“First of all,” said Mary, rapidly, “what you deem solitude is scarcely such; each day is so filled with its duties, that when I come back here of an evening, it often happens that my greatest enjoyment is the very sense of isolation that awaits me. Do you know,” added she, “that very often the letter-bag lies unopened by me till morning? And as to newspapers, there they lie in heaps, their covers unbroken to this hour. Such is actually the case to-day. I haven't read my letters yet.”
“I read mine in my bed,” cried Repton. “I have them brought to me by candlelight in winter, and I reflect over all the answers while I am dressing. Some of the sharpest things I have ever said have occurred to me while I was shaving; not,” added he, hastily, “but one's really best things are always impromptu. Just as I said t' other day to the Viceroy,—a somewhat felicitous one. He was wishing that some historian would choose for his subject the lives of Irish Lord-Lieutenants; not, he remarked, in a mere spirit of party, or with the levity of partisanship, but in a spirit becoming the dignity of history,—such as Hume himself might have done. 'Yes, my Lord,' I replied, 'your observation is most just; it should be a continuation of Rapine.' Eh! it was a home-thrust, wasn't it?—'a continuation of Rapine.'” And the old man laughed till his eyes ran over.
“Do these great folk ever thoroughly forgive such things?” asked Mary.
“My dear child, their self-esteem is so powerful they never feel them; and even when they do, the chances are that they store them up in their memories, to retail afterwards as their own. I have detected my own stolen property more than once; but always so damaged by wear, and disfigured by ill-usage, that I never thought of reclaiming it.”
“The affluent need never fret for a little robbery,” said Mary, smiling.
“Ay, but they may like to be the dispensers of their own riches,” rejoined Repton, who never was happier than when able to carry out another's illustration.
“Is Lord Reckington agreeable?” asked Mary, trying to lead him on to any other theme than that of herself.
“He is eminently so. Like all men of his class, he makes more of a small stock in trade than we with our heads full can ever pretend to. Such men talk well, for they think fluently. Their tact teaches them the popular tone on every subject, and they have the good sense never to rise above it.”
“And Massingbred, the secretary, what of him?”
“A very well-bred gentleman, strongly cased in the triple armor of official dulness. Such men converse as stupid whist-players play cards; they are always asking to 'let them see the last trick;' and the consequence is they are ever half an hour behind the rest of the world. Ay, Miss Mary, and this is an age where one must never be half a second in arrear. This is really delicious Port; and now that the Burgundy is finished, I think I prefer it. Tell Martin I said so when you write to him. I hope the cellar is well stocked with it.”