Had the young courtier been closely observing, he might, at that moment, have detected upon the countenance of Henry Holtspur, a peculiar expression—one which he appeared endeavouring to conceal.
The brother of his mistress is the last man, to whom a lover cares to confide the secret of his bosom. It may not be a welcome tale—even when the fortunes are equal, the introduction en règle, and the intentions honourable. But if in any of these circumstances there chance to be informality, then becomes the brother the bête noire of the situation.
Was some thought of this kind causing Henry Holtspur a peculiar emotion—prompting him to repress, or conceal it from the brother of Marion Wade? On returning thanks for the promised introduction, why did he speak with an air of embarrassment? Why upon his countenance, of open manly character, was there an expression almost furtive?
The young courtier, without taking note of these circumstances, continued to urge his request.
“Well—you promise to come?”
“Sometime—with pleasure.”
“Nay, Master Holtspur, ‘sometime’ is too indefinite; but, indeed, so has been my invitation. I shall alter it. You will come to-morrow? Father gives a fête in our park. ’Tis my birthday; and the sports, I believe, have been arranged on an extensive scale. Say, you will be one of our guests?”
“With all my heart, Master Wade. I shall be most happy.”
After exchanging a mutual good-night, the two travellers parted—Walter entering the gate of the park—while the cavalier continued along the highway, that ran parallel to its palings.