“It is unnecessary to translate,” said
Miss Wardour—“I comprehend your general
meaning; but I hope Mr. Dousterswivel will turn out
a more trustworthy character.”
“I doubt it not a little,” said the Antiquary,—“and
we are a foul way out if we cannot discover this infernal
vein that he has prophesied about these two years.”
“You have no great interest in the matter,
Mr. Oldbuck,” said the Baronet.
“Too much, too much, Sir Arthur; and yet, for
the sake of my fair foe here, I would consent to lose
it all so you had no more on the venture.”
There was a painful silence of a few moments, for
Sir Arthur was too proud to acknowledge the downfall
of his golden dreams, though he could no longer disguise
to himself that such was likely to be the termination
of the adventure. “I understand,”
he at length said, “that the young gentleman,
to whose gallantry and presence of mind we were so
much indebted last night, has favoured me with a visit—I
am distressed that I am unable to see him, or indeed
any one, but an old friend like you, Mr. Oldbuck.”
A declination of the Antiquary’s stiff backbone
acknowledged the preference.
“You made acquaintance with this young gentleman
in Edinburgh, I suppose?”
Oldbuck told the circumstances of their becoming known
to each other.
“Why, then, my daughter is an older acquaintance,
of Mr. Lovel than you are,” said the Baronet.
“Indeed! I was not aware of that,”
answered Oldbuck somewhat surprised.
“I met Mr. Lovel,” said Isabella, slightly
colouring, “when I resided this last spring
with my aunt, Mrs. Wilmot.”
“In Yorkshire?—and what character
did he bear then, or how was he engaged?” said
Oldbuck,—“and why did not you recognise
him when I introduced you?”
Isabella answered the least difficult question, and
passed over the other—“He had a commission
in the army, and had, I believe, served with reputation;
he was much respected, as an amiable and promising
young man.”
“And pray, such being the case,” replied
the Antiquary, not disposed to take one reply in answer
to two distinct questions, “why did you not
speak to the lad at once when you met him at my house?
I thought you had less of the paltry pride of womankind
about you, Miss Wardour.”
“There was a reason for it,” said Sir
Arthur with dignity; “you know the opinions—prejudices,
perhaps you will call them—of our house
concerning purity of birth. This young gentleman
is, it seems, the illegitimate son of a man of fortune;
my daughter did not choose to renew their acquaintance
till she should know whether I approved of her holding
any intercourse with him.”
“If it had been with his mother instead of himself,”
answered Oldbuck, with his usual dry causticity of
humour, “I could see an excellent reason for
it. Ah, poor lad! that was the cause, then, that
he seemed so absent and confused while I explained
to him the reason of the bend of bastardy upon the
shield yonder under the corner turret!”
