“Scarcely so much,” said he. “If I mistake not, I wrote the date myself beneath it; but it has worn out.”
“You will excuse my reminding you, Mr. Linton, that Lord Kilgoff has not regained his habitual patience, and will be very irritable if you defer a pleasure such as a visit from you always affords him.”
“Happy conjuncture,” said he, smiling, “that can make my presence desired in one quarter, when my absence is wished for in another.” And with a low, respectful bow, he left the room.
Whatever the object of the hint, Lady Kilgoff had not exaggerated his Lordship's deficiency in the Job-like element, and Linton found him, on entering, interrogating the servant as to whether he “had conveyed his message properly, and what answer he had received.”
“That will do; leave the room,” said he. Then turning to Linton, “I have waited twelve minutes, sir,—nearly thirteen,—since my servant informed you I would receive you.”
“I am exceedingly sorry, my Lord, to have occasioned you even a moment of impatience. I was mentioning to Lady Kilgoff a circumstance of recent good fortune to myself, and I grieve that my egotism should have mastered my sense of propriety.”
“Twelve minutes, or thirteen, either, may seem a very unimportant fraction of time to men of mere pleasure, but to those whose weightier cares impose graver thoughts, is a very considerable inroad, sir.”
“I know it, my Lord. I feel it deeply, and I beg you to excuse me.”
“Life is too short, at least in its active period, to squander twelve minutes, Mr. Linton; and however you, in your station, and with your pursuits, may deem otherwise, I would wish to observe, that persons in mine think differently.”
Linton looked a perfect statue of contrition, nor did he utter another word. Perhaps he felt that continuing the discussion would be but an indifferent mode of compensating for the injury already incurred.