“That Lord L’Estrange seems a very good fellow.”
“So-so; an effeminate humorist; says the most absurd things, and fancies
them wise. Never mind him. You wanted to speak to me, Frank?”
“Yes; I am so obliged to you for introducing me to Levy. I must tell you
how handsomely he has behaved.”
“Stop; allow me to remind you that I did not introduce you to Levy; you
had met him before at Borrowell’s, if I recollect right, and he dined with
us at the Clarendon—that is all I had to do with bringing you together.
Indeed, I rather cautioned you against him than not. Pray, don’t think I
introduced you to a man who, however pleasant, and perhaps honest, is
still a moneylender. Your father would be justly angry with me if I had
done so.”
“Oh, pooh! you are prejudiced against poor Levy. But, just hear: I was
sitting very ruefully, thinking over those cursed bills, and how the deuce
I should renew them, when Levy walked into my rooms; and after telling me
of his long friendship for my uncle Egerton, and his admiration for
yourself, and (give me your hand, Randal) saying how touched he felt by
your kind sympathy in my troubles, he opened his pocket-book, and showed
me the bills safe and sound in his own possession.”
“How?”
“He had bought them up. ‘It must be so disagreeable to me,’ he said, ‘to
have them flying about the London money-market, and these Jews would be
sure sooner or later to apply to my father. And now,’ added Levy, ‘I am in
no immediate hurry for the money, and we must put the interest upon fairer
terms.’ In short, nothing could be more liberal than his tone. And he
says, ‘he is thinking of a way to relieve me altogether, and will call
about it in a few days, when his plan is matured.’ After all, I must owe
this to you, Randal. I dare swear you put it into his head.”
“O no, indeed! On the contrary, I still say, ’Be cautious in all your
dealings with Levy.’ I don’t know, I’m sure, what he means to propose.
Have you heard from the Hall lately?”
“Yes—to-day. Only think—the Riccaboccas have disappeared. My mother writes
me word of it—a very odd letter. She seems to suspect that I know where
they are, and reproaches me for ‘mystery’—quite enigmatical. But there is
one sentence in her letter—see, here it is in the postscript—which seems
to refer to Beatrice: ‘I don’t ask you to tell me your secrets, Frank, but
Randal will no doubt have assured you that my first consideration will be
for your own happiness, in any matter in which your heart is really
engaged.’ ”
“Yes,” said Randal, slowly: “no doubt, this refers to Beatrice; but, as I
told you, your mother will not interfere one way or the other—such
interference would weaken her influence with the Squire. Besides, as she
said, she can’t _wish_ you to marry a foreigner; though once married, she
would—But how do you stand now with the Marchesa? Has she consented to
accept you?”
“Not quite: indeed, I have not actually proposed. Her manner, though much
softened, has not so far emboldened me; and, besides, before a positive
declaration, I certainly must go down to the Hall, and speak at least to
my mother.”
“You must judge for yourself, but don’t do any thing rash: talk first to
me. Here we are at my office. Good-by; and—and pray believe that, in
whatever you do with Levy, I have no hand in it.”