“Yes,” he said, when the strain ceased, as if pursuing a previous train of thought: “this is the way to forget. Steep the senses in enjoyment, and the conscience will have no room for action; wine, music, the dance, the smile of beauty, all shall contribute to my enjoyment, and life shall be—”
“May it please you, honourable sir, some one desires speech of you,” said a domestic.
“Say I am occupied,” replied Learmont, and he again resumed his glowing meditations. “Nobility,” he muttered, “will crowd to my fêtes, even royalty might borrow new grace and dignity from the halls of Squire Learmont. But that shall not long be my designation. Wealth in England can purchase anything, and titles are easily procured where the price is of little moment. I will be ennobled and—”
“Your pardon, sir,” said the servant, returning, “but; the stranger will not take a refusal.”
“Ha! He will not?”
“An’ it please you, sir, he will not go.”
“Have I not idle knaves enough about me to drive an insolent intruder from my doors?”
“’Tis a rude knave, your worship.”
“Cast him into the street. How dare he say he will see the master of Learmont?”
“It shall be done, sir. To come here talking about an Old Smithy.”