Mr. Linton, like a large majority of the cunning people in this world, made the mistake of supposing that every one had an “after-thought,”—some secret mental reservation in all he said; that, in fact, no one told “the whole truth” on any subject. Now, judging Mr. Corrigan by this rule, he came to the conclusion that the old gentleman had not received his addresses with all the warmth that might be expected;—possibly, in the hope of a more advantageous offer; possibly, because, in his old Irish pride of family, he had got to learn who this Mr. Linton was, what his connections, and what position they held in the society of their own country.
In this way did Linton read the old man's inquiry as to the “concurrence of his relatives.” It was, to his thinking, a mere subtle attempt to ascertain who and what these same relatives were. “A clever stroke in its way,” thought Tom; “but I am not to be drawn out of my intrenchment so easily. Still, the theme will linger in his mind, and must be got rid of.”
Linton knew well how the influence of rank and title can smooth down difficulties of this kind, and ran over in his mind the names of at least a dozen peers, any one of whom, in such an emergency, would have owned him for a half-brother, or a cousin, at least.
It was provoking to think how many there were, at that dull season, listless and unemployed, who could, were he only able to summon them, stand sponsors to his rank and condition. Measuring Corrigan by what he had witnessed in other men of small fortune and retired lives, he deemed “a lord” was all-essential. Linton had seen a great deal of life, and a great deal of that submissive homage so readily conceded to nobility. A lord, at a wedding, is like a captain in a duel; they are the great ingredients which warrant that these events “come off” properly; they place beyond all cavil or question whatever may occur; and they are the recognizances one enters into with the world that he is “spliced” or shot like a gentleman. It is quite true Linton was above this vulgarity; but he was not above the vulgarity of attributing it to another.
The more he reflected on this, the more did he believe it to be the solution of the whole difficulty. “My kingdom for a lord!” exclaimed he, laughing aloud at the easy gullibility of that world which he had duped so often.
The reader is aware that of the pleasant company of Tub-bermore, Lord Kilgoff was the only representative of the peerage; and to him Linton's thoughts at once resorted as the last hope in his emergency. Of late his Lordship had been gradually mending: clear intervals broke through the mist of his clouded faculties, and displayed him, for the time, in all his wonted self-importance, irritability, and pertinacity. To catch him in one of these fortunate moments was the object, and so induce him to pay a visit to the cottage.
Could he but succeed in this, none better than the old peer to play the part assigned to him. The very qualities to make his society intolerable would be, here, the earnest of success; the imperturbable conceit, the pompous distance of his manner, would repel inquiry, and Linton saw that his oracle would not utter one word more than he ought.
“He will not,—I dare not ask him to call me his relative,” said he; “but I can easily throw a hazy indistinctness over our intimacy. He can be a friend of 'my poor father,'”—Tom laughed at the conceit,—“one who knew me from the cradle. With him for a foreground figure, I 'll soon paint an imaginary group around him, not one of whom shall be less than a marquis.
“With Mary this will not succeed. Laura, indeed, might do me good service in that quarter, but I cannot trust her. Were she more skilled in this world's ways, she would gladly aid me—it would be like drawing the game between us; but she is rash, headlong, and passionate. I doubt if even her fears would control her. And yet I might work well upon these! I have the will, and the way, both; the event shall decide whether I employ them.” With these thoughts passing in his mind he reached the house, and entering unobserved, since they were all at breakfast, repaired to his own room.
He immediately sat down and wrote a few lines to Lord Kilgoff, inquiring with solicitude after his health, and craving the favor of being permitted to wait upon him. This done, he amused himself by inventing a number of little political “gossipries” for the old peer,—those small nothings which form the sweepings of clubs and the whisperings of under-secretaries' offices; the pleasant trifles which every one repeats, but no one believes.