“I have said it! and said it to Lord Oldborough!” exclaimed Mr. Temple, looking as one uncertain whether he were dreaming or awake.
“It is undoubtedly uncommon to select a minister of state for the confidant of a love affair,” said Lord Oldborough, with an air of some repressed humour.
“I knew I should expose myself to your lordship’s derision,” exclaimed Mr. Temple.
He was too much engrossed by his own feelings, as he pronounced these words, to observe in his lordship’s countenance an extraordinary emotion. It was visible but for one instant.
With a look more placid, and a tone somewhat below his usual voice, Lord Oldborough said, “You have misjudged me much, Mr. Temple, if you have conceived that your feelings, that such feelings would be matter of derision to me. But since you have touched upon this subject, let me give you one hint—Ambition wears better than Love.”
Lord Oldborough sat down to write, and added, “For one fortnight I can spare you, Mr. Temple—Mr. Shaw will undertake your part of the business of office. At the end of the ensuing fortnight, I trust you will let me have your answer.”
Full of gratitude, Mr. Temple could express it only by a bow—and retired. The antechamber was now filling fast for the levee. One person after another stopped him; all had some pressing business, or some business which they thought of consequence, either to the nation or themselves.
“Mr. Temple, I must trouble you to look over these heads of a bill.”
“Mr. Temple!—My memorial—just give me your advice.”
“Sir—I wrote a letter, three weeks ago, to Lord Oldborough, on the herring-fishery, to which I have not had the honour of an answer.”