“Do you incline to suppose that the Chief Baron guessed the object of your visit?”
“I have no means of arriving at that surmise, my Lord. His refusal of me was so peremptory that it left me no clew to any guess.”
“Was the person deputed to receive you one with whom it was at all possible to indicate such an intimation of your business as might convey to the Chief Baron the necessity of seeing you?”
“Quite the reverse, my Lord; he was one with whom, from previous knowledge, I could hold little converse.”
“Then there is, I fear, nothing to be done.”
“Nothing.”
“Except to thank you heartily, my dear Fossbrooke, and ask you once more, why are you going away?”
“I told you last night I was going to make a fortune. I have—to my own astonishment I own it—begun to feel that narrow means are occasionally most inconvenient; that they limit a man's action in so many ways that he comes at last to experience a sort of slavery; and instead of chafing against this, I am resolved to overcome it, and become rich.”
“I hope, with all my heart, you may. There is no man whom wealth will more become, or who will know how to dispense it more reputably.”
“Why, we have gathered a crowd around us, my Lord,” said Fossbrooke, looking to right and left, where now a number of people had gathered, attracted by the Viceroy's presence, but still more amused by the strange-looking figure with the hank of rope over his arm, who discoursed so freely with his Excellency. “This is one of the penalties of greatness, I take it,” continued he. “It's your Excellency's Collar of St. Patrick costs you these attentions—”