as not at
all unpleasant to her.
To the eyes of Wilton it was very evident that Lord Byerdale was
extremely irritated by what he had heard. No one else perceived it,
however, for, as was usual with him, the irritation of the moment,
though likely to produce very serious effects at an after period,
clothed itself for the time in additional smiles and stately
courtesies, only appearing now and then in an additional drop of
sarcastic bitterness mingling with all the civil things that he said.
As usual, also, he was peculiarly soft and reverential in his manner
towards those with whom he was most angry, and the Duke and Lady
Laura were more the objects of his particular attention than ever.
He sat beside her; he talked to her; he paid her that marked
attention which his son had neglected to offer; and at length, when
the Duke proposed to retire, he himself handed her to the carriage,
paying her some well turned compliment at every step, and relieving
his heart of its bitterness by some stinging sneer at the rest of
womankind.
Thus passed over the evening; and Wilton, it must be acknowledged
with a mind more at ease on account of the decided part that Lady
Laura seemed to have taken, slept soundly and dreamt happily, though
he still resolved, sooner or later, to crush feelings which could
only end in misery.
On the following morning he went to the house of Lord Byerdale at the
usual hour, and proceeded at once to the cabinet of the Earl. It was
already occupied by that nobleman and his son, however; and though
there were no loud words spoken, no angry tones audible, yet there
were sufficient indications of angry feeling, at least on the part of
the Earl, to make Wilton immediately pause and draw back a step.
"Come in, come in," said the Earl--"you know all this affair, and I
believe have done what you could to make this young man reasonable."
Wilton accordingly entered the room, and Lord Byerdale again turned
to his son, laying his finger upon the letter before him. "I repeat,
Sherbrooke," he said, "that you yourself have done all this. I did
not ask you, sir, to be virtuous, I did not ask you to be temperate,
I did not bid you cast away the dice or abandon drunkenness and
revelling, or turn off three or four of your mistresses, or to give
over going to the resort of every sort of vice in the metropolis. I
asked you none of these things, because it would be hard and
ungenerous to require a man to do what his nature and habits render
perfectly impossible. R