It was just at that moment that Michael Reid felt something new and strange stirring within him, something he had never in his whole life felt before—a germ, the first germ of true nobility and true manliness. The stirring of this new something was very slight at first—so slight that it seemed to him that he had hardly felt it at all. Nevertheless, the colour of shame did dye his face. He rose from his chair, and said in a choking voice—
“Thank you for coming up, dad. I know you mean well. And now, you must be tired out. Shall we go and have something to eat?”
“But you haven’t answered me,” said the astonished Major. “You allow the precious moments to fly. My idea is this: I thought it all out carefully in the train. Florence need have no reason to suppose that you know anything about her unexpected change of fortune. You can still approach her, as it were, in her state of poverty. Don’t look at me like that, my boy. Men have done such things before. You told her once—”
“Yes, father—yes,” interrupted Michael, “I told Florence a very, very short time ago—a few days ago, in fact—that were she as poor as a church mouse it would be all the same to me.”
“You told her that, Michael, really?”
“I did—I did!” said the young man; “and if you had only seen how her eyes shone and how she looked at me. She thought then that she was poor—poor as I have described. She believed in me then. I told her a lie, of course.”
“Your path is clear,” said the Major, becoming so excited that he began to pace up and down the room. “You can easily explain away the impression you unfortunately made upon her on that miserable day. You can tell her that however great her poverty, she is all the world to you. Do it, Michael; do it!”
“You want me to tell her another lie,” said Michael Reid.
The Major laid his hand, his shrivelled old hand, on Michael’s firm, broad shoulder.
“You are young,” he said; “you have the world before you. You have the chance of winning the love of a beautiful and very rich girl. You have got into many difficulties which many other young men in your station have, alas! also plunged themselves in. There is a way out; but there is not an hour to lose. Write to her to-night: beg for an interview. She is with Lady Marian Dixie in Cadogan Place. You can see her in the morning. Speak to her quickly—before she gives you her news. You can retrieve your position: all is not lost. No one knows at Langdale, with the exception of Mrs Fortescue, that I have come up to town; no one shall know. I will take the evening train and creep back to the Moat under shadow of the darkness. You cannot possibly have heard the news—so people will say. Act on my advice, Michael—act on my advice.”