“You have read this confounded paragraph?” says the Marquis.
“We have read it: and were deucedly cut up, too,” says Henchman, “for your sake, my dear boy.”
“I remembered what you said, last year, Marquis,” cries Todhunter (not unadroitly). “You, yourself, pointed out, in this very room, I recollect, at this very table—that night Coralie and the little Spanish dancer and her mother supped here, and there was a talk about Highgate—you, yourself, pointed out what was likely to happen. I doubted it; for I have dined at the Newcomes’, and seen Highgate and her together in society often. But though you are a younger bird, you have better eyes than I have—and you saw the thing at once—at once, don’t you remember I and Coralie said how glad she was, because Sir Barnes ill-treated her friend. What was the name of Coralie’s friend, Hench?”
“How should I know her confounded name?” Henchman briskly answers. “What do I care for Sir Barnes Newcome and his private affairs? He is no friend of mine. I never said he was a friend of mine. I never said I liked him. Out of respect for the Chief here, I held my tongue about him, and shall hold my tongue. Have some of this pate, Chief! No? Poor old boy! I know you haven’t got an appetite. I know this news cuts you up. I say nothing, and make no pretence of condolence; though I feel for you—and you know you can count on old Frank Henchman—don’t you, Malcolm?” And again he turns away to conceal his gallant sensibility and generous emotion.
“What does it matter to me?” bursts out the Marquis, garnishing his conversation with the usual expletives which adorned his eloquence when he was strongly moved. “What do I care for Barnes Newcome, and his confounded affairs and family? I never want to see him again, but in the light of a banker, when I go to the City, where he keeps my account. I say, I have nothing to do with him, or all the Newcomes under the sun. Why, one of them is a painter, and will paint my dog, Ratcatcher, by Jove! or my horse, or my groom, if I give him the order. Do you think I care for any one of the pack? It’s not the fault of the Marchioness of Farintosh that her family is not equal to mine. Besides two others in England and Scotland, I should like to know what family is? I tell you what, Hench. I bet you five to two, that before an hour is over my mother will be here, and down on her knees to me, begging me to break off this engagement.”
“And what will you do, Farintosh?” asks Henchman, slowly, “Will you break it off?”
“No!” shouts the Marquis. “Why shall I break off with the finest girl in England—and the best-plucked one, and the cleverest and wittiest, and the most beautiful creature, by Jove, that ever stepped, for no fault of hers, and because her sister-in-law leaves her brother, who I know treated her infernally? We have talked this matter over at home before. I wouldn’t dine with the fellow; though he was always asking me; nor meet, except just out of civility, any of his confounded family. Lady Anne is different. She is a lady, she is. She is a good woman: and Kew is a most respectable man, though he is only a peer of George III.’s creation, and you should hear how he speaks of Miss Newcome, though she refused him. I should like to know who is to prevent me marrying Lady Anne Newcome’s daughter?”
“By Jove, you are a good-plucked fellow, Farintosh—give me your hand, old boy,” says Henchman.
“Heh! am I? You would have said, give me your hand, old boy, whichever way I determined, Hench! I tell you, I ain’t intellectual, and that sort of thing. But I know my rank, and I know my place; and when a man of my station gives his word, he sticks to it, sir; and my lady, and my sisters, may go on their knees all round; and, by Jove, I won’t flinch.”
The justice of Lord Farintosh’s views was speedily proved by the appearance of his lordship’s mother, Lady Glenlivat, whose arrival put a stop to a conversation which Captain Francis Henchman has often subsequently narrated. She besought to see her son in terms so urgent, that the young nobleman could not be denied to his parent; and, no doubt, a long and interesting interview took place, in which Lord Farintosh’s mother passionately implored him to break off a match upon which he was as resolutely bent.