“I—I don’t mean him. No matter—I am not quite well. Young man, beware, whatever you may see, hear, or surmise in this house, must remain locked in your own heart.”
“Sir,” said Albert shrinking from the basilisk glance of Learmont, “my duty is simple. I have but to obey your honourable orders, and I shall do so to the utmost of my humble ability. It were, indeed, a poor return for your kindness to me, to babble of you or your affairs.”
“Well, so it would—you are right there,” said Learmont. “I would fain bind you to me and my interests by kindness—such substantial kindness as you would appreciate; and never forget I am rich—have some power, and am willing to use my wealth, and exert my influence. Can I serve you in any matter? You hinted that you had a source of trouble.”
Albert’s heart beat, tumultuously at these words, and his first thought was,—
“Will he exert his wealth and influence in assisting me to discover Ada?”
Learmont saw his agitation and said,—
“Speak freely. But should the man whom I wish you to follow arrive here during our converse, you must finish your story another time. I wish you to speak freely, and if I can bind you to me by benefit conferred upon you, I shall think myself well repaid.”
“Sir,” said Albert, “were—were you—you—”
“What?”
“Ever in love, sir?”