Sir Jasper Carew: His Life and Experience. Lever Charles James
last half-hour.”
“A most cordial embrace, indeed,” said Polly, fixing her eyes on Rutledge, who seemed far from being at ease under the inspection, while MacNaghten, giving one hasty glance through the window, snatched up his hat and left the room. He passed rapidly down the stairs, crossed the hall, and was just leaving the house when my father met him.
“The very man I wanted, Dan,” cried he; “come to my room with me for a few minutes.”
As they entered the room, my father turned the key in the door, and said, —
“We must not be interrupted, for I want to have a little talk with you. I have just parted with the Duke – ”
“I know it,” broke in Dan, “I saw you shake hands; and it was that made me hurry downstairs to meet you.”
My father flushed up suddenly, and it was not till after a few seconds he was collected enough to continue.
“The fact is, Dan,” said he, “this gathering of the clans has been a most unlucky business, after all. There’s no telling how it might have turned out, with favorable weather and good sport; but caged up together, the menagerie has done nothing but growl and show their teeth; and, egad! very little was wanting to have set them all by the ears in open conflict.”
MacNaghten shrugged his shoulders, without speaking.
“It’s an experiment I ‘ll assuredly never try again,” continued my father; “for whether it is that I have forgotten Irishmen, or that they are not what they used to be, but all has gone wrong.”
“Your own fault, Watty. You were far too anxious about it going right; and whenever a man wants to usurp destiny, he invariably books himself for a ‘break down.’ You tried, besides, what no tact nor skill could manage. You wanted grand people to be grand, and witty people to be witty, and handsome people to look beautiful. Now, the very essence of a party like this is, to let everybody try and fancy themselves something that they are not, or at least that they are not usually. Your great folk ought to have been suffered to put off the greatness, and only be esteemed for their excessive agreeability. Your smart men ought not to have been called on for pleasantry, but only thought very high-bred and well-mannered, or, what is better still, well-born. And your beauties should have been permitted to astonish us all by a simplicity that despised paint, patches, and powder, and captivate us all, as a kind of domestic shepherdesses.”
“It’s too serious for jesting about, Dan; for I doubt if I have not offended some of the oldest friends I had in the world.”
“I hope not,” said MacNaghten, more seriously.
“I am sadly afraid it is so, though,” said my father. “You know the Fosbrokes are gone?”
“Gone? When? I never heard of it!”
“They ‘re gone. They left this about an hour ago. I must say it was very absurd of them. They ought to have made allowances for difference of country, habits, education; her very ignorance of the language should have been taken as an excuse. The Tisdalls I am less surprised at.”
“Are they gone too?”
“Yes! and without a leave-taking, – except so far as a very dry note, dated five o’clock in the morning, may be taken for such, telling of sudden intelligence just received, immediate necessity, and so forth. But after Harvey Hepton, I ought to be astonished at nothing.”
“What of Harvey?” cried Dan, impatiently.
“Why, he came into my room while I was dressing, and before I had time to ask the reason, he said, —
“‘Watty, you and I have been friends since our schooldays, and it would tell very badly for either, or both of us, if we quarrelled; and that no such ill-luck may befall us, I have come to say good-bye.’
“‘Good-bye! but on what account?’ exclaimed I.
“‘Faith, I ‘d rather you ‘d guess my reason than ask me for it, Watty. You well know how, in our bachelor days, I used to think this house half my own. I came and went as often without an invitation as with one; and as to supposing that I was not welcome, it would as soon have occurred to me to doubt of my identity. Now, however, we are both married. Matters are totally changed; nor does it follow, however we might wish it so, that our wives will like each other as well as you and I do.’
“‘I see, Harvey,’ said I, interrupting him, ‘Mrs. Hepton is offended at my wife’s want of attention to her guests; but will not so amiable and clever a person as Mrs. Hepton make allowances for inexperience, a new country, a strange language, her very youth, – she is not eighteen?’
“‘I’m sure my wife took no ill-natured view of the case. I ‘m certain that if she alone were concerned, – that is, I mean, if she herself were the only sufferer – ’
“‘So, then, it seems there is a copartnery in this misfortune,’ broke I in, half angrily, for I was vexed to hear an old friend talk like some frumpy, antiquated dowager.
“‘That’s exactly the case, Watty,’ said he, calmly. ‘Your friends will go their way, sadly enough, perhaps, but not censoriously; but others will not be so delicately minded, and there will be plenty rude enough to say, Who and what is she that treats us all in this fashion?’
“Yes, Dan,” cried my father, with a flushed brow and an eye flashing with passion, “he said those words to me, standing where you stand this instant! I know nothing more afterwards. I believe he said something about old friendship and school-days, but I heard it imperfectly, and I was relieved when he was gone, and that I could throw myself down into that chair, and thank God that I had not insulted an old friend under my own roof. It would actually seem as if some evil influence were over the place. The best-tempered have become cross; the good-natured have grown uncharitable; and even the shrewd fellows that at least know life and manners have actually exhibited themselves as totally deficient in the commonest elements of judgment. Just think of Rutledge, – who, if not a very clever fellow, should, at all events, have picked up some share of luck by his position, – just fancy what he has done: he has actually had the folly – I might well give it a worse name – to go to Curtis and ask him to make some kind of apology to the Duke for his rude refusal of leave to shoot over his estate, – a piece of impertinence that Curtis has never ceased to glory in and boast of; a refusal that the old fellow has, so to say, lived on ever since, – to ask him to retract and excuse it! I have no exact knowledge of what passed between them, – indeed, I only know what his Grace himself told me, – but Curtis’s manner must have been little short of outrage; and the only answer Rutledge could obtain from him was: ‘Did your master send you with this message to me?’ – a question, I fancy, the other was not disposed to answer. The upshot, however, was, that as the Duke was taking his walk this morning, after breakfast, he suddenly came upon Curtis, who was evidently waiting for him. If the Duke did not give me very exact details of the interview, I am left to conjecture from his manner that it must have been one of no common kind. ‘Your friend,’ said his Grace, ‘was pleased to tell me what he called some home truths; he took a rapid survey of the acts of the Government, accompanying it with a commentary as little flattering as may be; he called us all by very hard names, and did not spare our private characters. In fact, as he himself assured me, fearing so good an opportunity might not readily present itself of telling me a piece of his mind, he left very little unsaid on any topic that he could think of, concluding with a most meaning intimation that although he had refused me the shooting of his woodcocks, he would be charmed to afford me the opportunity of another kind of sport, – I suppose he meant a better mark for me to aim at; and so he left me.’ Though nothing could possibly be in better taste or temper than the Duke’s recital of the scene, it was easy to see that he was sorely pained and offended by it. Indeed, he wound up by regretting that a very urgent necessity would recall him at once to town, and a civil assurance that he ‘d not fail to complete his visit at some more fortunate opportunity. I turned at once to seek out Curtis, and learn his version of the affair; but he and Ffrench had already taken their departure, this brief note being all their leave-taking: —
“Dear Watty, – In your father’s, and indeed in