Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron,
Before I saw you; and the world’s large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks,
Full of comparisons and winding flouts,
Which you on all estates will execute,
That lie within the mercy of your wit.
SHAKSPEARE.
It was on the same day that Germain had been thus employed on his
return to town, that Oakley was dining alone in the coffee-room of ----
Club. The time of probation fixed by Helen had almost expired, and he
ventured to look forward to the immediate reward of his patience.
There was another table laid for three in another part of the room,
but those who were expected to occupy it had not arrived when he began
his solitary meal. His back was turned towards their table, and their
entrance taking place during a pause in his own dinner, when he was
agreeably anticipating his future prospects, and apparently occupied
with the evening paper, he did not turn round to remark who came in.
They talked in rather an under-tone, but with that quick ear which one
has for his own name, he thought he heard his repeated in a whisper,
and presently after, in the same voice, that of Miss Mordaunt. He
turned hastily round, and opposite to him, sitting between two other
gentlemen, he beheld Fitzalbert, and, as he fancied, with the same
intolerably insolent expression of countenance which had disgusted him
at Germain’s. He longed immediately and openly to notice it, but the
mere mention of a name presented no tangible ground of offence.
Sir Gregory Greenford was one of Fitzalbert’s companions; the other was
an officer on the eve of departure to join his regiment in Portugal.
They now conversed together in a louder tone, and the subject was
Germain and his losses. Fitzalbert spoke slightingly of him, and
mentioned rather boastfully the sums he had himself won of him in the
course of the year.
Oakley could bear this no longer, and turning round, said: “I believe,
Mr. Fitzalbert, you consider yourself as much Germain’s friend as I am;
but my idea of that character would be rather to relieve his distress
than to ruin him first, and ridicule him afterwards.”
This was in itself not an over-conciliatory address, and Oakley had
condensed into his delivery of it all his long-suppressed dislike of
Fitzalbert, who, on his side, answered very coolly:
“The very natural distinction between having more money than you know
how to spend, and spending more money than you know how to get.”
He then continued talking on the same subject to his two companions,
saying: “As to Germain, no Mentor could have saved him six months: I
never saw any one so devotedly determined to lose.”
“Better to lose like Germain, than win like some others!” audibly
ejaculated Oakley; but at the same moment the waiter was asking
Fitzalbert’s orders as to what claret he would choose. He therefore did
not catch the words, and here the matter might have rested, but for
Sir Gregory Greenford, who furnished another proof that a fool is the
surest mischief-maker, by saying to the military gentleman: “That’s
meant as a cut at Fitz, I think.”
The military gentleman looked grim, and shook his head. Fitzalbert’s
attention was thus called to what had passed, and he turned towards
Oakley: “If you did me the honour to address any thing further to me,
Mr. Oakley,” said he, “I have to regret that the more interesting
occupation of choosing my claret prevented my hearing it. I am now
perfectly at leisure.”
“I don’t feel myself bound to repeat what you found it convenient not
to hear.”
“If you mean that I myself should have regarded it as not of the
slightest consequence, you are quite right; but as those gentlemen seem
to attach some importance to it, I must request Sir Gregory to tell
me what it was you said, and then I shall know whether it is worth my
while to require you either to repeat or retract it.”
Sir Gregory gave it word for word, and so repeated, it certainly
seemed to convey an insinuation which might have been missed when
originally spoken. Fitzalbert’s cheek reddened with indignation at the
idea of being suspected of foul play, of which he was quite incapable,
though sufficiently ready to avail himself of what are called “fair
advantages.”
“Mr. Oakley,” said he, “your words certainly mean to impute something
to somebody, as even you, I suppose, are not Utopian enough to conceive
the mere act of winning to any amount, worse than losing, independent
of some disgrace attached to the manner of doing so. As this sentiment
followed immediately after a lecture on friendship with which you were
kind enough to favour me, I feel myself bound to ask, what under other
circumstances I certainly should not have conceived possible, whether
you meant any allusion to me?”
“I stated my opinion generally; you may apply it particularly where you
know it to be best deserved.”
“Excuse me, sir; it is not a riddle you have given me to guess, but
an accusation you have hazarded: and either to support or retract it,
since you have presumed to call my character in question, you must be
now prepared.”
“I am not prepared to think such a subject worth any further trouble,”
replied Oakley.
There was much in all this, and in what followed, like what occurs in
most quarrels of a similar description, which both parties would have
been at once ashamed and surprised at, had it been shown to them in
writing on the following morning, and which is therefore very little
worth commemorating. It is sufficient to state, that it led to the
application of words which are rarely uttered, and still more rarely
retracted. The inevitable result must have been guessed. A meeting was
arranged for the next morning, and in this instance the time and place
were rather unusually fixed by the two principals, who felt too much
mutual animosity to allow the intervention of any other parties to
delay the settlement of so important a point.
Fitzalbert immediately dispatched a note to Lord Latimer, desiring
to see him on particular business, without mentioning what it was.
The military friend, who had dined with him, was to set out that very
night to join his regiment in Portugal; and Fitzalbert was not at
all desirous to trust the arrangement of so serious an affair to Sir
Gregory Greenford.
Oakley, on his part, his habits being little gregarious, was rather
at a loss for a second, even had he been aware of Germain’s return
to London; and his having been innocently enough the cause of
the immediate quarrel would have put him out of the question. He
accidentally met a casual House of Commons acquaintance in the streets,
and not having any one with whom he was more intimate, to whom he could
apply, he asked and obtained of him a promise to accompany him in the
morning to Wimbledon.
When Lord Latimer received Fitzalbert’s note, he hastened up to town
immediately, and repaired straight to the Club, where he found his
friend still awaiting him. Upon its being mentioned to him with whom
the quarrel was, he at first positively declined having any thing to
do with it, and that, he said, for reasons of a private nature which
had been mentioned to him in confidence that day, but which had no
reference whatever to Fitzalbert.
“But,” said Fitzalbert, “hear at least the whole case, and then say,
whether you think I am in a situation in which you are prepared to
desert me.”
When the quarrel was detailed to Lord Latimer from the beginning,
the unprovoked nature of the attack inferred from Oakley’s words by
Fitzalbert, and the odious imputation upon his honour which had been
first insinuated and afterwards maintained, was fairly submitted to his
consideration, he shook his head, and said, “Certainly no concession
can originate with you.” After thinking a little, he continued: “And
you are really anxious that I should be your second in this affair?”
“I consider it as of the highest possible importance. I told
Greenford, who was present at the time, that I had written to you
for that purpose, and should you decline, the most disadvantageous
constructions will be put upon my conduct.”
“Well,” said Lord Latimer, “allow me but another hour to act as a free
agent on my own account, and then, if you still require me, of course I
will not disappoint you.”
It was with a heavy heart, and very faint hopes of success, that Lord
Latimer went direct from the Club to Oakley’s house.
Since the Latimers had retired to their friend’s villa at Wimbledon,
they had of course been much alone, and habits of confidence had
revived between them. Within the last two days, they had been joined
by Helen. Lady Latimer felt it impossible to conceal from her husband
the delight she felt at the happy prospects of her friend; and she
obtained permission to communicate them at once to him, particularly as
this seemed to be a very good opportunity for at once putting an end to
the foolish coolness between him and Oakley, which had continued ever
since the election.
Lord Latimer was delighted with what he heard; for even amidst so many
other pursuits he had not been before insensible to Helen’s merits, and
the good sense and good feeling which she showed in her conversations
with Lady Latimer on the subject of their present distresses had
confirmed his former very favourable impression. He therefore had, that
very evening, readily undertaken, at Lady Latimer’s request, to ride
up on the morrow, the day of the expiration of Helen’s mourning, to
London, to extend a friendly hand to Oakley, and bring him down with
him to see his betrothed bride, a distinction which, they none of them
doubted, would at once make Oakley forget any soreness he might once
have felt towards a now-welcome ambassador.
As Lord Latimer slowly walked towards Oakley’s, in vain endeavouring to
make up his mind as to how he was to execute the difficult task with
which he had charged himself, the sad contrast between his present
business, and the happy mission on which he expected to have been sent,
oppressed him heavily, and of the still more melancholy catastrophe to
which it might lead he could not bear to think.