He had the grace, however, to add, half sullenly, “Excuse me; I feel I have been too vehement.”
Miss Bruce, thus repelled, answered, rather coldly:
“Oh, never mind that; it was very natural.—I am at home, then,” said she to the servant.
Mr. Bassett took the hint, but turned at the door, and said, with no little agitation, “I was not aware he visits you. One word—don't let his ill-gotten acres make you quite forget the disinherited one.” And so he left her, with an imploring look.
She felt red with all this, so she slipped out at another door, to cool her cheeks and imprison a stray curl for Sir Charles.
He strolled into the empty room, with the easy, languid air of fashion. His features were well cut, and had some nobility; but his sickly complexion and the lines under his eyes told a tale of dissipation. He appeared ten years older than he was, and thoroughly blase.
Yet when Miss Bruce entered the room with a smile and a little blush, he brightened up and looked handsome, and greeted her with momentary warmth.
After the usual inquiries she asked him if he had met any body.
“Where?”
“Here; just now.”
“No.”
“What, nobody at all?”
“Only my sulky cousin; I don't call him anybody,” drawled Sir Charles, who was now relapsing into his normal condition of semi-apathy.
“Oh,” said Miss Bruce gayly, “you must expect him to be a little cross. It is not so very nice to be disinherited, let me tell you.”
“And who has disinherited the fellow?”
“I forget; but you disinherited him among you. Never mind; it can't be helped now. When did you come back to town? I didn't see you at Lady d'Arcy's ball, did I?”
“You did not, unfortunately for me; but you would if I had known you were to be there. But about Richard: he may tell you what he likes, but he was not disinherited; he was bought out. The fact is, his father was uncommonly fast. My grandfather paid his debts again and again; but at last the old gentleman found he was dealing with the Jews for his reversion. Then there was an awful row. It ended in my grandfather outbidding the Jews. He bought the reversion of his estate from his own son for a large sum of money (he had to raise it by mortgages); then they cut off the entail between them, and he entailed the mortgaged estate on his other son, and his grandson (that was me), and on my heir-at-law. Richard's father squandered his thirty thousand pounds before he died; my father husbanded the estates, got into Parliament, and they put a tail to his name.”
Sir Charles delivered this version of the facts with a languid composure that contrasted deliciously with Richard's heat in telling the story his way (to be sure, Sir Charles had got Huntercombe and Bassett, and it is easier to be philosophical on the right side of the boundary hedge), and wound up with a sort of corollary: “Dick Bassett suffers by his father's vices, and I profit by mine's virtues. Where's the injustice?”
“Nowhere, and the sooner you are reconciled the better.”
Sir Charles demurred. “Oh, I don't want to quarrel with the fellow: but he is a regular thorn in my side, with his little trumpery estate, all in broken patches. He shoots my pheasants in the unfairest way.” Here the landed proprietor showed real irritation, but only for a moment. He concluded calmly, “The fact is, he is not quite a gentleman. Fancy his coming and whining to you about our family affairs, and then telling you a falsehood!”
“No, no; he did not mean. It was his way of looking at things. You can afford to forgive him.”
“Yes, but not if he sets you against me.”
“But he cannot do that. The more any one was to speak against you, the more I—of course.”
This admission fired Sir Charles; he drew nearer, and, thanks to his cousin's interference, spoke the language of love more warmly and directly than he had ever done before.
The lady blushed, and defended herself feebly. Sir Charles grew warmer, and at last elicited from her a timid but tender avowal, that made him supremely happy.
When he left her this brief ecstasy was succeeded by regrets on account of the years he had wasted in follies and intrigues.
He smoked five cigars, and pondered the difference between the pure creature who now honored him with her virgin affections and beauties of a different character who had played their parts in his luxurious life.
After profound deliberation he sent for his solicitor. They lighted the inevitable cigars, and the following observations struggled feebly out along with the smoke.
“Mr. Oldfield, I'm going to be married.”
“Glad to hear it, Sir Charles.” (Vision of settlements.) “It is a high time you were.” (Puff-puff.)
“Want your advice and assistance first.”
“Certainly.”
“Must put down my pony-carriage now, you know.”
“A very proper retrenchment; but you can do that without my assistance.”
“There would be sure to be a row if I did. I dare say there will be as it is. At any rate, I want to do the thing like a gentleman.”
“Send 'em to Tattersall's.” (Puff.)
“And the girl that drives them in the park, and draws all the duchesses and countesses at her tail—am I to send her to Tattersall's?” (Puff.)
“Oh, it is her you want to put down, then?”
“Why, of course.”
CHAPTER II.
SIR CHARLES and Mr. Oldfield settled that lady's retiring pension, and Mr. Oldfield took the memoranda home, with instructions to prepare a draft deed for Miss Somerset's approval.
Meantime Sir Charles visited Miss Bruce every day. Her affections for him grew visibly, for being engaged gave her the courage to love.
Mr. Bassett called pretty often; but one day he met Sir Charles on the stairs, and scowled.
That scowl cost him dear, for Sir Charles thereupon represented to Bella that a man with a grievance is a bore to the very eye, and asked her to receive no more visits from his scowling cousin. The lady smiled, and said, with soft complacency, “I obey.”
Sir Charles's gallantry was shocked.
“No, don't say 'obey.' It is a little favor I ventured to ask.”
“It is like you to ask what you have a right to command. I shall be out to him in
