"SOMETHING TO HIS ADVANTAGE."
The entertainments provided for me by my old college acquaintance were
far from being dull, and I kept his company for nearly a week. At the
end of this time I was on my way back to Rosario, intending to stop, as
promised, at the _estancia_ of Mr Henry Harding; who, if he should
prove to be the son of the old Indian General, I could no longer look
upon in the light of a stranger.
As proposed, my friend accompanied me, and I had the pleasure of
promoting an intimacy between two of my countrymen who were worthy to
know one another better than they had hitherto done.
The Signora Lucetta was beautiful and amiable as ever; and we had soon
assembled under one roof the two kindred families. For several days we
were entertained with a hospitality that became rather difficult to
escape from; and my bachelor friend, I believe, went back to his own
solitary _estancia_ with strong resolutions of not letting much time
elapse before becoming a Benedict.
For my part, I was no longer treated as a stranger. My South American
host _was_ the son of General Harding, of Beechwood Park--the very man
who had been advertised for; and, as I now learnt, up to that hour in
vain.
In a conversation that occurred during my second visit I was made
acquainted with his whole history, as detailed in these pages.
"And this?" I said, pointing to the advertisement in the _Times_--the
paper lying upon the table before us.
"Never saw it; never heard of it till now!" was his reply.
"You heard of your father's death, I suppose?"
"Oh yes; I saw that in the papers shortly after it occurred. My poor
father! Perhaps I acted rashly and wrongly. But it is too late to talk
of it now."
I saw that it pained him to speak of his father, and I passed on to
another subject.
"Your brother's marriage--you heard also of that, I suppose?"
"No!" he answered, to my surprise. "Is he married?"
"Long since. It was also in the papers; and somewhat conspicuously.
Strange you didn't see it."
"Oh! the papers! I never looked at an English newspaper since that
containing the account of my father's death. I hated the sight of them,
and everything else that was English. I have not even associated with
my own countrymen here, as you may have learnt. And upon whom has Mr
Nigel Harding bestowed his name? You know the lady, I suppose?"
"He married a Miss Belle Mainwaring," I answered, with a counterfeit air
of innocence, and not without some fear that the communication might
give pain.
I watched his countenance for the effect, but could discover no
indication of the sort.
"I knew something of the lady," he said, with just the shadow of a
sneer; "she and my brother ought to make each other very happy. Their
dispositions, I think, were suitable."