italy to see Sir Within, and explain to him that my marriage with Mr. Ladarelle was a mockery, and that I am still open to a more advantageous offer.”
“How can you talk of this so lightly?”
“If I could not, it would break my heart!” said she, and her lip trembled with agitation. She leaned her head upon her hand for some minutes in deep thought, and then, as though having made up her mind how to act, said, “I wish much, Cousin Harry, that you would see this man for me, only——”
“Only what?”
“Well, I must say it, I am afraid of your temper.”
“The Luttrell temper?” said he, with a cold smile.
“Just so. It reaches the boiling-point so very quickly, that one is not rightly prepared for the warmth till he is scalded.”
“Come, I will be lukewarm to-day—cold as the spring well yonder, if you like. Give me my instructions. What am I to do?”