“But, however that may be decided,” said Lothair, “there can be no reason why you should not come to me.”
“It is presumptuous in me, a foreigner, to speak of such matters,” said Theodora; “but I fancy that, in such celebrations as you contemplate, there is, or there should be, some qualification of blood or family connection for becoming your guests. We should be there quite strangers, and in everybody’s way, checking the local and domestic abandon which I should suppose is one of the charms of such meetings.”
“I have few relations and scarcely a connection,” said Lothair rather moodily. “I can only ask friends to celebrate my majority, and there are no friends whom I so much regard as those who live at Belmont.”
“It is very kind of you to say that, and to feel it; and I know that you would not say it if you did not feel it,” replied Theodora. “But still, I think it would be better that we should come to see you at a time when you are less engaged; perhaps you will take Colonel Campian down some day and give him some shooting.”
“All I can say is that, if you do not come, it will be the darkest, instead of the brightest, week in my life,” said Lothair. “In short, I feel I could not get through the business; I should be so mortified. I cannot restrain my feelings or arrange my countenance. Unless you come, the whole affair will be a complete failure, and worse than a failure.”
“Well, I will speak to Colonel Campian about it,” said Theodora, but with little animation.
“We will both speak to him about it now,” said Lothair, for the colonel at that moment entered the room and greeted Lothair, as was his custom, cordially.
“We are settling the visit to Muriel,” said Lothair; “I want to induce Mrs. Campian to come down a day or two before the rest, so that we may have the benefit of her counsel.”