“In the name of God, do you purpose driving me mad?” cried Carew, flinging his empty glass into the fireplace, and leaping to his feet in the access of ungoverned passion. “You have stripped me bare as a bone and brought me to shame and dishonour; now you sit laughing at your handiwork.”
“Your own, sir,” said the Vicomte sternly. “These heroics will not serve their purpose; the question still remains unanswered. I would not willingly take on my shoulders any portion of your disgrace, though indeed I think you would not be loath to let me bear it all. In fine, what do you purpose doing?”
“Oh! you are a rare moralist.”
“There is not a better in the world. From the pulpit of my own transgressions I shall read you an excellent sermon. But, again, this is not to the purpose. I would have you know, my excellent cousin, I love your sister and would willingly make her my wife.”
“Before that I will see you----”
“You may spare yourself the trouble. Were the lady willing, I think not that I should ask your favour. But she is not willing. I fear she loves a better man who deserves her better--for which I do not find fault with her taste.”
“You appear to have studied my family affairs to some purpose, sir.”
“Mr. Orme is a better man than I, nor would I willingly do him an injury,” continued De Laprade softly, “but all things are fair in love, and I think I must ask your help.”
“What hath Mr. Orme to do with the matter? You put more, sir, on me than I can bear, and by heaven, I will put up with your gibes no longer. I am not a schoolboy to be lectured by a bully.”
“I have told you that we will not quarrel. I ask not your friendship but your help, and it may be also much to your own advantage. Therefore listen to me with all the patience you can command. I am mad enough to love Miss Carew--I, the prodigal, the spendthrift, whose career was run before I was a man, but so it is! She is much under your influence--the wise and prudent elder brother. Lend me your assistance, not to coerce her affections or thwart her will, for by heaven, I would not wrong her tender heart! but to bring her with all kindness to think favourably of her poor kinsman, and in the end it may be to return his passion. Hear me to the conclusion. I would not buy your help--you would not sell your aid. We both love the rattle of the dice-box. On the one side I place my gains, the rich lands, the fair demesnes, the ancestral house, the broad pieces--and on the other you will stake your persuasive speeches and fraternal affection. Let chance decide the fate: I would not do dishonour to your sister even by a thought. I do not think the stakes unequal; why should you?”