“Hugh,” said his wife, “shall I introduce you to Miss Burton?”
Then Sir Hugh came forward and shook hands with his new guest, with some sort of apology for his remissness, while Harry stood by, glowering at him, with offence in his eye. “My father is right,” he had said to himself when his cousin failed to notice Florence on her first entrance into the room; “he is impertinent as well as disagreeable. I don’t care for quarrels in the parish, and so I shall let him know.”
“Upon my word she’s a doosed good-looking little thing,” said Archie, coming up to him, after having also shaken hands with her;—“doosed good-looking, I call her.”
“I’m glad you think so,” said Harry, drily.
“Let’s see; where was it you picked her up? I did hear, but I forget.”
“I picked her up, as you call it, at Stratton, where her father lives.”
“Oh, yes; I know. He’s the fellow that coached you in your new business, isn’t he? By the by, Harry, I think you’ve made a mess of it in changing your line. I’d have stuck to my governor’s shop if I’d been you. You’d got through all the d⸺d fag of it, and there’s the living that has always belonged to a Clavering.”
“What would your brother have said if I had asked him to give it to me?”
“He wouldn’t have given it of course. Nobody does give anything to anybody nowadays. Livings are a sort of thing that people buy. But you’d have got it under favourable circumstances.”
“The fact is, Archie, I’m not very fond of the church, as a profession.”
“I should have thought it easy work. Look at your father. He keeps a curate and doesn’t take any trouble himself. Upon my word, if I’d known as much then as I do now, I’d have had a shy for it myself. Hugh couldn’t have refused it to me.”
“But Hugh can’t give it while his uncle holds it.”
“That would have been against me to be sure, and your governor’s life is pretty nearly as good as mine. I shouldn’t have liked waiting; so I suppose it’s as well as it is.”
There may perhaps have been other reasons why Archie Clavering’s regrets that he did not take holy orders were needless. He had never succeeded in learning anything that any master had ever attempted to teach him, although he had shown considerable aptitude in picking up acquirements for which no regular masters are appointed. He knew the fathers and mothers—sires and dams I ought perhaps to say—and grandfathers and grandmothers, and so back for some generations, of all the horses of note living in his day. He knew also the circumstances of all races—what horses would run at them, and at what ages, what were the stakes, the periods of running, and the special interests of each affair. But not, on that account, should it be thought that the turf had been profitable to him. That it might become profitable at some future time, was possible; but Captain Archibald Clavering had not yet reached the profitable stage in the career of a betting man, though perhaps he was beginning to qualify himself for it. He was not bad-looking, though his face was unprepossessing to a judge of character. He was slight and well made, about five feet nine in height, with light brown hair, which had already left the top of his head bald, with slight whiskers, and a well-formed moustache. But the peculiarity of his face was in his eyes. His eyebrows were light-coloured and very slight, and this was made more apparent by the skin above the eyes, which was loose and hung down over the outside corners of them, giving him a look of cunning which was disagreeable. He seemed always to be speculating, counting up the odds, and calculating whether anything could be done with the events then present before him. And he was always ready to make a bet, being ever provided with a book for that purpose. He would take the odds that the sun did not rise on the morrow, and would either win the bet or wrangle in the losing of it. He would wrangle, but would do so noiselessly, never on such occasions damaging his cause by a loud voice. He was now about thirty-three years of age, and was two years younger than the baronet. Sir Hugh was not a gambler like his brother, but I do not know that he was therefore a more estimable man. He was greedy and anxious to increase his store, never willing to lose that which he possessed, fond of pleasure, but very careful of himself in the enjoyment of it, handsome, every inch an English gentleman in appearance, and therefore popular with men and women of his own class who were not near enough to him to know him well, given to but few words, proud of his name, and rank, and place, well versed in the business of the world, a match for most men in money matters, not ignorant, though he rarely opened a book, selfish, and utterly regardless of the feelings of all those with whom he came in contact. Such were Sir Hugh Clavering and his brother the captain.
Sir Hugh took Florence in to dinner, and when the soup had been eaten made an attempt to talk to her. “How long have you been here, Miss Burton?”
“Nearly a week,” said Florence.
“Ah;—you came to the wedding; I was sorry I couldn’t be here.
