"We will close the discussion at once, sir, if you please!" said Barbara, haughtily.
"At once," said Beresford, with a bow. "Believe me that the advocacy of that anonymous person--whose handwriting I recognise--though useful perhaps, as time may prove--is by no means flattering."
He bowed again and left the room. "By no means flattering!" echoed Barbara after he had gone; "it is, then, as I suspected, some horrible wretch who has east this shadow over my life!"
[CHAPTER XXXV.]
BALTHAZAR.
Mr. Simnel sat calmly over his breakfast in his rooms in Piccadilly, little dreaming of all that had occurred on the previous day in Saxe-Coburg Square. He skimmed the newspaper; he dallied with his toast; he laid down his knife and fork and paused in his meal, smiling to himself with the air of a man who had reason for self-gratulation. Such reason had Mr. Simnel. He had fought a very long and arduous and up-hill fight--a fight in which the odds were all against him, and which he had won entirely by patience and excellent generalship. And now the difficulties were surmounted; the land lay straight before him; and he was just about to clutch the prize which, with so much trouble, he had won. "You shall have it, Robert!" those were the last words which she had said to him; words which haunted his memory, which he found himself repeating over and aver again. The woman he had loved so long and so quietly, who at one time appeared far beyond the power of his grasp, had succumbed; he had won her honestly, and by his own tact and perseverance; and she would be his own! There would be a bar sinister in her escutcheon, but what of that? Against herself, against the propriety of her conduct, no one had ever dared to drop a hint. Her father should make such a settlement on her as, coupled with his own money, would relieve her from the necessity of pursuing her then occupation, of doing any thing but play her part as mistress of her house, and enjoy herself. What a fool was Beresford!--ah, that opened up a fresh vein of thought! He had said yesterday that, failing in his pursuit of Mrs. Schröder, should fall back on Kate Mellon, and try and patch up that severed alliance. Simnel's heart beat loudly as this recurred to his mind; he knew how deep had been the attachment which Kate had formed for Beresford, and he was not sure that she would not be even yet willing to listen to proposals of peace. She must not have the chance--that was what he determined; and he rang his bell hurriedly, and sat biting his nails until it was answered.
"You saw Mr. Scadgers?" he demanded of his servant.
"Yes, sir; he will be at your office at one o'clock."
"Good; now go over at once to Austin Friars to Mr. Townshend's office. Tell the head-clerk," said he, taking a telegraphic despatch from his pocket, "that his master will arrive at London Bridge at half-past one, and that he must send some one to meet him. Say that I shall be with Mr. Townshend at three sharp. You understand?" The valet answered in the affirmative and left the room, returning in a few minutes and ushering in Mr. Beresford. That gentleman looked any thing but happy; his face was of a dull leaden hue, his eyes were dull and red-rimmed, and the tell-tale muscles of his mouth were working visibly. He flung himself into, a chair, and as soon as the door closed, said: "Here's a devil of a go!"
"What's the matter, man?" asked Simnel. "Look here--you're all out of sorts--lips going and hands shaking--just steady yourself before you speak. Here!" and he unlocked a sideboard and placed a liqueur-stand before his friend.