Luttrell Of Arran Part 46

"If you will permit me, Mademoiselle," said he, haughtily, to finish my phrase, "you will find that, notwithstanding my many and pressing engagements, and the incessant demands which the opening of term makes upon my time, it is my intention not to refuse this--this, I shall call it favour--for it is favour--to my respected client. Can you be ready by Monday?"

"We are Wednesday now! Yes; but of Mademoiselle Kate, what of her? Does she come with us?"

"I opine not," said he, gravely.

"And where she go to?" said she, with an eagerness which occasionally marred the accuracy of her expression.

"Sir Gervais has suggested that we may take one of two courses, Mademoiselle," said he, and probably something in the phrase reminded M'Kinlay of a well-known statesman, for he unconsciously extended an arm, and with the other lifted his coat-skirt behind him, "or, it is even possible, adopt a third."

"This means, she is not to come with us, Sir."

Mr. M'Kinlay bowed his concurrence. "You see, Mademoiselle," said he, authoritatively, "it was a mistake from the beginning, and though I warned Sir Gervais that it must be a mistake, he would have his way; he thought she would be a means of creating emulation."

"So she has, Sir."

"I mean, wholesome emulation; the generous rivalry--the--the--in fact, that she would excite Miss Vyner to a more vigorous prosecution of her studies, without that discouragement that follows a conscious--what shall I call it--not inferiority?"

"Yes, inferiority."

"This, I am aware, Mademoiselle, was your view; the letter I hold here from Miss Courtenay shows me the very painful impression your opinion has produced; nor am I astonished at the warmth--and there is warmth--with which she observes: 'Mademoiselle H. is under a delusion if she imagines that my brother-in-law was about to establish a nursery for prodigies. If the pigeon turns out to be an eagle, the sooner it is out of the dovecot the better.' Very neatly and very smartly put. 'If the pigeon-------'"

"Enough of the pigeon, Sare. Where is she to go? who will take her in charge?"

"I have not fully decided on the point, Mademoiselle, but by this evening I hope to have determined upon it; for the present, I have only to apprise you that Miss O'Hara is not to go to Italy, and that whatever arrangement should be necessary for her---either to remain in England, or to return to her family, will be made as promptly possible."

"And who will take her in charge, Sare?" said she, repeating the former question.

Mr. M'Kinlay laid his hand over the region of his heart, and bowed; but whether he meant that he himself would undertake the guardianship of the young lady, or that the matter was a secret enclosed in his own breast, is not at all easy to say.

"May I speak to her about this?"

"Not until I shall see you again; but you may take all such measures as may prepare her for her sudden departure."

Mr. M'Kinlay was, throughout the brief interview, more despotic than gallant. He was not quite satisfied that the mission was one in perfect accordance with his high professional dignity, and so to relieve himself from any self-reproach, he threw a dash of severity through his condescension.

"I suppose," said he, superbly--"I suppose she has clothes?"

Mademoiselle stared at this, but did not reply.

"I am somewhat unaccustomed, as you may perceive, Mademoiselle, to these sort of affairs; I know nothing of young ladies' wardrobes. I simply asked, was she in a position to travel, if called on, at a brief notice?"

"My poor Kate! my poor Kate!" was all that the governess could utter.

"I must say, Mademoiselle," said he, pompously, "that, looking to what she originally came from, and taking into account the care and cost bestowed upon her, I do not perceive this to be a case that calls for any deep commiseration."

"Poor child! poor child!" stammered she out; and, unable to control her emotion, she arose and left the room.

"Rickards was right; that artful minx has won them all over. It is high time to send her back to her own country, and, from the brief experience I have had of it, I'll venture to say all her captivations there will not make many victims. Three o'clock already," said he, with surprise, "and I had meant to be at Dalradern early." He rung and ordered the carriage. It had been at the door for above an hour. Strange how the morning should have slipped over; had it been real business, what a deal he could have transacted in the time; but these little "peddling negotiations," so he called them, ran away with a man's time before he was aware of it. As he pa.s.sed through the hall, he saw, through a partly open door, the two girls--they were seated at a table, with their heads bent over a map.

"Yea," said Ada, "this is the way papa mentions; here is Ma.r.s.eilles, and here, if the sea be rough, is the road we shall have to travel, all along the coast, by Nice and Genoa. Oh, don't you wish it may be bad weather, Kate?"

M'Kinlay bent his head, but could not catch the words she spoke.

"And I used to fancy you would like it all more than even I did myself,"

said Ada, in a tone of reproach.

"It is your lot to enjoy everything, and to have everything to enjoy,"

said Kate; "and mine is--no matter what it is--let us have a stroll in the garden."

M'Kinlay had just time to move on ere they arose, and, pa.s.sing out, he got into the carriage and drove away.

CHAPTER x.x.x. SCANDAL.

It was half-past four as Mr. M'Kinlay drove into the court-yard at Dalradern. Sir Within's note had said four o'clock, an early dinner, and Sir Within himself could be seen, at an oriel window, watch in hand, as the carriage pa.s.sed under the arched entrance. Now, though it was part of Mr. M'Kinlay's usual tactics never to "cheapen himself," he felt he might by possibility have erred on the opposite side on this occasion, and he prepared to make some excuses for his delay, the letters he had read, the replies he was forced to make, and such like.

The old Baronet heard these apologies with a most polished urbanity, he bowed a continual acquiescence, and then ordered dinner.

"I had hoped for a little daylight, Mr. M'Kinlay," said he, "to have shown you some of my pictures, which are only worth seeing when they have got sun on them. Are you fond of the arts?"

"Pa.s.sionately, Sir Within; devotedly, if a man so ignorant may dare to say so."

"Then, I must only hope for better fortune on another occasion, and that you will give me an entire morning, if you will not graciously make me a visit of some days."

"Oh, Sir."

"I think," continued he--"I think I could requite you. My Van Eyks are accounted the best of any private collection; and one at least of my Albert Durers will bear comparison with any in the Munich Gallery."

M'Kinlay muttered something that sounded as if he were firmly persuaded of the fact.

"I know," added Sir Within, "this sounds a little boastful; but when I shall have told you how I came by this picture--it is called the Queen's Martyrdom, and represents the Queen Beatrice of Bohemia on a balcony while her lover is going to the scaffold: the king, her husband, has ordered her to throw to him the garland or wreath, which was the privilege of n.o.bles to wear in their last moments--and, I say, when I tell you the history of the picture, you will, perhaps, acquit me of vainglory; and also, when you see it, you will render me a greater service by deciding whether the headsman has not been painted by Cranach. How I wish we had a little daylight, that I might show it to you!"

How grateful was M'Kinlay to the sun for his setting on that evening; never was darkness more welcome, even to him who prayed for night--or Blucher; and, secretly vowing to himself that no casualty should ever catch him there before candlelight, he listened with a bland attention, and pledged his word to any amount of connoisseurship required of him.

Still he hoped that this might not be "the case"--the especial case--on which Sir Within had summoned him to give counsel; for, besides being absurd, it would be worse--it would be unprofitable. It was a pleasant interruption to this "art conversation" when dinner was announced. Now did Mr. M'Kinlay find himself more at home when appealed to for his judgment on brown sherry, and the appropriate period at which "Amontillado" could be introduced; but he soon discovered he was in the presence of a master. Dinner-giving was the science of his craft, and Sir Within belonged to that especial school who have always maintained that Brillat Savarin is more to be relied upon than Grotius, and M. Ude a far abler ally than Puffendorf. It was the old envoy's pleasure on this occasion to put forth much of his strength; both the dinner and the wine were exquisite, and when the entertainment closed with some choice "Hermitage," which had been an imperial present, the lawyer declared that it was not a dinner to which he had been invited, but a banquet.

"You must run down in your next vacation, my dear Mr. M'Kinlay, and give me a week. I don't know if you are a sportsman?"

"Not in the least, Sir. I neither shoot, ride, nor fish."

"Nor do I, and yet I like a country life, as a sort of interlude in existence."

"With a house like this, Sir Within, what life can compare with it?"

"One can at least have tranquillity," sighed Sir Within, with an air that made it difficult to say whether he considered it a blessing or the reverse.

"There ought to be a good neighbourhood, too, I should say. I pa.s.sed some handsome places as I came along."