“I should think not, my lord,” replied Wilton, resolved not to yield his point so easily.  “I should rather imagine that Lord Byerdale’s view was to give me an opportunity, on the contrary, of pleading my own cause with the Duke of Gaveston—­to give me an opportunity of recalling all those feelings of kindness, friendship, and generosity which the Duke has constantly displayed towards me, and of urging him by all those high feelings, which I know he possesses, not to crush an attachment which has grown up under his eyes, and been fostered by his kindness.”

The Duke was a little moved by Wilton’s words and his manner; but he had taken his resolution to make the present discussion between himself and Wilton final, and he seized instantly upon the latter words of his reply.

“Grown up under my eye, and fostered by my kindness!” he exclaimed.  “You do not mean to say, sir, I trust, that I gave you any encouragement in this mad pursuit.  You do not mean to say that I saw and connived at your attachment to my daughter?”

Wilton might very well have said that he certainly did give such encouragement and opportunity that the result could scarcely have been by any possibility otherwise than that which it actually was.  But he knew that to show him in fault would only irritate the Duke more, and he was silent.

“Good God!” continued the peer, “such a thing never entered into my head.  It was so preposterous, so insane, so out of all reasonable calculation, that I might just as well have been afraid of building my house under a hill for fear the hill should walk out of its place and crush it.  I could never have dreamed of or fancied such a thing, sir, as that you should forget the difference between my daughter, Lady Laura Gaveston, and yourself, and presume to seek the hand of one so much above you.  It shows how kindness and con descension may be mistaken.  Lord Byerdale, indeed, talks some vague nonsense about your having good blood in your veins; but what are your titles, sir? what is your rank? where are your estates?  Show me your rent-rolls.  I have never known anything of Mr. Wilton Brown but as the private secretary of the Earl of Byerdale—­his clerk he called him to me one day—­who has nothing but a good person, a good coat, and two or three hundred a year.  Mr. Wilton Brown to be the suitor for the only child of one of the first peers in the land, the heiress of a hundred thousand per annum!  My dear sir, the thing was too ridiculous to be thought of.  If people had told me I should have my eyes picked out by a sparrow I should have believed them as much;” and he laughed aloud at his own joke, not with the laugh of merriment, but of anger and scorn.

Wilton felt cut to the heart, but still he recollected that it was Laura’s father who spoke; and he was resolved that no pro vocation whatsoever should induce him to say one word which he himself might repent at an after period, or with which she might justly reproach him.  He felt that from the Duke he must bear what he would have borne from no other man on earth; that to the Duke he must use a tone different from that which he would have employed to any other man.  He paused a moment, both to let the Duke’s laugh subside, and the first angry feelings of his own heart wear off:  but he then answered,—­