But of late matters had assumed an aspect that troubled him. This appearance of, to him, an entirely new character upon the stage, was a something for which he had not bargained. At first it was too ridiculous; the idea was preposterous that a young naval lieutenant should compete with him—should come between his nobility and the object upon which he had set his choice: he—Lord Maudlaine—son of an Earl, with the said Earl’s coronet looming for him in no very distant part of the future’s horizon.
But there was the mishap in the marsh. Deuced unfortunate thing, you know. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been himself, and he had dived in after her; but for this impertinent fellow to be on the marsh, and run and jump in after Miss Gernon, it was too bad, you know—a deal too bad—and he couldn’t stand much more of it.
“Horsewhip him!” said Sir Murray, with a fierce snarl, when, after a good deal of circumlocution, his lordship complained of the coolness of his intended, and her frequent encounters with Brace Norton.
“But—a—a don’t you think—wouldn’t it be better if you spoke to her upon the subject—forbade her, you know, to see him any more?” said his lordship.
“Horsewhip him, I tell you!” snarled Sir Murray. “Or, would your lordship like to wake up some morning to the fact that she had disgraced us by a foolish escapade—gone off, for instance, with this vagabond?” said Sir Murray, fiercely.
“No! By Jove, no!” exclaimed the Viscount, turning pale at the very thought, and suffering from incipient symptoms of Braham on the brain.
“Because,” said Sir Murray, giving an involuntary shudder, as he thought of the past—“because any anger on my part, any undue influence, would militate against your prospects—drive her, as it were, into the scoundrel’s arms!”
“Don’t put it in that light, please,” said his lordship, faintly.
“You are young, strong, and active,” continued Sir Murray. “Pay more attention to her; and, as for this man, if he will not take notice of the letter I have sent him, horsewhip him—shoot him, if needs be; for he is a cowardly hound, the son of a coward father!”
Sir Murray Gernon’s eyes flashed, and his dark face grew darker, as he angrily hissed the latter words, before turning with clenched teeth, and walking up and down hastily.