Very properly resenting this insult, he speedily left the house; and being guided by his own knowledge as well as by the reports of others, he hastened to bestow his patronage on another of the same profession. But the Hon. Philip Martindale of Brigland Abbey was not, it appeared, at that time a name in high repute with that class of gentry who observe the strictest honor and secrecy in their transactions; and he had the mortification to find that his journey to London had been of no avail, and was not likely to be productive of any thing beneficial. Some people would, under these circumstances, have been disgusted with the world, and have retired to a hermitage, thinking that all their fellow-creatures were so worthless and unprincipled as not to be worth noticing or fit to live with. But happily in this instance for the Hon. Philip Martindale, he was not so easily disgusted with the world; he was under great obligations to it, and hoped to be under more. It is certainly a very pleasant thing to have a good opinion of oneself, but it is pleasanter to have that opinion positively than comparatively; and to quarrel with all the world at once is no great proof either of wisdom or virtue. Besides, Mr. Philip knew that half a dozen tradesmen, and half as many money-lenders, were not all the world.
The old proverb concerning misfortunes not coming singly, seemed to be about to be verified in the case of Philip Martindale; for as he was thoughtfully pacing the streets of the great city, and thinking of the various ills of life, and wondering how it should come to pass that a gentleman called the honorable, and residing in a magnificent mansion, and being heir-apparent to a title, and being nearly related to and a great favorite of a person of enormous wealth, should not be comfortable and satisfied in his own feelings as one residing in an inn of court, and giving much of his days to the dry study of the law. As he was thus meditating with himself, and communing with his own thoughts, he was roused from his reverie by the sound of the well-known voice of old John Martindale; for the old gentleman had just left the Bank at the moment that his cousin was passing it. With no very pleasant feeling did Philip return the old gentleman’s greeting.
“So you have come to town to look after me, Master Philip. But who would have thought of meeting you in this part of the world? What, have you any sly money transactions, or are you come to look after some rich citizen’s daughter. Or, perhaps, you have been at my hotel, and you were directed here to find me. But is your company all gone? Is it not rather rude to leave them? Well, but I hope you will not stay long in town; for there are sad doings at the Abbey when you are out. The other day, when you went to the archery nonsense at Hovenden, I actually found a couple of fellows smoking their filthy pipes in the great hall at the Abbey, and I had much ado to send them out of the house. Oliver told me they were drunk. They had the impudence to call themselves sheriffs’ officers. Now, I do not like this.”
The old gentleman had talked himself almost out of breath, and it was well for the young gentleman that the old one did not like the sound of any one’s voice so well as that of his own. Philip was one of those conscientious people who endeavour as much as possible to avoid all unnecessary lies; and when he wished to deceive, he preferred the circuitous shuffling mode of equivocation to a plain downright honest lie. In some cases he found a difficulty in escaping by this contrivance; and this difficulty he would have found in the instance in question, had not old Mr. Martindale been too much taken up with other thoughts and other interests than those of Philip Martindale and Brigland Abbey. But in truth he had been so much delighted with his newly-discovered daughter, that he took no very lively interest in any thing else. At their first meeting there were, as we said, no very extraordinary raptures or dramatic exhibition; but as they grew better acquainted, the old gentleman was charmed with the mild good sense and amiable manners of Signora Rivolta, and was greatly pleased with the intelligence and meekness of his grand-daughter Clara. Even Colonel Rivolta, though he had commenced life in a mercantile line, and had spent his best days in the army, yet was not destitute of information and literary taste. But the Hon. Philip Martindale, though born a gentleman, educated at an English university, and destined for the legal profession, was, notwithstanding all these advantages, by no means attached to literature, or endowed with any great share of taste. The old gentleman therefore had not been much delighted with his society, inasmuch as his conversation was either grievously common-place, or concerning those sports in which Mr. John Martindale took no interest. Serious rivals therefore had started up to engross the notice of the opulent relative. This fact was known very quickly to those whom it concerned; viz. the gentlemen of the strictest honor and secrecy. Theirs, indeed, would be but a bad business, if they could not now and then get possession of early intelligence and important secrets.
Very briefly did Mr. John Martindale inform his cousin of the discovery which he had recently made; and requesting, or rather commanding the young gentleman to enter the carriage, they proceeded westward, towards Mr. Martindale’s hotel. In the middle of the day the streets of the city of London, though very unfavorable for conversation, so far as foot-passengers are concerned, afford peculiar advantages and opportunities for this purpose to those who ride in carriages; for the multitude of vehicles, and their frequent misarrangement, very conveniently retards progress. Philip Martindale wished himself at home in Brigland Abbey, or quietly perusing briefs in his chambers at the Temple, or any where rather than where he was. But there was no escape for him.
“Now, Philip,” said the old gentleman, “I am going to introduce you to your new relations, or at least to mine, for I suppose you will hardly condescend to acknowledge them.”
“I shall be very happy, sir, to see, and very proud to own, any relations of yours.” So said the Hon. Philip Martindale; but his heart and lips were sadly at variance. He was not very well pleased that such relations existed; and it would not be very agreeable to him to be on terms of acquaintance, as he certainly must if his cousin commanded him, with persons of low and vulgar minds as he supposed these new relatives must be. The old gentleman suspecting that his high-minded relative was fancying that the persons in question were of low caste, in consequence of their having been discovered in a cottage with a poor man, replied:
“And I will tell you what, young man, they are not persons of whom you need to be ashamed. Colonel Rivolta held a very respectable station in the army, though he did fight for that fellow Bonaparte; and his wife, who is my daughter, is as well informed and well behaved a woman as ever I saw in my life. The young woman, I believe, you have seen before.”
Philip did not like the tone in which the latter part of this sentence was uttered, and perhaps there was not a possibility of uttering it in any tone that should be agreeable. Many other topics of conversation were introduced, none of which were very agreeable; and even that which the old gentleman uttered with great glee, as being a matter of great interest and good tidings to his cousin, was by no means agreeable to the young gentleman. After having talked some little time on the subject of his discovered daughter, and as if fearing that his honorable cousin might apprehend from this discovery some ill fortune to himself, with the kind purpose of banishing such fear, he observed:
“But you need not be jealous, Philip; I shall not forget you: so make your mind easy.”