“Alas! Miss Dalton,” said he, with a faint smile, “these are no enigmas to us who mix in all the worries and cares of life.”
“Then how do you read the riddle?” said she, almost laughing at the easy flippancy of his tone.
“Mr. Dalton being an Irish gentleman of a kind disposition and facile temper, suffers his tenantry to run most grievously into arrear. They won't pay, and he won't make them; his own creditors having no sympathy with such proceedings, become pressing and importunate. Mr. Dalton grows angry, and they grow irritable; he makes his agent write to them, they 'instruct' their attorney to write to him. Mr. D. is puzzled, and were it not that But, may I go on?”
“Of course; proceed,” said she, smiling.
“You'll not be offended, though?” said he, “because, if I have not the privilege of being frank, I shall be worthless to you.”
“There is no serious offence without intention.”
“Very true; but I do not wish there should be even a trivial transgression.”
“I 'm not afraid. Go on,” said she, nodding her head.
“Where was I, then? Oh! I remember. I said that Mr. Dalton, seeing difficulties thickening and troubles gathering, suddenly bethinks him that he has a daughter, a young lady of such attractions that, in a society where wealth and splendor and rank hold highest place, her beauty has already established a dominion which nothing, save her gentleness, prevents being a despotism.”
“Mr. Jekyl mistakes the part of a friend when he becomes flatterer.”