“Sit down, my dear Colambre—” And she began precisely with her old sentence—“With the fortune I brought your father, and with my lord’s estate, I cawnt understand the meaning of all these pecuniary difficulties; and all that strange creature Sir Terence says is algebra to me, who speak English. And I am particularly sorry he was let in this morning—but he’s such a brute that he does not think any thing of forcing one’s door, and he tells my footman he does not mind not at home a pinch of snuff. Now what can you do with a man who could say that sort of thing, you know?—the world’s at an end.”
“I wish my father had nothing to do with him, ma’am, as much as you can wish it,” said Lord Colambre; “but I have said all that a son can say, and without effect.”
“What particularly provokes me against him,” continued Lady Clonbrony, “is what I have just heard from Grace, who was really hurt by it, too, for she is the warmest friend in the world: I allude to the creature’s indelicate way of touching upon a tender pint, and mentioning an amiable young heiress’s name. My dear Colambre, I trust you have given me credit for my inviolable silence all this time, upon the pint nearest my heart. I am rejoiced to hear you was so warm when she was mentioned inadvertently by that brute, and I trust you now see the advantages of the projected union in as strong and agreeable a pint of view as I do, my own Colambre; and I should leave things to themselves, and let you prolong the dees of courtship as you please, only for what I now hear incidentally from my lord and the brute, about pecuniary embarrassments, and the necessity of something being done before next winter. And, indeed, I think now, in propriety, the proposal cannot be delayed much longer; for the world begins to talk of the thing as done; and even Mrs. Broadhurst, I know, had no doubt that, if this contretemps about the poor Berryls had not occurred, your proposal would have been made before the end of last week.”
Our hero was not a man to make a proposal because Mrs. Broadhurst expected it, or to marry because the world said he was going to be married. He steadily said, that, from the first moment the subject had been mentioned, he had explained himself distinctly; that the young lady’s friends could not, therefore, be under any doubt as to his intentions; that, if they had voluntarily deceived themselves, or exposed the lady in situations from which the world was led to make false conclusions, he was not answerable: he felt his conscience at ease—entirely so, as he was convinced that the young lady herself, for whose merit, talents, independence, and generosity of character he professed high respect, esteem, and admiration, had no doubts either of the extent or the nature of his regard.
“Regard, respect, esteem, admiration!—Why, my dearest Colambre! this is saying all I want; satisfies me, and I am sure would satisfy Mrs. Broadhurst, and Miss Broadhurst too.”
“No doubt it will, ma’am: but not if I aspired to the honour of Miss Broadhurst’s hand, or professed myself her lover.”
“My dear, you are mistaken: Miss Broadhurst is too sensible a girl, a vast deal, to look for love, and a dying lover, and all that sort of stuff: I am persuaded—indeed I have it from good, from the best authority, that the young lady—you know one must be delicate in these cases, where a young lady of such fortune, and no despicable family too, is concerned; therefore I cannot speak quite plainly—but I say I have it from the best authority, that you would be preferred to any other suitor, and, in short, that—”
“I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you,” cried Lord Colambre, colouring a good deal; “but you must excuse me if I say, that the only authority on which I could believe this is one from which I am morally certain I shall never hear it—from Miss Broadhurst herself.”
“Lord, child! if you only ask her the question, she would tell you it is truth, I dare say.”
“But as I have no curiosity on the subject, ma’am—”