'I certainly should, sir. The family plate, sir, is not the first object in my mind,' replied Lord Colambre; 'family honour—Nay, Miss Nugent, I must speak,' continued his lordship, perceiving; by her countenance, that she was alarmed.
'Never fear, Miss Nugent dear,' said Sir Terence; 'I'm as cool as a cucumber. Faith! then, my Lord Colambre, I agree with you, that family honour's a mighty fine thing, only troublesome to one's self and one's friends, and expensive to keep up with all the other expenses and debts a gentleman has nowadays. So I, that am under no natural obligations to it by birth or otherwise, have just stood by through life, and asked myself, before I would volunteer being bound to it, what could this same family honour do for a man in this world? And, first and foremost, I never remember to see family honour stand a man in much stead in a court of law—never saw family honour stand against an execution, or a custodiam, or an injunction even. 'Tis a rare thing, this same family honour, and a very fine thing; but I never knew it yet, at a pinch, pay for a pair of boots even,' added Sir Terence, drawing up his own with much complacency.
At this moment Sir Terence was called out of the room by one who wanted to speak to him on particular business.
'My dear father,' cried Lord Colambre, 'do not follow him; stay for one moment, and hear your son—your true friend.'
Miss Nugent went out of the room, that she might leave the father and son at liberty.
'Hear your natural friend for one moment,' cried Lord Colambre. 'Let me beseech you, father, not to have recourse to any of these paltry expedients, but trust your son with the state of your affairs, and we shall find some honourable means—'
'Yes, yes, yes, very true; when you're of age, Colambre, we'll talk of it; but nothing can be done till then. We shall get on, we shall get through, very well, till then, with Terry's assistance. And I must beg you will not say a word more against Terry—I can't bear it—I can't hear it—I can't do without him. Pray don't detain me—I can say no more—except,' added he, returning to his usual concluding sentence, 'that there need, at all events, be none of this, if people would but live upon their own estates, and kill their own mutton.' He stole out of the room, glad to escape, however shabbily, from present explanation and present pain. There are persons without resource who in difficulties return always to the same point, and usually to the same words.
While Lord Colambre was walking up and down the room, much vexed and disappointed at finding that he could make no impression on his father's mind, nor obtain his confidence as to his family affairs, Lady Clonbrony's woman, Mrs. Petito, knocked at the door, with a message from her lady, to beg, if Lord Colambre was BY HIMSELF; he would go to her dressing-room, as she wished to have a conference with him. He obeyed her summons.
'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 anything 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.'