“Your friend,—I hope the time is not far distant when I may be enabled to say and mine,—Mr. Corrigan, acting under the greatest of all misconceptions, mistaking my heartfelt zeal in his behalf for an undue interference in his affairs, has to-day expressed himself towards me in a manner so uncalled for, so unfair, and ungenerous, that, considering the position I sought to occupy in his regard, either bespeaks the existence of some secret attack upon my character, or that a mere sudden caprice of temper overbalances with him the qualities he has been gracious enough to speak of in terms of praise and approbation.”
Tiernay gave a short, dry nod, whose significance was so very doubtful that Linton stopped and stared at him, as if asking for further information.
“I had made a proposition for the hand of his granddaughter,” resumed he, “and surely my pretensions could not subject me to rebuke?”
Tiernay nodded again, in the same puzzling way as before.
“Knowing the influence you possess in the family,” resumed Linton, “seeing how much confidence they repose in your counsels, I have thought it advisable to state to you that, although naturally indignant at the treatment I have met with, and possibly carried away for a moment by passion, my feelings regarding Miss Leicester are unchanged, and, I believe, unchangeable.”
Tiernay moved his head slightly, as though implying assent.
“Am I to understand, sir, that my communication is pleasing to you?” said Linton, firmly.
“Very pleasing in every respect,” said Tiernay.
“And I may reckon upon your kind offices in my behalf, Dr. Tiernay?”
Tiernay shook his head negatively.