‘But my Lady ordered the boy out of the room, and persisted in knowing nothing about you.’
‘And are you a kinsman and acquaintance of my Lady Lyndon, my Lord?’ said I, in a tone of grave surprise.
‘Yes, indeed,’ answered the young gentleman. ‘I left her house but to get this ugly wound from you. And it came at a most unlucky time too.’
‘Why more unlucky now than at another moment?’
‘Why, look you, Chevalier, I think the widow was not unpartial to me. I think I might have induced her to make our connection a little closer: and faith, though she is older than I am, she is the richest party now in England.’
‘My Lord George,’ said I, ‘will you let me ask you a frank but an odd question?—will you show me her letters?’
‘Indeed I’ll do no such thing,’ replied he, in a rage.
‘Nay, don’t be angry. If I show you letters of Lady Lyndon’s to me, will you let me see hers to you?’
‘What, in Heaven’s name, do you mean, Mr. Barry?’ said the young gentleman.
‘I mean that I passionately loved Lady Lyndon. I mean that I am a—that I rather was not indifferent to her. I mean that I love her to distraction at this present moment, and will die myself, or kill the man who possesses her before me.’