There is a wonderful difference, thought Philip, between making a man his heir and not forgetting him. Now, this not forgetting appeared to him more cruel and tormenting than entirely discarding him. It is very true that Mr. John Martindale had made no absolute promise that Philip should be his heir; and even if he had made the promise, and had violated it, there was no such thing as prosecuting him for breach of promise. He had merely given strong indications that such was his intention. Persons who are very rich, and have no legal heirs, may entertain themselves very much at the expense of hungry expectants and lean legacy-hunters. Who has not seen a poor dog standing on his hind legs, and bobbing up and down after a bone scarcely worth picking, with which some mischief-loving varlet has tantalised the poor animal till all its limbs have ached? That poor dog shadows out the legacy-hunter or possible heir. Every body has a right to do as he pleases with his own property, so far as concerns the disposition of unentailed estates; and every body has a right to do a great number of actions which may render his fellow-creatures miserable and uncomfortable. Very few of the annoyances to which man is exposed from his fellow-men have a remedy from law. To be sure, it may be said that the legacy-hunter is a simpleton for giving another power over him; but, alas! how could a young man, situated as the Hon. Philip Martindale, help himself. As he himself observed to his mother, “if I refuse the offer of the Abbey, I may so far offend the old gentleman, as to induce him to leave his property elsewhere.” But the young gentleman forgot that accepting the offer might, and very naturally would, lead him into many difficulties, and fix him as a dependent. He afterwards discovered this, when it was too late to find a remedy for the evil. But to proceed with our narrative.
After Mr. Martindale the elder had addressed what he thought an encouraging speech to his cousin, he called out to the coachman to stop when they were near to Temple Bar. The old gentleman then alighted, saying, he would return in a few minutes; and in a very few minutes did he return, bringing with him a gentleman whom Philip had seen before. This was no other than Horatio Markham. Now here was another mortification. Thus the poor man was annoyed with one trouble after another; and thus his mortifications increased upon him, and all because he must support the dignity of his rank. He could not be uncivil to Markham, nor indeed did he wish to be so. He had said, and that very sincerely, that there was nothing at all objectionable in Markham’s speech at the trial. He had been rather pleased with it than otherwise; he thought it far better than that of his own counsellor; and he had observed to several persons that there were some spouting prigs at the bar, that in a cause like that would have represented the defendant as a demon of incomparable malignity, and would have smothered him with a countless accumulation of awkward metaphors. He had said that Markham had shown much good sense in stating his case clearly and strongly, and without any of that school-boy slang, and those theme-like declamations by which some ill-judging ranters seem rather to seek the applauses of a tasteless mob than to apply themselves to that which may benefit a client. All this he had said, and all this he had really and truly thought; but he had no wish for all that to be brought into immediately close contact and intimacy with the person of whom he had said it. He respected Markham as a young man of good understanding and sound judgment; but he had no particular desire to be acquainted with all young men of good understanding and sound judgment. Still, however, he behaved civilly to Markham; and recollecting what his cousin had told him, that the young barrister was about to carry his legal talents to another part of the world, he on this account behaved to him with the less reserve, because there was not much danger of soon meeting him again, or being much troubled with his acquaintance. On the other hand, Horatio Markham, knowing or shrewdly suspecting the character and disposition of the gentleman to whom he was introduced, did not give himself any pedantic or professional airs, but with a very becoming and gentleman-like distance quietly entered into common-place talk, directing himself more to the elder of the two with whom he had been previously acquainted, than with the younger to whom he had been but recently introduced. Philip Martindale, therefore, began actually to like his new acquaintance, who was agreeable because he did not take any especial pains to make himself so, and who appeared to be well-informed because he did not studiously make a display of his knowledge. Now Philip, who could not tolerate any pedantry but the pedantry of rank, and that pedantry only in himself, was pleased with Markham for the absence of pedantry and affectation.
After a long and tedious rumbling, the carriage deposited the party at a hotel in the neighbourhood of St. James’s Square. Most agreeably disappointed was Philip when he was introduced to Signora Rivolta. There was no appearance of vulgarity or plebeianism about her. There was nothing in her style which indicated a disposition or tendency to impertinent encroachment; but, on the contrary, her most excellent and graceful carriage seemed as that of one conferring, not receiving a patronage. In Clara Rivolta, the daughter, he recognised that sweet prettiness which had first attracted his disrespectful attention; but there was added to this, a kind of mild dignity, a steady and calm self-possession, which appeared much more obviously and impressively under change of circumstances. In Signora Rivolta there was much more stateliness than in Clara; but there was a charm in the general expression of the features, gait, and manner of the latter, not easily described. There was nothing of pertness in her self-possession, and there was not the slightest appearance of or the remotest approach towards artificialness in any one part of her carriage and demeanour. Philip was not much in the habit of falling in love, nor was he frequently thrown into raptures by intellectual and moral charms; yet in the present instance he was very much struck both with the mother and daughter. Irresistibly was he led to behave to both with most respectful deference, and he for a moment forgot that these charming women would in all probability deprive him of the inheritance which otherwise seemed destined for him. Why could he not make an offer of his hand to Clara? What obstacle could there be to interfere with his success? Would his cousin object to it? Not likely. It would be a very convenient match, so far as pecuniary arrangements were concerned, and might save the old gentleman some trouble in disposing of his property. As for Miss Sampson, there might be a disappointment to her in such a step; but her fortune would not suffer her to wear the willow long.
Thoughts of this kind occupied the mind of the heir of Lord Martindale, and this seemed the most agreeable plan which he could possibly adopt to get rid of his difficulties. Before the day closed, he had made up his mind it should be so. In contemplating this new arrangement, he forgot to take one thing into consideration, that is, the probable consent of the young lady; and he also forgot or neglected to observe one thing, that is, the very particular attention paid to the young lady by Horatio Markham. It is pleasant to be deceived, and so we sometimes deceive ourselves, if nobody else will take the pains to do it for us. Very completely did Mr. Philip deceive himself in the idea that scarcely any thing was wanting to effect an union between Clara Rivolta and himself, save his own consent. He considered not that a young woman under twenty years of age, of secluded habits and of reflecting turn of mind, of calm good sense and of a feeling and sensible soul, unused to the fashions and flurries and formalities and flatteries of the great world, would entertain a very different idea of love from that entertained by a young gentleman between twenty and thirty, whose expectations were mortgaged to money-lenders—whose pleasures were the turf and the ring—whose spirit was agitated with gambling—whose motive for marrying was the means to keep up the dignity of his rank. He might have thought it possible that Clara Rivolta could not love the Hon. Philip Martindale, and he might also have thought it as possible that she would not marry him if she did not love him.
CHAPTER XVI.
“Oh, for a horse with wings!”
Shakspeare.