Lord Sherbrooke was now dressed as might well become a man of rank in his day; with a certain spice of foppery in his apparel, indeed, and with a slight difference in the fashion and materials of his clothes from those ordinarily worn in England, which might just mark, to an observing eye, that they had been made in a foreign country.

His demeanour was much more calm and sedate than it had been in the morning; and sitting down, he began by a reproach to Wilton, for having gone away without waiting to see him again.

“The fact is, my lord,” replied Wilton, “that the Earl, though he did not absolutely send me away, gave me such an intimation to depart, that I could not well avoid it.”

“It strikes me, Wilton,” said Lord Sherbrooke, familiarly, “that my father is treating you extremely ill; Lord Sunbury gave me a hint of the kind, when I saw him in Rome; and I see that he said even less than the truth.”

“I have no right to complain, my lord,” answered Wilton, after pausing for a moment to master some very painful emotions—­“I have no reason to complain, my lord, of conduct that I voluntarily endure.”

“Very well answered, Wilton!” replied the young lord, “but not logically, my good friend.  Every gentleman has a right to expect gentlemanly treatment.  He has a right to complain if he does not meet with that which he has a right to expect; and he does not bar himself of that right of complaint, because any circumstances render it expedient or right for him not to resist the ill-treatment at which he murmurs.  However, it is more to your honour that you do not complain; but I know my father well, and, of course, amongst a great many high qualities, there are some not quite so pleasant.  We must mend this matter for you, however, and what I wish to say to you now, is, that you must not spoil all I do, by any pride of that kind which will make you hold back when I pull forward.”

“Indeed, my lord,” replied Wilton, “you would particularly oblige me by making no effort to change the position in which I am placed.  All the communication which takes place between your lordship’s father and myself is quite sufficient for the transaction of business, and we can never stand in any other relation towards each other than that of minister and private secretary.”

“Or clerk, as he called you to me to-day,” said Lord Sherbrooke, drily.

“The name matters very little, my lord,” replied Wilton; “he calls me secretary to myself, and such he stated me to be in the little memorandum of my appointment, which he gave me, but if it please him better to call me clerk, why, let him do it.”