The reflection did not give him pleasure, but the contrary. He felt himself in an awkward position—the recipient of a hospitality not meant for himself, but rather for one who had injured him; and who, although his own relative, he now regarded as his enemy.
His uncle would hear of it—no doubt, soon—and would be able to accuse him of taking advantage of his name. The thought caused Herbert a feeling of uneasiness.
Perhaps he would have cared less had there been no one but his uncle to be cognisant of the false position. But there was. His short and troubled visit to Mount Welcome had made Herbert Vaughan acquainted with one whose remembrance was likely for a long time to exert an influence over his thoughts—even though lips as red, and eyes, perhaps, as brilliant as hers, were now smiling courteously upon him.
The memory of his cousin Kate was still mellow. He could fancy her soft, sweet voice yet ringing in his ears; the warm glow of her virgin presence seemed hanging like a halo around him: all urging him to preserve the heroism of his character, if only for the sake of standing well in her estimation.
Influenced by these considerations, he resolved to throw off the mask with which circumstances had momentarily invested him, and declare the true position in which he stood to his haughty relative.
It was not until the conclusion of the dinner—after the daughter of his host had retired smilingly from the table—that the young Englishman unburdened himself. Then—perhaps a little prompted by the wine—he made a full confession of the disagreeable circumstances existing between himself and the master of Mount Welcome.
Was it the wine—somewhat freely pressed upon him—that hindered him from perceiving the displeasure which his communication had produced upon his hearer? Was there any show of displeasure?
If there was, Herbert did not perceive it.
On the contrary, had the young man been closely observant, he might have noticed an effect of altogether an opposite character. Behind the green goggles, he might have seen those deep dark Israelitish eyes sparkling with joy at the revelation he had made.
“I’m exsheedingly sorry, young Mashter Vochan,” said the Jew, after his surprise at Herbert’s revelations had apparently subsided—“exsheedingly sorry I ish—to hear that you and your uncle are not on good terms. Ah! well; we mush hope for the besht; and ash I am one of Mishter Vochan’s humble friendsh, possibly I might do somethingsh to reconshile your little quarrel. Doosh you not intend going back to Mount Welcome?”