“'Certainly not.'
“'Nor are you—But,' added he, laughing, 'I need n't make that proviso. I was going to say, you are not to ask her yourself.'
“'I 'll even promise you that, if you like,' said I.
“'Then what can you mean?' said he, with a puzzled look. 'But whatever it be, I can stand the loss. I 've won very close to double as much from you this evening.'
“'And as to the disappointment?'
“'Oh, you 'll not mention it, I 'm certain, neither will she, so none will be the wiser; and, after all, the real bore in all these cases is the gossip.' And with this consolatory reflection he left me to dress for dinner. How well bred a fellow seems who has no feeling, but just tact enough to detect the tone of the world and follow it! That's Martin's case, and his manners are perfect! After he was gone, I was miserable for not having quarrelled with him,—said something outrageous, insolent, and unbearable. That he should have dared to insult the young girl by such presumption as the offer of his hand is really too much. What difference of station—wide as the poles asunder—could compare with their real inequality? The fop, the idler, the incompetent, to aspire to her! Even his very narrative proclaimed his mean nature, wandering on, as it did, from a lounge on the balcony to an offer of marriage!
“Now, to conclude this wearisome story—and I fancy, Harry, that already you half deem me a fitting rival for the tiresome Captain,—but to finish, Martin came early into my room, and laying a bank-note for £100 on the bed, merely added, 'You were right; there's your money.' I'd have given double the sum to hear the details of this affair,—in what terms the refusal was conveyed,—on what grounds she based it; but he would not afford me the slightest satisfaction on any of these points. Indeed, he displayed more vigor of character than I suspected in him, in the way he arrested my inquiries. He left this for Paris immediately after, so that the mystery of that interview will doubtless remain impenetrable to me.
“We are all at sixes and sevens to-day. Old Martin, shocked by some tidings of Ireland that he chanced upon in the public papers, I believe, has had a stroke of paralysis, or a seizure resembling that malady. Lady Dorothea is quite helpless from terror, and but for Kate, the whole household would be in utter chaos and disorganization; but she goes about, with her arm in a sling, calm and tranquil, but with the energy and activity of one who feels that all depends upon her guidance and direction. The servants obey her with a promptitude that proclaims instinct; and even the doctor lays aside the mysterious jargon of his craft, and condescends to talk sense to her. I have not seen her; passing rumors only reach me in my solitude, and I sit here writing and brooding alternately.
“P. S. Martin is a little better; no immediate danger to life, but slight hopes of ultimate recovery. I was wrong as to the cause. It was a proclamation of outlawry against his son, the Captain, which he read in the 'Times.' Some implacable creditor or other had pushed his claim so far, as I believe is easy enough to do nowadays; and poor Martin, who connected this stigma with all the disgrace that once accompanied such a sentence, fell senseless to the ground, and was taken up palsied. He is perfectly collected and even tranquil now, and they wheeled me in to sit with him for an hour or so. Lady Dorothea behaves admirably; the first shock overwhelmed her, but that passed off, and she is now all that could be imagined of tenderness and zeal.
“Kate I saw but for a second. She asked me to write to Captain Martin, and request him to hasten home. It was no time to trifle with her; so I simply promised to do so, adding,—“'You, I trust, will not leave this at such a moment?'