THE sound of the dinner-bell, which rang in the ears of Edgar before he reached his intended retreat, would have been unnoticed, if not seconded by a message from Sir Hugh, who had seen him from his window.
Compelled to obey, though in a state of suspense almost intolerable, he put up the important little packet, and repaired to the dining parlour; where, though none were equally disturbed with himself, no one was at ease. Young Lynmere, under an appearance of mingled assurance and apathy, the effect of acquired conceit, playing upon natural insipidity, was secretly tormented with the rueful necessity of sacrificing either a noble fortune, or his own fine person; Sir Hugh felt a strange disappointment from the whole behaviour of his nephew, though it was what he would not acknowledge, and could not define; Mr. Tyrold saw with much uneasiness the glaringly apparent unsuitableness of the intended alliance; Eugenia had never yet thought herself so plain and insignificant, and felt as if, even since the morning, the small-pox had renewed its ravages, and she had sunk into being shorter; Indiana and Miss Margland were both acutely incensed with Mandlebert; Dr. Orkborne saw but small reason to expect gratitude for his labours from the supercilious negligence of the boasted young student; Lavinia was disturbed for both her sisters; and Camilla felt that all she valued in life depended upon the next critical hour or two.
In this state of general discomfort, Sir Hugh, who could never be silent, alone talked. Having long prepared himself to look upon this meeting as a day of happiness, he strove to believe, for a while, the whole family were peculiarly enjoying themselves; but, upon a dead silence, which ensued upon his taking a copious draught of Madeira and water, ‘Why, my dear nephew,’ he cried, putting down his goblet, ‘you don’t tell us any thing? which I’ve no doubt but you know why yourself. However, as we’re all met o’ purpose to see you, I can’t say I should be sorry to hear the sound of your voice, provided it won’t be disagreeable.’
‘We are not much-conversant, sir, in each other’s connexions, I believe,’ answered Lynmere, without ceasing a moment to eat, and to help himself, and ordering a fresh plate at every second mouthful; ‘I have seen nothing, yet, of your folks hereabouts; and, I fancy, sir, you don’t know a great deal of the people I have been used to.’
Sir Hugh, having good humouredly acknowledged this to be truth, was at a loss what further to purpose; and, imagining the taciturnity of the rest of the party to proceed from an awe of the knowledge and abilities of his nephew, soon became himself so infected with fear and reverence, that, though he could not be silent, he spoke only to those who were next him, and in a whisper.
When the dessert was served, something like a general relief was effected by the unexpected entrance of Dr. Marchmont. Alarmed by the ungoverned, and, in him, unprecedented emotions of Edgar, he had been to Beech Park; and, finding he had not returned there, had ridden on, in the most uneasy uncertainty, to inquire for him at Cleves.
Happy to see him safe, though almost smiling to see with whom, he was beginning some excuse for his intrusion, when the baronet saved his proceeding, by calling out, ‘Well, this is as good a piece of good luck as any we’ve met with yet! Here’s Dr. Marchmont come to wish us joy; and as he’s as good a scholar as yourself, nephew, for any thing I know to the contrary, why you need not be so afraid of speaking, for the sake of our not understanding you; which here’s five of us can do now, as well as yourself.’
Lynmere, readily concluding Mr. Tyrold and Edgar, with the two Doctors, made four, glanced round the table to see who might be the fifth; when, supposing it Miss Margland, he withdrew his eyes with a look of derision, and, turning to the butler, asked what wines he might call for.
Sir Hugh then proposed that they should all pair off; the ignorant ones going one way, and the learned ones straying another.
It would be difficult to say which looked most averse to this proposition, Eugenia, or the young traveller; who hastily said, ‘I always ride after dinner, sir. Is your groom at hand? Can he shew me your horses?’
‘My nephew little suspects,’ cried Sir Hugh, winking, ‘Eugenia belongs to the scholars! Ten to one but he thinks he’s got Homer and Horace to himself! But here, my dear boy, as you’re so fond of the classics’–
Clermont, nimbly rising, and knocking down a decanter of water in his haste, but not turning back to look at it, nor staying to offer any apology, affected not to hear his uncle, and flung hastily out of the room, calling upon Indiana to follow him.
‘In the name of all the Diavoli,’ cried he, pulling her into the park with him, ‘what does all this mean? Is the old gentleman non compos? what’s all this stuff he descants upon so freely, of scholars, and classics, and Homer, and Horace?’
‘O you must ask Eugenia, not me!’ answered Indiana, scornfully.
‘Why, what does Eugenia know of the matter?’
‘Know? why every thing. She’s a great scholar, and has been brought up by Dr. Orkborne; and she talks Greek and Latin.’
‘Does she so? then, by the Lord! she’s no wife of mine! I’d as soon marry the old Doctor himself! and I’m sure he’d make me as pretty a wife. Greek and Latin! why I’d as soon tie myself to a rod. Pretty sort of dinners she’ll give!’
‘O dear, yes, brother; she don’t care what she eats; she cares for nothing but books, and such kind of things.’
‘Books! ha! ha! Books, and Latin and Greek! upon my faith, a pretty wife the old gentleman has been so good as to find me! why he must be a downright driveller!’
‘Ah, brother, if we had all that fortune, what a different figure we should cut with it!’
‘Why, yes, I rather flatter myself we should. No great need of five thousand a year to pore over books! Ha! ha! faith, this is a good hum enough! So he thinks to take me in, does he?’
‘Why, you know, she is so rich, brother.’...
‘Rich? well, and what am I? do you see such a figure as this,’ (suddenly skipping before her,) ‘every day? Am I reduced to my last legs, think you? Do you suppose I can’t meet with some kind old dowager any time these twenty years?’
‘La, brother, won’t you have her then?’
‘No, faith, won’t I! It’s not come to that, neither. This learning is worse than her ugliness; ’twould make me look like a dunce in my own house.’
He then protested he had rather lose forty estates, than so be sacrificed, and vowed, without venturing a direct refusal, he would soon sicken the old gentleman of his scheme.
* * *
Eugenia, in retreating to her room, was again accompanied by her father and her uncle, whom she conjured now, to name her to Clermont no more.
‘I can’t say I admire these puttings off, my dear,’ said the baronet, ‘in this our mortal state, which is always liable to end in our dying. Not that I pretend to t............