"Upon my word, Mr. Philip," replied Sir Andrew, "I would not give you satisfaction. I am very nervous—I cannot bear to be frightened. Besides, it spoils one's digestion to be in fear."
"Pshaw, nonsense!" interrupted Mr. John Martindale; "these matters are not to be made a joke of. It is serious to have one's name so exposed and made a public talk for the very rabble."
Old Mr. Martindale was manifestly quite out of humor, and young Philip Martindale was quite out of spirits. He had experienced the interference of his opulent relative in the government of his establishment and in the employment of his time, but he had never before heard him speak with such decided and authoritative harshness; and he attributed this to a suspicion which the old gentleman might entertain, that there had been, on the part of his dependent, other violations of propriety and decorum than the present. Sir Andrew Featherstone felt uncomfortable at the aspect of affairs, and speedily took his leave; but not without beseeching his young friend not to carry his feeling of honor so far as to cross the channel to settle the dispute.
When the impertinent baronet had departed, Mr. John Martindale renewed and repeated his disapprobation of his relative's conduct; and poor Philip had to undergo, without any alloy or abatement, a long and tedious lecture on the conduct which a young man of high rank ought to pursue. It was not very gratifying to him to find, that in no one instance he had acted as he ought. This, however, arose from his own unfortunate ignorance. He thought that he acted very much like a man of rank when he dropped all intimacy with the middling class of persons whom his legal studies had brought him acquainted with; he thought that he acted like a man of high rank when he patronised the ring by his presence, and supported it by his purse; he thought that he acted like a man of high rank when he attempted to improve the breed of English horses by playing at the hazard-table at Newmarket; he thought that he acted like a man of high rank when he encumbered and anticipated his revenue by the kind assistance of the Jewish people; he thought he acted like a man of high rank when, being very angry with Mr. Isaac Solomons, junior, of St. Mary Axe, he exchanged cards with the young gentleman, and designed to give him satisfaction by blowing out his brains; for if a man is not satisfied when his brains are blown out, he is never likely to be satisfied at all: he thought he had also acted like a man of high rank by taking a seat in parliament, and never attending to his business there except when his feeders whistled to him to come and vote. In all this, however, it seems that he erred. Indeed, it must be acknowledged that he did not feel very great satisfaction in his own conduct. He felt that he was not respectable. He had no real enjoyment in his follies; but he thought that if his means were increased, he should be more happy, and he now began to suspect more seriously than ever that he was suffering all the annoyance of dependence without any great hopes of reaping much ultimate advantage from it.
Left to himself, the thoughts of his dependent and equivocal situation rushed painfully and perplexingly into his mind. He saw no immediate prospect of extrication from his difficulties, except it should be in an advantageous marriage. Whatever ultimate advantage might result from marrying Clara Rivolta, it was very obvious that no immediate benefit would be derived from it. He would be thus rendering himself more than ever dependent on the caprice of his wealthy relative; and he did not much approve or admire the style of Signora Rivolta, whose notions of dignity differed much from his, and who possessed a very obvious and powerful influence over the mind of her father. Nothing appeared to promise him any effective liberation from his perplexities but a marriage with Miss Sampson. This, however, he could not contemplate with perfect satisfaction, and it began to be even less tolerable than it had formerly appeared. The more he knew of Miss Sampson, the more proofs did he find of her weakness and frivolity; and from the specimen which he had seen at the evening-party, he concluded that their city connexions were more numerous and less select than he had before imagined. Then again he recollected how sneeringly and contemptuously he had accustomed himself to speak and to think of vulgar people. For when Mr. John Martindale had offered him a residence at Brigland Abbey, and had, in making that offer, used such language as intimated his intention of constituting Mr. Philip his heir, the young gentleman began to swell and expand with very lofty thoughts, and to plume himself greatly on his rank, and to anticipate the embellishment and perhaps increase of his rank by means of an ample fortune. Gradually however these high thoughts abated, and the mortifications of dependence on a capricious old humorist became more sensible and annoying. And when the discovery of a daughter and her family had diverted the mind and thoughts of his opulent relative into another channel, then indeed did he most seriously tremble for his own fate.
From the painful thoughts into which these circumstances plunged him, he was roused by a message from his father, Lord Martindale, expressing a wish to see him immediately. The summons was immediately obeyed; and how great was his astonishment and concern at finding his lordship in his chamber with all the apparatus of sickness about him, and bearing on his countenance manifest symptoms of serious illness. Philip expressed and really felt great concern at these appearances, and began to reproach himself that he had neglected for several days past to call on his father and family. Lord Martindale desired him not to reproach himself on that head, for he felt assured that his son was not wanting in filial affection and regard for him. His lordship's voice was very feeble, but he exerted himself to say:
"I have sent for you, Philip, to explain some matters to you which might otherwise give you serious concern, should you not know them till my decease should reveal them."
Philip was about to speak, but Lord Martindale requested him to forbear, and proceeded: