“I sha'n't dispute anything. I suppose you have found him a good friend after all, as you say.”
“As good a friend as most men,” said Sir Richard, growing pale; “they all act from interest: where interests are the same, men are friends. But he has saved me from a great deal, and he may do more; and I believe I was too hasty about those stories, and I think you were right when you refused to believe them without proof.”
“I daresay—I don't know—I believe my senses—and all I say is this, if Mr. Longcluse is to come here any more, I must go. He is no gentleman, I think—that is, I can't describe how I dislike him—how I hate him! I'm afraid of him! Dick, you look ill and unhappy: what's the matter?”
“I'm well enough—I'm better; we shall be better—all better by-and-by. I wish the next five weeks were over! We must leave this, we must go to Arden Court; I will send some of the servants there first. I am going to tell them now, they must get the house ready. You shall keep your maid here with you; and when all is ready in Yorkshire, we shall be off—Alice, Alice, don't mind me—I'm miserable—mad!” he says suddenly, and covers his face with his hands, and, for the first time for years, he is crying bitter tears.
Alice was by his side, alarmed, curious, grieved; and with all these emotions mingling in her dark eyes and beautiful features, as she drew his hand gently away, with a rush of affectionate entreaties and inquiries.
“It is all very fine, Alice,” he exclaims, with a sudden bitterness; “but I don't believe, to save me from destruction, you would sacrifice one of your least caprices, or reconcile one of your narrowest prejudices.”
“What can you mean, dear Richard? only tell me how I can be of any use. You can't mean, of course——”
She stops with a startled look at him. “You know, dear Dick, that was always out of the question: and surely you have heard that Lord Wynderbroke is to be married to Grace Maubray? It is all settled.”
Quite another thought had been in Richard's mind, but he was glad to accept Alice's conjecture.
“Yes, so it is—so, at least, it is said to be—but I am so worried and distracted, I half forget things. Girls are such jolly fools; they throw good men away, and lose themselves. What is to become of you, Alice, if things go wrong with me! I think the old times were best, when the old people settled who was to marry whom, and there was no disputing their decision, and marriages were just as happy, and courtships a great deal simpler; and I am very sure there were fewer secret repinings, and broken hearts, and—threadbare old maids. Don't you be a fool, Alice; mind what I say.”