“I beg your pardon,” said the poor gentleman, with real regret that he had torn open an unsuspected wound, and real sympathy for the evident sufferings of the victim, felt amid all the disappointment and dismay with which he heard of the existence of Lord Killcrichtoun’s son and heir, and the consequent blasting of all his own hopes of the inheritance.
The tone and look of sympathy touched Alexander’s lonely heart. He longed to speak to some one of his sorrows; to some one with whom it might be discreet and safe to deposit the secret troubles of his life. To whom could he so well confide them as to this poor gentleman, who seemed to possess some fine feelings of delicacy and honor, and who was certainly by circumstances far removed from those circles in which Alexander would abhor to have his domestic miseries made known.
“There is no offense,” said Alexander, answering the last words of Everage, “you could not have known the tenderness of the chord you touched. And I thank you now for the kindness your tones and looks expressed. Come! shall we hail a hansom, and go to Véry’s to lunch?”
“Thanks,—with pleasure!” said Everage, who always keenly appreciated and enjoyed the game, the salads, and the wines at Véry’s; but—then he glanced at his rusty, threadbare coat, his dusty old boots, and his day-before-yesterday’s clean shirt-bosom.
“Oh, never mind your dress, man! Who the mischief ever dresses to go to lunch in the morning?—Cab!”
The empty hansom that was passing drew up. The two gentlemen got in to it, and Alexander gave the order:
“Véry’s, corner of Regent and Oxford streets.”
Arrived at the famous restaurant, Alexander told the cabman to wait, and led his friend into the saloon.
There curtained off in a snug recess, and seated at a neat table, upon which was arranged a relishing repast, Alexander, while making a slight pretense of eating and drinking, told his story, or part of it to Clarence Everage, who listened attentively, even while doing full justice to the good things set before him.
“You will understand now,” said Lord Killcrichtoun, in conclusion, “how it is, that though I am a husband and a father, I have neither wife nor child.”