Norwood gave her a look which made her suddenly become scarlet, and then left the room without speaking.
If he had not been himself a debtor with the greater number of those who waited below, few could have acquitted themselves more adroitly in such a mission. He was an adept in that clever game by which duns are foiled and tradesmen mollified; he knew every little menace and every flattery to apply to them, when to soothe and when to snub them. All these arts he was both ready and willing to exercise, were it not for the unpleasant difficulty that his own embarrassments rendered him a somewhat dubious ambassador. In fact, as he himself phrased it, “it was playing advocate with one leg in the dock.”
He lingered a little, therefore, as he went; he stopped on the landing of the stairs to peep out on the tumultuous assemblage beneath, like a general surveying the enemy's line before the engagement; nor was he over-pleased to remark that little Purvis was bustling about among the crowd, note-book and pencil in hand, palpably taking evidence and storing up facts for future mention. As he was still looking, the great gate was thrown open with a crash, and a caleche, dirty and travel-stained, was whirled into the court by three steaming and panting posters. After a brief delay, a short, thick-set figure, enveloped in travelling-gear, descended, and putting, as it seemed, a few questions as to the meaning of the assembled throng, entered the house.
Curious to learn who, what, and whence the new arrival came, Norwood hurried downstairs; but all that he could learn from the postilion was that the stranger had posted from Genoa, using the greatest speed all the way, and never halting, save a few minutes for refreshment. The traveller was not accompanied by a servant, and his luggage bore neither name nor crest to give any clew as to his identity. That he was English, and that he had gone direct to Sir Stafford's apartments, was the whole sum of the Viscount's knowledge; but even this seemed so worthy of remark that he hastened back with the tidings to Lady Hester, instead of proceeding on his errand.
She treated the announcement with less interest. It might be Proctor, Sir Stafford's man. Was he tall and black-whiskered? No, he was short; and, so far as Norwood saw, he thought him fair-haired. “She knew of nobody to bear that description. It might be an English physician from Genoa, there was one there, or in Nice, she forgot exactly which, who was celebrated for treating gout, or sore eyes, she could not remember precisely, but it was certainly one or the other. On recollection, however, it was probably gout, because he had attended Lord Hugmore, who was blind.”
“In that case,” said Norwood, “Onslow would seem to be worse.”
“Yes, poor man, much worse. George sat up with him the night before last, and said he suffered terribly. His mind used to wander at intervals, too, and he spoke as if he was very unhappy.”
“Unhappy, a man with upwards of thirty thousand a year unhappy!” said Norwood, clasping his hands over his head as he spoke.
“You forget, my Lord, that there are other considerations than moneyed ones which weigh at least with some persons; and if Onslow's fortune be a princely one, he may still feel compunctious regrets for his detestable conduct to me!”
“Oh, I forgot that!” said Norwood, with a most laudable air of seriousness.