“But what sort of revenge think you he will seek?” demanded Wilton—­“situated as the Duke is, I see no opportunity that your father can have of injuring him.”

“Heaven only knows,” replied Lord Sherbrooke.  “The fire will go on smouldering for months, perhaps for years, but it will not go out.  He said, just before you came in, that because she had refused to marry me, he would make her marry a footman; and, as I really believe his lordship is occasionally endowed with superhuman powers of executing what he thinks fit, it would not surprise me at all to see my Lady Laura led to the altar by John Noakes, our porter’s son, dressed up for the occasion as a foreign prince.”

“I do not fear that,” replied Wilton with a smile; “I should rather apprehend that he may entangle the good Duke, who does not seem overburdened with sense, in some of these sad plots which are daily taking place.  Should we find out that such is the case, we may indeed aid in preventing it.”

Lord Sherbrooke shook his head.  “It is the poor girl he will aim at first, depend upon it,” the young nobleman answered.  “I wish to Heaven she had told me her intention of refusing me in such a formal manner; I would have shown her how to manage the matter without calling down this storm.  But, instead of that, she sits down and deliberately writes him a letter, which, just in the proportion that it is honest, true, and straightforward, is the thing best calculated to excite his wrath.  Yet, as if she had some idea of his character, and wished to shield her father, she takes the whole responsibility of the thing upon herself, telling him that the Duke had pressed her much upon the subject, but that she felt it would be utterly impossible to give her hand to your very humble servant.  All this has, of course, brought the storm more directly upon herself, though her father will be screened thereby in no degree.  I doubt not he has gone there now.”

“Do you think there is any chance of an actual and open quarrel between them?” demanded Wilton.

“Not in the least,” answered Lord Sherbrooke with a scoff:  “my dear Wilton, you must be as blind as a mole, if you do not see that my father, though as brave as a lion, is not a man to quarrel with any one.  He is a great deal too good a politician for that; he knows that in quarrelling with any one he hates, he must suffer something himself, and may suffer a good deal.  No, no, he takes a better plan, and contrives to make his enemies suffer while he suffers not at all.  In general, if you see him particularly civil to anybody, you may suppose that he looks upon them as an enemy, and is busy in getting them quietly into his power.  Quarrel with the Duke?  Oh no, a thousand to one, ere half an hour be over, he will be shaking him cordially by the hand, putting him quite at his ease, begging him to let the matter be forgotten altogether, saying that it was natural he should seek so illustrious