“Who are you, sir?” said Algernon, quickly.
“Morris Brown,” replied the stranger,
coolly and civilly. “Brought that letter
to you, sir; shall be very happy to serve you with
anything else; just fitted out a young gentleman as
ambassador, a nephew to Mrs. Minden,—very
old friend of mine. Beautiful slabs you have
here, sir, but they want a few knick-knacks; shall
be most happy to supply you; got a lovely little ape,
sir, stuffed by the late Lady Waddilove; it would
look charming with this old-fashioned carving; give
the room quite the air of a museum.”
“And so,” said Mordaunt, for whose ear
the eloquence of Mr. Brown contained only one sentence,
“and so you brought this note, and will take
back my answer?”
“Yes, sir; anything to keep up family connections;
I knew a Lady Morden very well,—very well
indeed, sir,—a relation of yours, I presume,
by the similarity of the name; made her very valuable
presents; shall be most happy to do the same to you,
when you are married, sir. You will refurnish
the house, I suppose? Let me see; fine proportions
to this room, sir; about thirty-six feet by twenty-eight;
I’ll do the thing twenty per cent cheaper than
the trade; and touching the lovely little—”
“Here,” interrupted Mordaunt, “you
will take back this note, and be sure that Miss Isabel
St. Leger has it as soon as possible; oblige me by
accepting this trifle,—a trifle indeed compared
with my gratitude, if this note reaches its destination
safely.”
“I am sure,” said Mr. Brown, looking with
surprise at the gift, which he held with no unwilling
hand, “I am sure, sir, that you are very generous,
and strongly remind me of your relation, Lady Morden;
and if you would like the lovely little ape as a present—I
mean really a present—you shall have it,
Mr. Mordaunt.”
But Mr. Mordaunt had left the room, and the sober
Morris, looking round, and cooling in his generosity,
said to himself, “It is well he did not hear
me, however; but I hope he will marry the nice young
lady, for I love doing a kindness. This house
must be refurnished; no lady will like these old-fashioned
chairs.”
Squire and fool are the same
thing here—Farquhar.
In
such a night
Did Jessica steal from the
wealthy Jew,
And, with an unthrift love,
did run from Venice.—–SHAKSPEARE.
The persecutions which Isabel had undergone had indeed
preyed upon her reason as well as her health; and,
in her brief intervals of respite from the rage of
the uncle, the insults of the aunt, and, worse than
all, the addresses of the intended bridegroom, her
mind, shocked and unhinged, reverted with such intensity
to the sufferings she endured as to give her musings
the character of insanity. It was in one of
these moments that she had written to Mordaunt; and
had the contest continued much longer the reason of
the unfortunate and persecuted girl would have totally
deserted her.
