Let it be remarked that Smeaton hesitated for a moment, at the very first word of the sentence which I have just reported. The original expression which first sprang to his lips, was "My mother;" but, for some reason, he changed it to the words she; and, after pausing for an instant, he added,
"Pray, what did Lord Bolingbroke say of her health?"
Sir John Newark took a letter from his pocket, and read as follows:
"The Countess of Eskdale has been very unwell, nearly at death's door. Otherwise, she would have gone over to England too, I doubt not; for they have some lands to claim, and other matters to settle, which might require her presence also. However, she was too ill to go and perhaps it is quite as well that she should not go, as it would only have embarrassed his proceedings."
Smeaton listened quietly while this was read, and then only observed, somewhat drily, that the noble Lord had taken more interest in his affairs than he had been aware of.
"I have had later letters," he added, "since then, and am happy to say that all danger is past."
"Then do you think," demanded Sir John Newark, "that her Ladyship is likely to come over?"
"Assuredly not," replied Smeaton. "She would not venture upon such a journey, without my company and protection."
Whatever there might be in this conversation of a satisfactory kind, and in whatever degree it might affect Sir John Newark personally, certain it is that it had considerable effect upon him. He seemed more frank and free in his whole demeanour from that moment; to put a greater degree of confidence and trust in his guest; and even to be more anxious for his prolonged stay. He had been everything that was courteous before; but now he was warm and pressing.
I need not detail all that look place farther that night. The potations of the host and his guest were neither deep nor strong; and the dinner closed with a walk through the park and neighbourhood in the bright evening air, rather than with bottle upon bottle, as was too much the custom in those days.