“When I thought I had made him presentable anywhere,—and it would not take long to do so—I'd have contrived to bring him under his uncle's notice,—as a stranger, of course: if the effect were favorable, well and good; if it proved a failure, there was neither disappointment nor chagrin. Mrs. Butler gave me a half assent, and I was on the good road with her son till this morning, when that unlucky meeting has, I suspect, spoiled everything.”
“But why should it?”
“Why should anything happen as men's passions or impulses decide it? Why should one man be jealous of the good fortune that another man has not won?”
She turned away her bead and was silent.
“I 'd not have told you one word of this, Mrs. Trafford, if I had not been so sore pressed that I could n't afford to let you, while defending your friend, accuse me of want of generosity and unfairness. Let me own it frankly,—I was piqued by all your praises of this young man; they sounded so like insidious criticisms on others less fortunate in your favor.”
“As if the great Mr. Maitland could care for any judgments of mine!” said she; and there was in her voice and manner a strange blending of levity and seriousness.
“They are the judgments that he cares most for in all the world,” said he, eagerly. “To have heard from your lips one half the praise, one tenth part of the interest you so lately bestowed on that young man—”
“Where are we going, George? What river is this?” exclaimed she, suddenly.
“To Tilney Park, ma'am; this is the Larne.”
“But it's the upper road, and I told you to take the lower road, by Captain Graham's.”