Barrington. Volume 2. Lever Charles James
he passes the threshold; therefore I would advise you to adopt habits that may be more suited to the land we live in.”
“All I know is,” said Barrington, rising and pacing the room, “that I could no more put a gentleman under my roof to the question as to his father and mother and his fortune, than I could rifle his writing-desk and read his letters.”
“Brother Peter, the weakness of your disposition has cost you one of the finest estates in your country, and if it could be restored to you to-morrow, the same imbecility would forfeit it again. I will, however, take the matter into my own hands.”
“With Withering, I suppose, to assist you?”
“Certainly not. I am perfectly competent to make any inquiry I deem requisite without a legal adviser. Perhaps, were I to be so accompanied, Major Stapylton would suppose that he, too, should appear with his lawyer.”
Barrington smiled faintly at the dry jest, but said nothing.
“I see,” resumed she, “that you are very much afraid about my want of tact and delicacy in this investigation. It is a somewhat common belief amongst men that in all matters of business women err on the score of hardness and persistence. I have listened to some edifying homilies from your friend Withering on female incredulity and so forth, – reproaches which will cease to apply when men shall condescend to treat us as creatures accessible to reason, and not as mere dupes. See who is knocking at the door, Peter,” added she, sharply. “I declare it recalls the old days of our innkeeping, and Darby asking for the bill of the lame gentleman in No. 4.”
“Upon my life, they were pleasant days, too,” said Barrington, but in a tone so low as to be unheard by his sister.
“May I come in?” said Withering, as he opened the door a few inches, and peeped inside. “I want to show you a note I have just had from Kinshela, in Kilkenny.”
“Yes, yes; come in,” said Miss Barrington. “I only wish you had arrived a little earlier. What is your note about?”
“It’s very short and very purpose-like. The first of it is all about Brazier’s costs, which it seems the taxing-officer thinks fair and reasonable, – all excepting that charge for the additional affidavits. But here is what I want to show you. ‘Major M’Cormick, of M’Cormick’s Grove, has just been here; and although I am not entitled to say as much officially on his part, I entertain no doubt whatever but that he is ready to advance the money we require. I spoke of fifteen hundred, but said twelve might possibly be taken, and twelve would be, I imagine, his limit, since he held to this amount in all our conversation afterwards. He appears to be a man of strange and eccentric habits, and these will probably be deemed a sufficient excuse for the singular turn our interview took towards its conclusion. I was speaking of Mr. Barrington’s wish for the insertion in the deed of a definite period for redemption, and he stopped me hastily with, “What if we could strike out another arrangement? What if he was to make a settlement of the place on his granddaughter? I am not too old to marry, and I ‘d give him the money at five per cent.” I have been careful to give you the very expressions he employed, and of which I made a note when he left the office; for although fully aware how improper it would be in me to submit this proposal to Mr. Barrington, I have felt it my duty to put you in possession of all that has passed between us.’”
“How can you laugh, Peter Barrington? – how is it possible you can laugh at such an insult, – such an outrage as this? Go on, sir,” said she, turning to Withering; “let us hear it to the end, for nothing worse can remain behind.”
“There is no more; at least, there is not anything worth hearing. Kinshela winds up with many apologies, and hopes that I will only use his communication for my own guidance, and not permit it in any case to prejudice him in your estimation.” As he spoke, he crumpled up the note in his hand in some confusion.
“Who thinks of Mr. Kinshela, or wants to think of him, in the matter?” said she, angrily. “I wish, however, I were a man for a couple of hours, to show Major M’Cormick the estimate I take of the honor he intends us.”
“After all, Dinah, it is not that he holds us more cheaply, but rates himself higher.”
“Just so,” broke in Withering; “and I know, for my own part, I have never been able to shake off the flattery of being chosen by the most nefarious rascal to defend him on his trial. Every man is a great creature in his own eyes.”
“Well, sir, be proud of your client,” said she, trembling with anger.
“No, no, – he ‘s no client of mine, nor is this a case I would plead for him. I read you Kinshela’s note because I thought you were building too confidently on M’Cormick’s readiness to advance this money.”
“I understood what that readiness meant, though my brother did not. M’Cormick looked forward to the day – and not a very distant day did he deem it – when he should step into possession of this place, and settle down here as its owner.”
Barrington’s face grew pale, and a glassy film spread over his eyes, as his sister’s words sunk into his heart. “I declare, Dinah,” said he, falteringly, “that never did strike me before.”
“‘It never rains but it pours,’ says the Irish adage,” resumed she. “My brother and I were just discussing another proposal of the same kind when you knocked. Read that letter. It is from a more adroit courtier than the other, and, at least, he does n’t preface his intentions with a bargain.” And she handed Stapylton’s letter to Withering.
“Ah!” said the lawyer, “this is another guess sort of man, and a very different sort of proposal.”
“I suspected that he was a favorite of yours,” said Miss Dinah, significantly.
“Well, I own to it. He is one of those men who have a great attraction for me, – men who come out of the conflict of life and its interests without any exaggerated notions of human perfectibility or the opposite, who recognize plenty of good and no small share of bad in the world, but, on the whole, are satisfied that, saving ill health, very few of our calamities are not of our own providing.”
“All of which is perfectly compatible with an odious egotism, sir,” said she, warmly; “but I feel proud to say such characters find few admirers amongst women.”
“From which I opine that he is not fortunate enough to number Miss Dinah Barrington amongst his supporters?”
“You are right there, sir. The prejudice I had against him before we met has been strengthened since I have seen him.”
“It is candid of you, however, to call it a prejudice,” said he, with a smile.
“Be it so, Mr. Withering; but prejudice is only another word for an instinct.”
“I ‘m afraid if we get into ethics we ‘ll forget all about the proposal,” said Barrington.
“What a sarcasm!” cried Withering, “that if we talk of morals we shall ignore matrimony.”
“I like the man, and I like his letter,” said Barrington.
“I distrust both one and the other,” said Miss Dinah.
“I almost fancy I could hold a brief on either side,” interposed Withering.
“Of course you could, sir; and if the choice were open to you, it would be the defence of the guilty.”
“My dear Miss Barrington,” said Withering, calmly, “when a great legal authority once said that he only needed three lines of any man’s writing ‘to hang him,’ it ought to make us very lenient in our construction of a letter. Now, so far as I can see in this one before us, he neither asks nor protests too much. He begs simply for time, he entreats leave to draw a bill on your affections, and he promises to meet it.”
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