Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume I.. Lever Charles James
a suitor, and to show that his intentions were known to and concurred in by his family. The only gleam of hope in the epistle was his saying, ‘I have not the slightest reason to believe she would accept me, but the approval of my friends will certainly give me the best chance.’
“Now, my dear Colonel, compassionate my anxiety, and write to me at once – something – anything. Write such a letter as Sir Hugh may see; and if you have anything secret or confidential, enclose it as a separate slip. Was it not unfortunate that we refused that Indian appointment for him? All this misery might have been averted. You may imagine how Sir Hugh feels this conduct the more bitterly, coming, as I may say, on the back of all his late indiscretions.
“Remember, finally, happen what may, this project must not go on. It is a question of the boy’s whole future and life. To defy his father is to disinherit himself; and it is not impossible that this might be the most effectual argument you could employ with these people who now seek to entangle him.
“I have certainly no reason to love Ireland. It was there that my cousin Cornwallis married that dreadful creature who is now suing him for cruelty, and exposing the family throughout England.
“Sir Hugh gave directions last week about lodging the purchase-money for his company, but he wrote a few lines to Cox’s last night – to what purport I cannot say – not impossibly to countermand it. What affliction all this is!”
As Colonel Cave read over this letter for a second time, he was not without misgivings about the even small share to which he had contributed in this difficulty. It was evidently during the short leave he had granted that this acquaintanceship had been formed; and Fossbrooke’s companionship was the very last thing in the world to deter a young and ardent fellow from anything high-flown or romantic. “I ought never to have thrown them together,” muttered he, as he walked his room in doubt and deliberation.
He rang his bell and sent for the adjutant. “Where ‘s Trafford?” asked he.
“You gave him three days’ leave yesterday, sir. He’s gone down to that fishing-village where he went before.”
“Confound the place! Send for him at once – telegraph. No – let us see – his leave is up to-morrow?”
“The next day at ten he was to report.”
“His father is ill, – an attack of gout,” muttered the Colonel, to give some color to his agitated manner. “But it is better, perhaps, not to alarm him. The seizure seems passing off.”
“He said something about asking for a longer term; he wants a fortnight, I think. The season is just beginning now.”
“He shall not have it, sir. Take good care to warn him not to apply. It will breed discontent in the regiment to see a young fellow who has not been a year with us obtain a leave every ten or fifteen days.”
“If it were any other than Trafford, there would be plenty of grumbling. But he is such a favorite!”
“I don’t know that a worse accident could befall any man. Many a fine fellow has been taught selfishness by the over-estimate others have formed of him. See that you keep him to his duty, and that he is to look for no favoritism.”
The Colonel did not well know why he said this, nor did he stop to think what might come of it. It smacked, to his mind, however, of something prompt, active, and energetic.
His next move was to write a short note to Lady Trafford, acknowledging hers, and saying that, Lionel being absent, – he did not add where, – nothing could be done till he should see him. “To-morrow – next day at farthest – I will report progress. I cannot believe the case to be so serious as you suppose; at all events, count upon me.”
“Stay!” cried he to the adjutant, who stood in the window awaiting further instructions; “on second thoughts, do telegraph. Say, ‘Return at once.’ This will prepare him for something.”
CHAPTER IX. A BREAKFAST AT THE VICARAGE
On the day after the picnic Sir Brook went by invitation to breakfast with the vicar.
“When a man asks you to dinner,” said Fossbrooke, “he generally wants you to talk; when he asks you to breakfast, he wants to talk to you.”
Whatever be the truth of this adage generally, it certainly-had its application in the present case. The vicar wanted very much to talk to Sir Brook.
As they sat, therefore, over their coffee and devilled kidneys, chatting over the late excursion and hinting at another, the vicar suddenly said: “By the way, I want you to tell me something of the young fellow who was one of us yesterday. Tobin, our doctor here, who is a perfect commission-agent for scandal, says he is the greatest scamp going; that about eight or ten months ago the ‘Times’ was full of his exploits in bankruptcy; that his liabilities were tens of thousands, – assets nil. In a word, that, notwithstanding his frank, honest look, and his unaffected manner, he is the most accomplished scapegrace of the age.”
“And how much of this do you believe?” asked Sir Brook, as he helped himself to coffee.
“That is not so easy to reply to; but I tell you, if you ask me, that I ‘d rather not believe one word of it.”
“Nor need you. His Colonel told me something about the young fellow’s difficulties; he himself related the rest. He went most recklessly into debt; betted largely on races, and lost; lent freely, and lost; raised at ruinous interest, and renewed at still more ruinous; but his father has paid every shilling of it out of that fortune which one day was to have come to him, so that Lionel’s thirty thousand pounds is now about eight thousand. I have put the whole story into the fewest possible words, but that’s the substance of it.”
“And has it cured him of extravagance?”
“Of course it has not. How should it? You have lived some more years in the world than he has, and I a good many more than you, and will you tell me that time has cured either of us of any of our old shortcomings? Non sum quails eram means, I can’t be as wild as I used to be.”
“No, no; I won’t agree to that. I protest most strongly against the doctrine. Many men are wiser through experience, and, consequently, better.”
“I sincerely believe I knew the world better at four-and-twenty than I know it now. The reason why we are less often deceived in after than in early life is not that we are more crafty or more keen-eyed. It is simply because we risk less. Let us hazard as much at sixty as we once did at six-and-twenty, and we ‘ll lose as heavily.”
The vicar paused a few moments over the other’s words, and then said, “To come back to this young man, I half suspect he has formed an attachment to Lucy, and that he is doing his utmost to succeed in her favor.”
“And is there anything wrong in that, doctor?”
“Not positively wrong; but there is what may lead to a great deal of unhappiness. Who is to say how Trafford’s family would like the connection? Who is to answer for Lendrick’s approval of Trafford?”
“You induce me to make a confidence I have no right to impart; but I rely so implicitly on your discretion. I will tell you what was intrusted to me as a secret: Trafford has already written to his father to ask his consent.”
“Without speaking to Lendrick? without even being sure of Lucy’s?”
“Yes, without knowing anything of either; but on my advice he has first asked his father’s permission to pay his addresses to the young lady. His position with his family is peculiar; he is a younger son, but not exactly as free as most younger sons feel to act for themselves. I cannot now explain this more fully, but it is enough if you understand that he is entirely dependent on his father. When I came to know this, and when I saw that he was becoming desperately in love, I insisted on this appeal to his friends before he either entangled Lucy in a promise, or even made any declaration himself. He showed me the letter before he posted it. It was all I could wish. It is not a very easy task for a young fellow to tell his father he ‘s in love; but he, in the very frankness of his nature, acquitted himself well and manfully.”
“And