The old lady sighed at this; but it was a sigh of relief. She had been dreading not a little a meeting with one of those haughty Maitlands, associated in her childhood's days with thoughts of wealth and power, and that dominance that smacks of, if it does not mean, insolence; and now she found one who was not ashamed to belong to a father who had toiled for his support and worked hard for his livelihood. And yet it was strange with what tenacity she clung to a topic that had its terrors for her. She liked to talk of the family, and high connections, and great marriages of all these people with whose names she was familiar as a girl, but whom she had never known, if she had so much as seen.
“My poor husband, sir,—you may have heard of him,—Colonel Walter Butler, knew all these things by heart. You had only to ask when did so-and-so die, and who married such a one, and he 'd tell you as if out of a book.”
“I have heard of Colonel Butler, madam. His fame as a soldier is widespread in India; indeed, I had hoped to have made his son's acquaintance when I came here; but I believe he is with his regiment.”
“No, sir, he's not in the service,” said she, flushing.
“Ah! a civilian, then. Well, madam, the Butlers have shown capacity in all careers.”
“My poor boy has not had the chance given him as yet, Mr. Maitland. We were too poor to think of a profession; and so, waiting and hoping, though it 's not very clear for what, we let the time slip over; and there he is a great grown man! as fine a young fellow as you ever looked on, and as good as handsome; but yet he cannot do one hand's turn that would give him bread; and yet, ask your friends at the Abbey if there's a grace or gift of a gentleman he is not the master of.”
“I think I know how the Lyles speak of him, and what affection they bear him.”
“Many would condemn me, sir,” cried she, warming with the one theme that engaged her whole heart, “for having thrown my boy amongst those so far above him in fortune, and given him habits and ways that his own condition must deny him; but it was my pride to see him in the station that his father held, and to know that he became it. I suppose there are dangers in it, too,” said she, rather answering his grave look than anything he had said. “I take it, sir, there are great temptations, mayhap over-strong temptations, for young natures.”
Maitland moved his head slightly, to imply that he assented.
“And it's not unlikely the poor boy felt that himself; for when he came home t' other night he looked scared and worn, and answered me shortly and abruptly in a way he never does, and made me sit down on the spot and write a letter for him to a great man who knew his father, asking—it is hard to say what I asked, and what I could have expected.”