“What was there peculiar about his name? Oliver! it is not a bad name,” Lady Brotherton said.
“It is not the Oliver, but the Isaac Oliver. Lydia was startled too. It is a name we know very well in the Fell-country,” Lionel said. He was able to treat the subject more lightly than Liddy, on whom, in her excitement, this new and sudden fire had caught at once. He told his mother all about Isaac Oliver, with details that quite satisfied her as to the origin of the stranger’s startled looks and apparent excitement when he heard Liddy’s name.
“That’s it, you may be sure,” she said; “he is ashamed of his people. He is a son or a nephew or something of your old man, and he doesn’t want it to be known; very natural. He must have kept it a secret from Mr. Bonamy—who never would have let Rita marry him if he had known. Well, I am almost glad it is that, and nothing worse. I thought you had made an impression upon him, Liddy, my dear. I thought his eyes would have leapt out of his head when he saw you. Of course, I saw in a moment there was something; but this explains it. Dear, dear, what a sad thing for the Bonamys if it ever comes to be known! You must take the greatest care, both of you, not to betray him. Now, remember—not a word,” Lady Brotherton said, making as though she would have put her soft, plump, white hand first on one mouth and then on another. Nevertheless, when Mr. Bonamy himself came in later, she could not help telling him that “my young people” knew, they supposed, some of Mr. Oliver’s friends. But Lady Brotherton was very sorry when she saw with how much interest a statement which she thought too vague to do any harm was received.
“My dear lady,” the Vice-Consul cried, “they know more than I do if they know his friends. He is the best fellow in the world and the best son, and the most excellent husband that ever was; but I fear the world in general would think me very imprudent. I know nothing about his family, except that he quarrelled with them, and made a vow never to return till he had made his fortune. Well, I don’t know where he will do that—not in the service of H.B.M. He has settled down here with me, and we are all very comfortable, and it was no small comfort to me to find an English husband for Rita who would not insist upon taking her to England. It was all settled,” said Mr. Bonamy, “when I was so ill. I believed I was going to die, and so did everybody else; and to provide for my Rita was all I thought of. Well, I have nothing to regret. He makes her an excellent husband, and she is as happy as the day is long; and I don’t know what I should do without him. Still I allow it was rash, for I know nothing about his friends.”
“When a man has proved himself to be all that,” said Lady Brotherton, in alarm, “it does not matter much about his family.”
“Well, no—perhaps not,” said the Vice-Consul, doubtfully. “But I have always taken it for granted they were people of some importance,” he added, elevating his head. “He speaks like a man with good blood in his veins; he has all the prejudices of a man of some family. I don’t think I can be mistaken in that; but I have never had the least clue to who they were. I should be quite glad to hear something about them from your young people.”
“Unfortunately,” cried Lady Brotherton, “they are both out; and then it was a mere conjecture, you know. Excuse me a moment, and I will ask the servant if he knows whether my son or Miss Joscelyn have come in——” And she hurried to the door to tell Thomas, who was waiting in the passage, to tell Miss Joscelyn and Mr. Brotherton, if they should make their appearance, that she was very much engaged, and begged they would not come in. “Remember, not come in,” she whispered, earnestly. Alarm had seized upon her. She had laughed at Lionel’s description of old Isaac Oliver—but, good heavens! to be the means of introducing such a very undesirable relation to the knowledge of the Bonamys! She was almost too much frightened to be able to face the Vice-Consul again; but it had to be done. She found him pondering when she went back. Sir John was lying down to rest, so that they were alone; and poor Lady Brotherton’s punishment for her indiscretion was not yet over.
“Did you say Miss Joscelyn?” he asked, “then I am sure it must be the same, for my son-in-law has Joscelyn in his name. He does not use it in an ordinary way, but on grand occasions; indeed I did not know it till I saw his signature at his marriage, and he has never liked to be questioned about it. Perhaps he may turn out to be a relation, a connection of your young friend.”
“Oh, I don’t think that is at all likely,” cried Lady Brotherton hastily, “her mother is a cousin of Sir John’s—” then she faltered and coloured, seeing the inference to be drawn from her words. “I do not mean that Mr. Oliver’s family is not—everything that is desirable,” she said.
The Vice-Consul looked up for a moment startled; but then he bethought himself of Lady Brotherton’s “way.” Her way he said to himself was well known. She was fond of connecting things that had no connection, and scorning those that had. So he answered without offence, “I did not suppose for a moment that you meant anything of the kind, Lady Brotherton; you will like him when you know him. He is as good a fellow as ever stepped; not very much educated—but so few of your young English squireocracy are.”