“Half a loaf did you say?” asked the quick-eared servant who had just entered with a tray. “Yes, sir—white or brown?”
“Both,” said Mr. Tallant.
“Yes, sir; what wine will you take, sir?”
“Sherry,” said Mr. Tallant.
“Yes, sir.”
And the son of the dead merchant commenced his luncheon. Before he had finished, the same servant brought him a note from Miss Tallant, which enclosed a letter to Twyzell and Kits.
“That’s all right,” he said to himself; “give my love to Miss Tallant, say I am greatly obliged to her, and that she need not give herself any further trouble in the matter.”
“Yes, sir.”
Poor Amy! She had not counted upon this new feature of difficulty in her scheme of ambition and revenge. But she was resolved that nothing should frustrate the accomplishment of the whole scheme which she had planned out. She was betrothed to Lord Verner, and she would marry him at any sacrifice, ay, even to standing at the altar with Mr. Richard Tallant in the paternal and brotherly position he had mentioned. It was rather singular that Richard Tallant as he returned to town that day should have thought so much about this same contingency.
“Why should I not be one of the wedding guests?” he said, as he smoked and waited for the next train at Orford Junction. “Why should I not give her away?”