mr. dacre returned home with an excellent appetite, and almost as keen a desire to renew his conversation with his guest; but dinner and the duke were neither to be commanded. miss dacre also could not be found. no information could be obtained of them from any quarter. it was nearly seven o’clock, the hour of dinner. that meal, somewhat to mr. dacre’s regret, was postponed for half an hour, servants were sent out, and the bell was rung, but no tidings. mr. dacre was a little annoyed and more alarmed; he was also hungry, and at half-past seven he sat down to a solitary meal.
about a quarter-past eight a figure rapped at the dining-room window: it was the young duke. the fat butler seemed astonished, not to say shocked, at this violation of etiquette; nevertheless, he slowly opened the window.
‘anything the matter, george? where is may?’
‘nothing. we lost our way. that is all. may — miss dacre desired me to say, that she would not join us at dinner.’
‘i am sure, something has happened.’
‘i assure you, my dear sir, nothing, nothing at all the least unpleasant, but we took the wrong turning. all my fault.’
‘shall i send for the soup?’
‘no. i am not hungry, i will take some wine.’ so saying, his grace poured out a tumbler of claret.
‘shall i take your grace’s hat?’ asked the fat butler.
‘dear me! have i my hat on?’
this was not the only evidence afforded by our hero’s conduct that his presence of mind had slightly deserted him. he was soon buried in a deep reverie, and sat with a full plate, but idle knife and fork before him, a perfect puzzle to the fat butler, who had hitherto considered his grace the very pink of propriety.
‘george, you have eaten no dinner,’ said mr. dacre.
‘thank you, a very good one indeed, a remarkably good dinner. give me some red wine, if you please.’
at length they were left alone.
‘i have some good news for you, george.’
‘indeed.’
‘i think i have let rosemount.’
‘so!’
‘and exactly to the kind of person that you wanted, a man who will take a pride, although merely a tenant, in not permitting his poor neighbours to feel the want of a landlord. you will never guess: lord mildmay!’
‘what did you say of lord mildmay, sir?’
‘my dear fellow, your wits are wool-gathering; i say i think i have let rosemount.’
‘oh! i have changed my mind about letting rosemount.’
‘my dear duke, there is no trouble which i will grudge, to further your interests; but really i must beg, in future, that you will, at least, apprise me when you change your mind. there is nothing, as we have both agreed, more desirable than to find an eligible tenant for rosemount. you never can expect to have a more beneficial one than lord mildmay; and really, unless you have positively promised the place to another person (which, excuse me for saying, you were not authorised to do) i must insist, after what has passed, upon his having the preference.’
‘my dear sir, i only changed my mind this afternoon: i couldn’t tell you before. i have promised it to no one; but i think of living there myself.’
‘yourself! oh! if that be the case, i shall be quite reconciled to the disappointment of lord mildmay. but what in the name of goodness, my dear fellow, has produced this wonderful revolution in all your plans in the course of a few hours? i thought you were going to mope away life on the lake of geneva, or dawdle it away in florence or rome.’
‘it is very odd, sir. i can hardly believe it myself: and yet it must be true. i hear her voice even at this moment. oh! my dear mr. dacre, i am the happiest fellow that ever breathed!’
‘what is all this?’
‘is it possible, my dear sir, that you have not long before detected the feelings i ventured to entertain for your daughter? in a word, she requires only your sanction to my being the most fortunate of men.’
‘my dear friend, my dear, dear boy!’ cried mr. dacre, rising from his chair and embracing him, ‘it is out of the power of man to impart to me any event which could afford me such exquisite pleasure! indeed, indeed, it is to me most surprising! for i had been induced to suspect, george, that some explanation had passed between you and may, which, while it accounted for your mutual esteem, gave little hope of a stronger sentiment.’
‘i believe, sir,’ said the young duke, with a smile, ‘i was obstinate.’
‘well, this changes all our plans. i have intended, for this fortnight past, to speak to you finally on your affairs. no better time than the present; and, in the first place ——’
but, really, this interview is confidential.
