There was a dead pause. Poor Mrs. Benson was painfully occupied in observing her daughter; and Mr. Benson seemed resolved on avoiding every thing like advances to his visitor, who, at last, was again forced to start a new subject. Taking, therefore, a desperate resolution to come at once to the point, and ascertain how matters were likely to be between him and the Benson family, or rather, between his son and daughter-in-law, he said, “the principal object of my visit to-day, was to try and persuade you all three to come and pay me a visit at Wimbledon. I am now quite alone, and it would really be a charity”—and he addressed himself particularly to Mr. Benson.
“You know I am a man of business, my lord,” said he dryly—“my time is little at my own disposal. I cannot at present absent myself from home; and as for Emmeline, I do not think she is just now in a state to make any visits.”
“But, coming to me,” rejoined Lord Arlingford, with most determined civility and good humour, “would only be exchanging one home for another. My dear Emmeline, will you not indulge me?”
Emmeline made some answer, but her words were unintelligible. She saw, every minute, that Mr. Benson’s temper was rising, and she shook from head to foot.
“Well, you will think of it, and let me know when you feel inclined to come,” said Lord Arlingford, seeing it was useless to endeavour to press the matter any further—“and, perhaps, if we put it off a little, Mr. and Mrs. Benson will be able to accompany you.”
Mr. Benson made no answer; he had left his seat, and was restlessly fidgeting about the room. “So it shall remain that you write to me, and name your own day,” added Lord Arlingford, rising.
“Yes, your lordship will shortly hear from me,” said Mr. Benson, with a meaning, in his tone and manner, that Emmeline understood but too well; and, unasked, he rung the bell.
“Well, God bless you, my fair Emmeline,” said Lord Arlingford, kissing her on both cheeks, with a sort of flirting gallantry of manner that was so habitual to him, that neither age nor the infirmities of sickness had altered it, and which he maintained even with his daughter-in-law. “Make haste and recover the roses which, I must confess, the dissipation of London has a little flétri, that Ernest may find you in bloom and beauty on his return; and we must mutually let each other know when we hear from him; I am the most interested in the bargain, as I think we can guess who will have the first intelligence.”
Again Lord Arlingford forced Mr. Benson’s reluctant hand into his, and overcoming Mrs. Benson with civil speeches, went to his carriage. Mr. Benson constrained himself so far as to accompany his visitor to the hall-door.
“By the bye, my dear Benson,” said Lord Arlingford, stepping back just as he was entering the carriage, “when you do come, you shall find my horses to meet you in London, for it is too far to come the whole way with your own, and mine have positively nothing to do, so that it will be a kindness to give them a little exercise.”