“Hah!” said Lord Carboro’, speaking quickly; “you say I am very old. Granted. That I ought to think of my coffin instead of a wife. Granted. That I am an old fool; but there I join issue.”
Denville had raised his hands deprecatingly.
“I am not an old fool, Denville.”
“No, my lord, you are not.”
“I’ll tell you why. I have said to myself that if this beautiful young creature swore to be my faithful wife I could trust her. She would be a sweet companion for my declining years; and, God bless her! if she consented, I would repay her for the sacrifice. In a few years I should leave her young, rich, titled, and free to choose some more suitable companion than the old man she had tended to his grave.”
There were no marks lying on the ground as those two elderly men stood face to face alone on the short turf of the Downs; but it seemed as if they must have dropped a tear.
Neither spoke for some minutes, and then it was the Master of the Ceremonies.
“My lord,” he said firmly, “you have given me this commission for my son as a bribe.”
“No, no, Denville, I swear I have not.”
“Take it back, my lord, for what you ask is impossible.”