“I suppose you are surprised to see me?”
“I didn’t think that you were ever up so early.” It was at this time almost noon.
“Oh, come now, that’s nonsense. I can get up as early as anybody else. I have changed all that for the last four months. I was at breakfast this morning very soon after ten.”
“What a miracle! Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Well yes—there is. Of course you are surprised to see me?”
“You never were here before; and therefore it is odd.”
“It is odd; I felt that myself. And when I tell you what I have come about you will think it more odd. I know I can trust you with a secret.”
“That depends, Dolly.”
“What I mean is, I know you are good-natured. There are ever so many fellows that are one’s most intimate friends, that would say anything on earth they could that was ill-natured.”
“I hope they are not my friends.”
“Oh yes, they are. Think of Glasslough, or Popplecourt, or Hindes! If they knew anything about you that you didn’t want to have known—about a young lady or anything of that kind—don’t you think they’d tell everybody?”
“A man can’t tell anything he doesn’t know.”
“That’s true. I had thought of that myself. But then there’s a particular reason for my telling you this. It is about a young lady! You won’t tell; will you?”
“No, I won’t. But I can’t see why on earth you should come to me. You are ever so many years older than I am.”
“I had thought of that too. But you are just the person I must tell. I want you to help me.”
These last words were said in a whisper, and Dolly as he said them had drawn nearer to his friend. Silverbridge remained in suspense, saying nothing by way of encouragement. Dolly, either in love with his own mystery or doubtful of his own purpose, sat still, looking eagerly at his companion. “What the mischief is it?” asked Silverbridge impatiently.
“I have quite made up my own mind.”
“That’s a good thing at any rate.”
“I am not what you would have called a marrying sort of man.”
“I should have said—no. But I suppose most men do marry sooner or later.”
“That’s just what I said to myself. It has to be done, you know. There are three different properties coming to me. At least one has come already.”
“You’re a lucky fellow.”
“I’ve made up my mind; and when I say a thing I mean to do it.”
“But what can I do?”
“That’s just what I’m coming to. If a man does marry I think he ought to be attached to her.” To this, as a broad proposition, Silverbridge was ready to accede. But, regarding Dolly as a middle-aged sort of fellow, one of those men who marry because it is convenient to have a house kept for them, he simply nodded his head. “I am awfully attached to her,” Dolly went on to say.
“That’s all right.”
“Of course there are fellows who marry girls for their money. I’ve known men who have married their grandmothers.”
“Not really!”
“That kind of thing. When a woman is old it does not much matter who she is. But my one! She’s not old!”
“Nor rich?”
“Well; I don’t know about that. But I’m not after her money. Pray understand that. It’s because I’m downright fond of her. She’s an American.”
“A what!” said Silverbridge, startled.
“You know her. That’s the reason I’ve come to you. It’s Miss Boncassen.” A dark frown came across the young man’s face. That all this should be said to him was disgusting. That an owl like that should dare to talk of loving Miss Boncassen was offensive to him.
“It’s because you know her that I’ve come to you. She thinks that you’re after her.” Dolly as he said this lifted himself quickly up in his seat, and nodded his head mysteriously as he looked into his companion’s face. It was as much as though he should say, “I see you are surprised, but so it is.” Then he went on. “She does, the pert poppet!” This was almost too much for Silverbridge; but still he contained himself. “She won’t look at me because she has got it into her head that perhaps some day she may be Duchess of Omnium! That of course is out of the question.”
“Upon my word all this seems to me to be so very—very—distasteful that I think you had better say nothing more about it.”
“It is distasteful,” said Dolly; “but the truth is I am so downright—what you may call enamoured—”
“Don’t talk such stuff as that here,” said Silverbridge, jumping up. “I won’t have it.”
“But I am. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to get her. Of course it’s a good match for her. I’ve got three separate properties; and when the governor goes off I shall have a clear fifteen thousand a year.”
“Oh, bother!”
“Of course that’s nothing to you, but it is a very tidy income for a commoner. And how is she to do better?”
“I don’t know how she could do much worse,” said Silverbridge in a transport of rage. Then he pulled his moustache in vexation, angry with himself that he should have allowed himself to say even a word on so preposterous a supposition. Isabel Boncassen and Dolly Longstaff! It was Titania and Bottom over again. It was absolutely necessary that he should get rid of this intruder, and he began to be afraid that he could not do this without using language which would be uncivil. “Upon my word,” he said, “I think you had better not talk about it any more. The young lady is one for whom I have a very great respect.”
“I mean to marry her,” said Dolly, thinking thus to vindicate himself.
“You might as well think of marrying one of the stars.”
“One of the stars!”
“Or a royal princess!”
“Well! Perhaps that is your opinion, but I can’t
