Mr. M’Kinlay was at his breakfast the next day when he received the
following letter from Sir Gervais Vyner:
“Rome, Palazzo Altieri.
“My dear M’Kinlay,--Lady Vyner’s mother insists on seeing Ada out here,
and will not listen to anything, either on the score of the season or
the long journey. I cannot myself venture to be absent for more than a
few days at a time; and I must entreat of you to give Mademoiselle and
my daughter a safe convoy as far as Marseilles, where I shall meet you.
I know well how very inconvenient it may prove to you, just as term is
about to open, so pray make me deeply your debtor for the service _in
all ways_. My sister-in-law informs me--but so vaguely that I cannot
appreciate the reasons--that Mademoiselle H. does not advise Miss O’Hara
should accompany them. It will be for you to learn the grounds of this
counsel, and, if you concur with them, to make a suitable arrangement
for that young lady’s maintenance and education in England, unless,
indeed, her friends require her to return home. To whatever you decide,
let money be no obstacle. There are good schools at Brighton, I believe.
If her friends prefer a French education, Madame Gosselin’s, Rue Neuve,
St. Augustin, Paris, is well spoken of. See Sir Within Wardle on the
subject, who, besides being her guardian, is well qualified to direct
your steps.
“I cannot tell you how much I am provoked by what I must call this
failure in a favourite project, nor is my annoyance the less that I am
not permitted to know how, when, or why the failure has been occasioned.
All that Miss Courtenay will tell me is, ‘She must not come out to
Italy,’ and that I shall be the first to agree to the wisdom of this
decision when I shall hear the reasons for it. Of course all this is
between ourselves, and with Sir Within you will limit yourself to the
fact that her education will be more carefully provided for by remaining
north of the Alps--a truth he will, I am certain, recognise.
“Be sure, however, to get to the bottom of this, I may call it--mystery,
for up to this I have regarded Ada’s progress in learning, and great
improvement in spirits, as entirely owing to this very companionship.
“Drop me a line to say if you can start on Monday or Tuesday, and at the
Pavilion Hotel you will either find me on your arrival, or a note to
say when to expect me. Tell Sir Within from me, that I will accept any
trouble he shall take with Miss O’H. as a direct personal favour. I am
not at all satisfied with the part we are taking towards this girl; nor
shall I be easy until I hear from you that all is arranged to her own
liking, and the perfect satisfaction of her family. I think, indeed, you
should write to Mr. L., at Arran; his concurrence ought to be secured,
as a formality; and he’ll not refuse it, if not linked to something
troublesome or inconvenient.
“I shall be curious to hear your personal report of Miss O’Hara, so take
care to fit yourself for a very searching cross-examination from
“Yours faithfully,
“Gervais Vyner.
“I hear that the people have just thrown down the walls of my new lodge
in Derryvaragh, and vowed that they’ll not permit any one to build
there. Are they mad? Can they not see that a proprietor, if he ever
should come there, must be of use to them, and that all the benefit
would be _theirs?_ Grenfell laughs at me, and says he predicted it all.
Perhaps he did: at all events, I shall not be deterred from going on,
though neither of my Irish experiences have as yet redounded to my
vainglory.
“I have not the shadow of a reason for suspecting it, still you would
confer a favour on me if you could assure me, of your own knowledge,
that nothing weightier than a caprice has induced Mademoiselle to
recommend that Miss O’H. should not come out here with my daughter.
“All of this letter is to be regarded private and confidential.”
Scarcely had M’Kinlay finished the reading of this letter, than a
servant presented him with a small note, sealed with a very large
impress of the Wardle arms, and bearing a conspicuous W. W. on the outer
corner. Its contents ran thus:
“My dear Mr. M’Kinlay,--Will you allow me to profit by the fortunate
accident of your presence in these regions to bespeak the honour and
pleasure of your company at a _tête-à-tête_ dinner with me to-day? My
carriage will await your orders; and if perfectly in accordance with
your convenience, I would beg that they may be to take you over here
by an early hour--say four o’clock--as I am desirous of obtaining the
benefit of your advice.
“I am very sincerely yours,
“Within Wardle.”
“How provoking!” cried Mr. M’Kinlay; “and I meant to have caught the
night-mail at Wrexham.”
Now Mr. M’Kinlay was not either provoked or disappointed. It had never
been his intention to have left the Cottage till the day after; and as
to a dinner invitation to Dalradern, and with “the contingent remainder”
of a consultation, it was in every respect the direct opposite of all
that is provoking. Here he was alone. None heard, him as he said these
words. This hypocrisy was not addressed to any surrounders. It was the
soliloquy of a man who liked self-flattery, and, strange as it may
seem, there are scores of people who mix these sweet little draughts
for themselves and toss them off in secresy, like solitary drinkers, and
then go out into the world refreshed and stimulated by their dram.
“I cannot take his agency, if that’s what he is at,” said Mr. M’Kinlay,
as he stood with his back to the fire and fingered the seals of his
watch; “I am overworked already--sorely overworked. Clients, now-a-days,
I find, have got the habit of employing their lawyers in a variety of
ways quite foreign to their callings.” This was a hit at Sir Gervais for
his request to take Ada abroad. “A practice highly to be condemned, and,
in fact, to be put down. It is not dignified; and I doubt if even it
be profitable,”--his tone was now strong and severe. “A fine old place,
Dalradern,” muttered he, as his eyes fell upon a little engraving of
the castle at the top of the note--such vignettes were rarer at that day
than at the present--“I think, really, I will give myself a holiday and
dine with him. I thought him a bit of a fop--an old fop, too--when I met
him here; but he may ‘cut up’ better under his own roof.”
“Rickards,” said he, as that bland personage entered to remove the
breakfast-things, “I am not going to dine here to-day.”
“Lor, Sir! You an’t a going so soon?”
“No. To-morrow, perhaps--indeed, I should say to-morrow certainly; but
to-day I must dine at Dalradern.”
“Well, Sir, you’ll tell me when you comes home if he’s better than Mrs.
Byles for his side-dishes; for I’ll never believe it, Sir, till I have
it from a knowledgeable gentleman like yourself. Not that I think,
Sir, they will play off any of their new-fangled tricks on you--putting
cheese into the soup, and powdered sugar over the peas.”
“I have seen both in Paris,” said M’Kinlay, gravely.
“And frogs too, Sir, and snails; and Jacob, that was out in Italy with
the saddle-horses, says, he seen fifteen shillings given for a hedgehog,
when lamb got too big.”
“Let Mademoiselle Heinzleman know that I should be glad to speak to
her,” said the lawyer, who, feeling that he was going to dine out, could
afford to be distant.
“Yes, Sir, I’ll tell her;” and Rickards stirred the fire, and drew down
a blind here, and drew up another there, and fidgeted about in that
professionally desultory manner his order so well understand. When he
got to the door, however, he stepped back, and in a low confidential
whisper said, “It’s the ‘Ock, Sir, the ‘Ock, at Dalradem, that beats us;
eighty odd years in bottle, and worth three guineas a flask.” He
sighed as he went out, for the confession cost him dear. It was like
a Government whip admitting that his party must be beaten on the next
division!
Mr. M’Kinlay was deep in a second perusal of Sir Gervais Vyner’s letter
when Mademoiselle Heinzleman entered. “I have a few lines from Sir
Gervais here, Mademoiselle,” said he, pompously, for the invitation to
Dalradem was still fresh in his mind. “He wishes me, if it be at all
possible, to accompany you and Miss Vyner as far as, let me see”--and he
opened the letter--“as far as Marseilles. I own, with whatever pride I
should accept the charge, however charmed I should naturally feel at the
prospect of a journey in such company----”
“Es macht nichts. I mean, Sare,” said she, impetuously, “with Franz, the
courier, we can travel very well all alone.”
“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 passed 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 Marseilles,
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, passing out, he
got into the carriage and drove away.