“Well, Dr. Goldsmith, you see—sir, you are, I know, a favoured friend of the lady's—I perceived long ago—nay, it is well known that she regards you with great affection as a—no, not as a father—no, as—as an elder brother, that is it—yes, as an elder brother; and therefore I thought that I would venture to intrude upon you to-day. Sir, to be quite frank with you, I love Miss Horneck, but I hesitate—as I am sure you could understand that any man must—before declaring myself to her. Now, it occurred to me, Dr. Goldsmith, that you might not conceive it to be a gross impertinence on my part if I were to ask you if you knew of the lady's affections being already engaged. I hope you will be frank with me, sir.”
Goldsmith looked with curious eyes at the man before him. Colonel Gwyn was a well built man of perhaps a year or two over thirty. He sat upright on his chair—a trifle stiffly, it might be thought by some people, but that was pardonable in a military man. He was also somewhat inclined to be pompous in his manners; but any one could perceive that they were the manners of a gentleman.
Goldsmith looked earnestly at him. Was that the man who was to take Mary Horneck away from him? he asked himself.
He could not speak for some time after his visitor had spoken. At last he gave a little start.
“You should not have come to me, sir,” he said slowly.
“I felt that I was taking a great liberty, sir,” said Gwyn.
“On the contrary, sir, I feel that you have honoured me with your confidence. But—ah, sir, do you fancy that I am the sort of man a lady would seek for a confidant in any matter concerning her heart?”
“I thought it possible that she—Miss Horneck—might have let you know. You are not as other men, Dr. Goldsmith; you are a poet, and so she might naturally feel that you would be interested in a love affair. Poets, all the world knows, sir, have a sort of—well, a sort of vested interest in the love affairs of humanity, so to speak.”
“Yes, sir, that is the decree of Heaven, I suppose, to compensate them for the emptiness in their own hearts to which they must become accustomed. I have heard of childless women becoming the nurses to the children of their happier sisters, and growing as fond of them as if they were their own offspring. It is on the same principle, I suppose, that poets become sympathetically interested in the world of lovers, which is quite apart from the world of letters.”
Goldsmith spoke slowly, looking his visitor in the face. He had no difficulty in perceiving that Colonel Gwyn failed to understand the exact appropriateness of what he had said. Colonel Gwyn himself admitted as much.