‘I think I can explain this matter, Mr. Talbot,’ interposed Mr. Erin; ‘satisfactorily as far as William Henry is concerned, if somewhat to my own disadvantage. Under a misconception which it is unnecessary to explain, I had tacitly forbidden my son to visit you. I am sorry for it. I hope you will now make up for it by seeing a good deal of one another while you remain in town.’
‘You’re very good, I’m sure,’ said Talbot. He looked from father to son in a vague and puzzled way, and then he looked at Margaret through his spyglass. The young lady, annoyed to be so surveyed, cast down her eyes, and Mr. Erin, with some revival of his old caustic tone, inquired, ‘Do you propose to deprive your friends at home of your society for any length of time?’
‘A week or two, perhaps more,’ returned the other, without a shade of annoyance; he had evidently taken his host’s remark au sérieux. ‘I am come up on business of my own,’ he added grandly; ‘for as to old Docket, though my articles are not yet run out, I treat him as I please.’
‘You are in the fortunate position of having a competence of your own, I conclude.’
‘Well, yes; that is, I come into it on my majority. Something in land and also in hand. I shall then leave the law and pursue the profession of a man of letters.’
‘Heaven deliver us!’ ejaculated Mr. Erin.
‘Sir?’ exclaimed the visitor.
‘And make us thankful for all its mercies,’ added his host, bending over his plate.
‘I beg pardon; grace,’ muttered Mr. Talbot, growing red to the roots of his hair.
Margaret reddened too, for it was not usual with her uncle to say grace; and William Henry reddened also with suppressed laughter. He had not given his father credit for so much dexterity.