“You alarm me, sir; and yet I feel that if you would speak boldly out your meaning, there is probably no cause for fear.”
“I'll just do so, then, Miss Mary; but at the same time I 'd have you to understand that I 'm taking a responsibility on myself that his Lordship never gave me any warrant for, and that there is not another—” Mr. Scanlan stopped, but only in time; for, whether it was the fervor in which he uttered these words, or that Miss Martin anticipated what was about to follow, her cheek became scarlet, and a most unmistakable expression of her eyes recalled the worthy practitioner to all his wonted caution. “The matter is this, Miss Martin,” said he, with a degree of deference more marked than before, “Lord Kilmorris is dissatisfied with the way your uncle supported him at the last election. He complains of the hard conditions imposed upon him as to his line of conduct in the House; and, above all, he feels insulted by a letter Lady Dorothea wrote him, full of very harsh expressions and hard insinuations. I never saw it myself, but that's his account of it,—in fact, he's very angry.”
“And means to throw up the borough, in short,” broke in Mary.
“I'm afraid not, Miss Mary,” said the other, in a half whisper.
“What then?—what can he purpose doing?”
“He means to try and come in on his own interest,” said Scanlan, who uttered the words with an effort, and seemed to feel relief when they were out.
“Am I to understand that he would contest the borough with us?”
Scanlan nodded an affirmative.
“No, no, Mr. Scanlan, this is some mistake,—some misapprehension on your part. His Lordship may very possibly feel aggrieved,—he may have some cause, for aught I know,—about something in the last election, but this mode of resenting it is quite out of the question,—downright impossible.”
“The best way is to read his own words. Miss Martin. There's his letter,” said he, handing one towards her, which, however, she made no motion to take.