"Has he seen her?"
"No, that's the deuce of it, she's away with her father, y' know. Bit of a mystery about him, I fancy—she made me promise to be patient a while, and ask no questions."
"And where is she?"
"Haven't the least idea. However, I went down to beard my Roman, y' know, alone and single handed. Great mistake! Had Clemency been with me the flintiest of Roman P's would have relented, for who could resist—Clemency? As it was, I did my best, Bev—ran over her points—I mean—tried to describe her, y' know, but it was no go, Bev, no go—things couldn't have gone worse!"
"How?"
"'Sir,' says I—in an easy, off-hand tone, my dear fellow, and it was after dinner, you'll understand,—'Sir, I've decided to act upon your very excellent advice, and get married. I intend to settle down, at once!' 'Indeed, Horatio?' says he,—(Roman of eye, Bev) 'who is she, pray?' 'The most glorious woman in the world, sir!' says I. 'Of course,' says he, 'but—which?' This steadied me a little, Bev, so I took a fresh grip and began again: 'Sir,' says I, 'beauty in itself is a poor thing at best—' 'Therefore,' says my Roman (quick as a flash, my dear fellow) 'therefore it is just as well that beauty should not come—entirely empty-handed!' 'Sir,' says I—(calmly, you'll understand, Bev, but with just sufficient firmness to let him see that, after all, he was only a father) 'Sir,' says I, 'beauty is a transient thing at best, unless backed up by virtue, honor, wisdom, courage, truth, purity, nobility of soul—' 'Horatio,' says my father (pulling me up short, Bev) 'you do well to put these virtues first but, in the wife of the future Earl of Bamborough, I hearken for such common, though necessary attributes as birth, breeding, and position, neither of which you have yet mentioned, but I'm impatient, perhaps, and these come at the end of your list,—pray continue.' 'Sir,' says I, 'my future wife is above such petty considerations!' 'Ah!' says my Roman, 'I feared so! She is then, a—nobody, I presume?' 'Sir—most beautiful girl in all England,' says I. 'Ha!' says my Roman, nodding, 'then she is a nobody; that settles it.' 'She's all that is pure and good!' says I. 'And a nobody, beyond a doubt!' says he. 'She's everything sweet, noble and brave,' says I. 'But—a nobody!' says he again. Now I'll confess I grew a little heated at this, my dear fellow, though I kept my temper admirably—oh, I made every allowance for him, as a self-respecting son should, but, though filial, I maintained a front of adamant, Bev. But, deuce take it! he kept on at me with his confounded 'nobody' so long that I grew restive at last and jibbed. 'So you are determined to marry a nobody, are you, Horatio?' says he. 'No, my Lord,' says I, rising, (and with an air of crushing finality, Bev) 'I am about to be honored with the hand of one who, by stress of circumstances, was for some time waiting maid at the 'Spotted Cow' inn, at Frittenden.' Well, Bev—that did it, y' know! My Roman couldn't say a word, positively gaped at me and, while he gaped, I bowed, and walked out entirely master of the situation. Result— independence, happiness, and—beggary."
"But, Dick,—how shall you live?"
"Oh, I have an old place at Devenham, in the wilds of Kent,—we shall rusticate there."
"And you will give up Almack's, White's—all the glory of the
Fashionable World?"
"Oh, man!" cried the Viscount, radiant of face, "how can all these possibly compare? I shall have Clemency!"