“Pardon me, madam; it has an especial attraction for me. I have all my life long been a disciple of that school; but I must say that in the present case it is not applicable. I have been for the last couple of weeks a guest at Lyle Abbey; and if I were asked whose name came most often uppermost, and always in terms of praise, I should say—your son's.”
“I have met with great kindness from Sir Arthur and his family,” said Tony, half sternly, half sorrowfully. “I am not likely ever to forget it.”
“You have not seen them since your return, I think?” said Maitland, carelessly.
“No, sir,” broke in the old lady; “my son has been so full of his travels, and all the great people he met, that we have not got through more than half of his adventures. Indeed, when you came up he was just telling me of an audience he had with a Cabinet Minister—”
“Pooh, pooh, mother! Don't bore Mr. Maitland with these personal details.”
“I know it is the privilege of friendship to listen to these,” said Maitland, “and I am sincerely sorry that I have not such a claim.”
“Well, sir, you ought to have that claim, were it only in consideration of your own kind offer to Tony.”
“Oh, pray, madam, do not speak of it,” said Maitland, with something nearer confusion than so self-possessed a gentleman was likely to exhibit “When I spoke of such a project, I was in utter ignorance that Mr. Butler was as much a man of the world as myself, and far and away beyond the reach of any guidance of mine.”
“What, then, were your intentions regarding me?” asked Tony, in some curiosity.
“I entreat of you, madam,” said Maitland, eagerly, “to forget all that we said on that subject.”