Accordingly, he replied,—“It cannot involve any alarming stretch of confidence on my part, merely to tell you whether your ‘guesses at truth’ have hit the mark, or flown wide of it. So you have only to propound your queries, and I will answer them as clearly and concisely as in me lies.”
“C’est bon!” was the reply. “A—to begin with—I am correct, am I not, in supposing that last night my worthy friend Crane offered his hand and £20,000 per annum (in which latter item his heart is of course wrapped up and included) to your amiable and accomplished sister?” Hazlehurst nodded assent, and D’Almayne continued,—“The young lady, however, or I am much mistaken, greatly prefers your excellent and energetic friend, Mr. Coverdale (who, you must pardon me for saying, reminds me of a well-intentioned, enthusiastic bull in a chinashop), which preference the gentleman returns to such a degree, that I am inclined to believe he has told, or in some other manner rendered the fair Alice aware of, his love. Her manner at breakfast this morning, was compounded of such an elaborate endeavour to conceal the conscious and confiding, behind the most transparent eidolon of indifference, that no one at all acquainted with woman’s nature could doubt about the matter.”
“You are indeed a close observer!” exclaimed Arthur, surprised out of his caution. “Coverdale’s attachment was a thing I never even suspected till—a—till this morning.”
“Mr. Crane tells me, your father is intensely anxious to purchase one of his farms adjoining your estate, which he (Crane) is unwilling to part with,” resumed D’Almayne; “thence, I imagine, proceeds your respected progenitor’s anxiety to bring about the match. To finish the catalogue of my observations up to the present time, I conceive Mr. Crane to be now in the act of urging his suit to Mr. Hazlehurst, and complaining that ‘Miss Alice’ as he calls her (he always talks on such subjects like an underbred greengrocer, or second footman), rather kicked, than jumped, at him when he offered her—ahem—his income and his affections.”
“Your surmises are so wonderfully correct,” rejoined Arthur (determining to make a merit of necessity, and appear open with one who seemed thus well acquainted with all the family secrets), “that in telling you that as soon as Mr. Crane leaves the study, I mean to appeal to my father in my friend’s behalf, I shall, probably, only forestall you in expressing another of your judicious anticipations.”
“I rather imagined that would be the next move,” was the easy, self-satisfied reply.—“Mr. Coverdale, with all his surprising freshness and naïveté of character, could scarcely propose to urge his suit in person, after having quarrelled with your father over his wine last night; for which reason, by the way, it requires no very great tact to divine that Mr. Crane’s proposal will find favour in Mr. Hazlehurst’s eyes, and Mr. Coverdale’s be rejected.”
“And the remedy?” inquired Arthur, eagerly.
D’Almayne paused, then a meaning but disagreeable smile passed across his handsome features, as he replied,—“If I can induce Mr. Crane to withdraw his suit of his own accord, yet continue his amicable relations towards this family, and be willing to sell the farm to your father at his own price, and by these means lead Mr. Hazlehurst to regard your friend’s offer favourably, shall I be acting in accordance with your wishes.”
“Nay, my dear D’Almayne, if you can indeed persuade Mr. Crane to perform so magnanimous a part, I shall consider you the best and cleverest fellow in the world. As to my wishing you to do so, I should as soon have thought of wishing you to appoint me First Lord of the Treasury—one only wishes for such things as one, in some degree, expects to obtain. But surely you over-calculate your powers of persuasion,” returned Hazlehurst, scarcely knowing whether D’Almayne might not be amusing himself at his expense.
“I will remain here and await the result of your interview with your father, and if it terminate as I predict, I will attempt my little bit of diplomacy;—the result will prove to you whether or not I overrate my Machiavelian talents,” was the confident reply—and so they parted.