Malcolm, finding the only person he had really come to visit not present, opened his business to Mr. Wilton, who received him with sufficient coldness to have made uncomfortable a more sensitive person.
“My dear Mr. Wilton,” he said, with much awkward hesitation, “it was the intention of my good mamma, and two of my sisters, to have paid you and Miss Wilton an introductory visit, to open up a friendship between you, and to induce, if possible, Miss Wilton to form an agreeable intimacy with my sisters. But, unfortunately, my elder sister Helen, was most unaccountably and suddenly attacked with a fainting fit yesterday morning, and she is still very ill. Mamma has, therefore, been unable to carry out her wish, but fearing that you might, after your interview with my father, imagine there was some inexplicable delay in the tender of kind and social relations to you and your remarkably charming daughter, Miss Wilton, I have been—greatly to my own satisfaction—deputed to act as their avant courier, and to offer the kindest congratulations of our family.”
At the conclusion of this speech, Mr. Wilton coldly inclined his head.
“I thank Mrs. Grahame and her daughters for the honour they intend me and Miss Wilton,” he said, frigidly. “We do not at present mix much in society. We leave to a future time the desire to form new friends. Permit me, however, to thank you for the manner in which you have performed the task allotted to you.”
“Oh! there’s no credit due to me for that,” replied Malcolm—truly. “I believe,” he added, “the folks at home are animated by a wish to be on friendly terms with you and your family, and, upon my honour, I echo it. Besides, we are relatives, you know, Mr. Wilton.”
“Distant relatives, Mr. Grahame,” observed old Wilton, as though he wished that they should continue such.
He turned abruptly to Lester Vane, and continuing, said—
“Pray, Mr. Vane, are you of the Vanes of Durham?”
“A branch of my family,” replied Vane; “an uncle of mine lived on an estate in the county—Robert Tempest Vane, of Weardale——”
“An old and dear friend of mine. We were hoys and men together—friends from our first meeting until death separated us,” cried Wilton, with ardour.