Miss Daly was mistaken, however, for Mr. Dunlop had made his escape during the brief interchange of greetings between the brother and sister. “Come, Bagenal,” said she, smiling, “it's all for the best. I have given him a lesson he 'll not readily forget,—had you been the teacher, he might not have lived to remember it.”
“What a place for you!” said Bagenal, as he threw his eye superciliously around the apartment and its occupants; then taking her arm within his own, he led her forth, and closed the door after them.
Once more alone, Daly learned with surprise, not unmixed with sorrow, that his sister had never seen the Darcys, and save by a single call, when she left her name, had made no advances towards their acquaintance. She showed a degree of repugnance, too, to allude to the subject, and rather endeavored to dismiss it by saying shortly,—“Lady Eleanor is a fine lady, and her daughter a wit What could there be in common between us?”
“But for Darcy's sake?”
“For his sake I stayed away,” rejoined she, hastily; “they would have thought me a bore, and perhaps have told him as much. In a word, Bagenal, I did n't like it, and that's enough. Neither of us were trained to put much constraint on our inclinations. I doubt if the lesson would be easily learned at our present time of life.”
Daly muttered some half-intelligible bitterness about female obstinacy and wrong-headedness, and walked slowly to and fro. “I must see Maurice at once,” said he, at length.
“That will be no easy task; he left this for Dublin on Tuesday last.”
“And has not returned? When does he come back?”
“His old butler, who brought me the news, says not for some weeks.”
“Confusion and misery!” exclaimed Daly, “was there ever anything so ill-timed! And he's in Dublin?”