Mr. Linton, like a large majority of the cunning people in this world, made the mistake of supposing that every one had an “after-thought,”—some secret mental reservation in all he said; that, in fact, no one told “the whole truth” on any subject. Now, judging Mr. Corrigan by this rule, he came to the conclusion that the old gentleman had not received his addresses with all the warmth that might be expected;—possibly, in the hope of a more advantageous offer; possibly, because, in his old Irish pride of family, he had got to learn who this Mr. Linton was, what his connections, and what position they held in the society of their own country.

In this way did Linton read the old man's inquiry as to the “concurrence of his relatives.” It was, to his thinking, a mere subtle attempt to ascertain who and what these same relatives were. “A clever stroke in its way,” thought Tom; “but I am not to be drawn out of my intrenchment so easily. Still, the theme will linger in his mind, and must be got rid of.”

Linton knew well how the influence of rank and title can smooth down difficulties of this kind, and ran over in his mind the names of at least a dozen peers, any one of whom, in such an emergency, would have owned him for a half-brother, or a cousin, at least.

It was provoking to think how many there were, at that dull season, listless and unemployed, who could, were he only able to summon them, stand sponsors to his rank and condition. Measuring Corrigan by what he had witnessed in other men of small fortune and retired lives, he deemed “a lord” was all-essential. Linton had seen a great deal of life, and a great deal of that submissive homage so readily conceded to nobility. A lord, at a wedding, is like a captain in a duel; they are the great ingredients which warrant that these events “come off” properly; they place beyond all cavil or question whatever may occur; and they are the recognizances one enters into with the world that he is “spliced” or shot like a gentleman. It is quite true Linton was above this vulgarity; but he was not above the vulgarity of attributing it to another.

The more he reflected on this, the more did he believe it to be the solution of the whole difficulty. “My kingdom for a lord!” exclaimed he, laughing aloud at the easy gullibility of that world which he had duped so often.

The reader is aware that of the pleasant company of Tub-bermore, Lord Kilgoff was the only representative of the peerage; and to him Linton's thoughts at once resorted as the last hope in his emergency. Of late his Lordship had been gradually mending: clear intervals broke through the mist of his clouded faculties, and displayed him, for the time, in all his wonted self-importance, irritability, and pertinacity. To catch him in one of these fortunate moments was the object, and so induce him to pay a visit to the cottage.

Could he but succeed in this, none better than the old peer to play the part assigned to him. The very qualities to make his society intolerable would be, here, the earnest of success; the imperturbable conceit, the pompous distance of his manner, would repel inquiry, and Linton saw that his oracle would not utter one word more than he ought.

“He will not,—I dare not ask him to call me his relative,” said he; “but I can easily throw a hazy indistinctness over our intimacy. He can be a friend of 'my poor father,'”—Tom laughed at the conceit,—“one who knew me from the cradle. With him for a foreground figure, I 'll soon paint an imaginary group around him, not one of whom shall be less than a marquis.

“With Mary this will not succeed. Laura, indeed, might do me good service in that quarter, but I cannot trust her. Were she more skilled in this world's ways, she would gladly aid me—it would be like drawing the game between us; but she is rash, headlong, and passionate. I doubt if even her fears would control her. And yet I might work well upon these! I have the will, and the way, both; the event shall decide whether I employ them.” With these thoughts passing in his mind he reached the house, and entering unobserved, since they were all at breakfast, repaired to his own room.

He immediately sat down and wrote a few lines to Lord Kilgoff, inquiring with solicitude after his health, and craving the favor of being permitted to wait upon him. This done, he amused himself by inventing a number of little political “gossipries” for the old peer,—those small nothings which form the sweepings of clubs and the whisperings of under-secretaries' offices; the pleasant trifles which every one repeats, but no one believes.

“My Lord will see Mr. Linton whenever he pleases,” was the answer of the valet; and Linton lost no time in availing himself of the permission.

“His Lordship is at breakfast?” said he to the servant, as he walked along.

“Yes, sir.”

“And her Ladyship?”

“My Lady breakfasts below stairs, sir.”

“As it ought to be; he is alone,” thought Linton, who, in his present incertitude of purpose, had no desire to meet her.

“If you 'll have the goodness to wait a moment, sir, I 'll tell my Lord you are here,” said the man, as he ushered Linton into a handsome drawing-room, which various scattered objects denoted to be her Ladyship's.

As Linton looked over the table, where books, drawings, and embroidery were negligently thrown, his eye caught many an object he had known long, long before; and there came over him, ere he knew it, a strange feeling of melancholy. The past rushed vividly to his mind,—that time when, sharing with her all his ambitions and his hopes, he had lived in a kind of fairy world. He turned over the leaves of her sketch-book,—she had done little of late,—an unfinished bit, here and there, was all he found; and he sat gazing at the earlier drawings, every one of which he remembered. There was one of an old pine-tree scathed by lightning, at the top, but spreading out, beneath, into a light and feathery foliage, beneath which they had often sat together. A date in pencil had been written at the foot, but was now erased, leaving only enough to discover where it had been. Linton's breathing grew hurried, and his pale cheek paler, as with his head resting on his hands he sat, bent over this. “I was happier, then,” said he, with a sigh that seemed to rise from his very heart,—“far happier! But would it have lasted? that is the question. Would mere love have compensated for thwarted ambition, delusive hope, and poverty? How should I have borne continued reverses?”

The door opened, and Lady Kilgoff entered; not seeing him, nor expecting any one in the apartment, she was humming an opera air, when suddenly she perceived him.

“Mr. Linton here? This is a surprise indeed!” exclaimed she, as, drawing herself proudly up, she seemed to question the reason of his presence.

“I beg you will forgive an intrusion which was not of my seeking. I came to pay my respects to Lord Kilgoff, and his servant showed me into this chamber until his Lordship should be ready to receive me.”

“Won't you be seated, sir?” said she, with an accent which it would be difficult to say whether it implied an invitation or the opposite.

Few men had more self-possession than Linton, fewer still knew better how to construe a mere accent, look, or a gesture; and yet, he stood now, uncertain and undecided how to act. Meanwhile Lady Kilgoff, arranging the frame of her embroidery, took her seat near the window.

“Penelope must have worked in Berlin wool, I 'm certain,” said Linton, as he approached where she sat. “These wonderful tissues seem never to finish.”

“In that lies their great merit,” replied she, smiling; “it is sometimes useful to have an occupation whose monotony disposes to thought, even when the thoughts themselves are not all pleasurable.”

“I should have fancied that monotony would dispose to brooding,” said he, slowly.

“Perhaps it may, now and then,” said she, carelessly. “Life, like climate, should not be all sunshine;” and then, as if wishing to change the theme, she added, “you have been absent a day or two?”

“Yes; an unexpected piece of fortune has befallen me. I find myself the heir of a considerable property, just as I have reached that point in life when wealth has no charm for me! There was a time when—but, no matter; regrets are half-brother to cowardice.”

“We can no more help one than the other, occasionally,” said she, with a faint sigh; and both were silent for some time.

“Is not that tulip somewhat too florid?” said he, stooping over her embroidery.

“That tulip is a poppy, Mr. Linton.”

“What a natural mistake, after all!” said he. “How many human tulips who not only look like, but are downright poppies! Is not this house intolerably stupid?”

“I 'm ashamed to own I think it pleasant,” said she, smiling.

“You were more fastidious once, if my memory serves me aright,” said he, meaningly.

“Perhaps so,” said she, carelessly. “I begin to fancy that odd people are more amusing than clever ones; and certainly they entertain without an effort, and that is an immense gain.”

“Do you think so? I should have supposed the very effort would have claimed some merit, showing that the desire to please had prompted it.”

“My Lord will see Mr. Linton at present,” said the servant.

Linton nodded, and the man withdrew.

“How long ago is it since you made this sketch?” said he, opening the book, as if accidentally, at the page with the pine-tree.

She turned, and although her bent-down head concealed her features, Linton saw the crimson flush spread over the neck as she answered, “About three years ago.”

“Scarcely so much,” said he. “If I mistake not, I wrote the date myself beneath it; but it has worn out.”

“You will excuse my reminding you, Mr. Linton, that Lord Kilgoff has not regained his habitual patience, and will be very irritable if you defer a pleasure such as a visit from you always affords him.”

“Happy conjuncture,” said he, smiling, “that can make my presence desired in one quarter, when my absence is wished for in another.” And with a low, respectful bow, he left the room.

Whatever the object of the hint, Lady Kilgoff had not exaggerated his Lordship's deficiency in the Job-like element, and Linton found him, on entering, interrogating the servant as to whether he “had conveyed his message properly, and what answer he had received.”

“That will do; leave the room,” said he. Then turning to Linton, “I have waited twelve minutes, sir,—nearly thirteen,—since my servant informed you I would receive you.”

“I am exceedingly sorry, my Lord, to have occasioned you even a moment of impatience. I was mentioning to Lady Kilgoff a circumstance of recent good fortune to myself, and I grieve that my egotism should have mastered my sense of propriety.”

“Twelve minutes, or thirteen, either, may seem a very unimportant fraction of time to men of mere pleasure, but to those whose weightier cares impose graver thoughts, is a very considerable inroad, sir.”

“I know it, my Lord. I feel it deeply, and I beg you to excuse me.”

“Life is too short, at least in its active period, to squander twelve minutes, Mr. Linton; and however you, in your station, and with your pursuits, may deem otherwise, I would wish to observe, that persons in mine think differently.”

Linton looked a perfect statue of contrition, nor did he utter another word. Perhaps he felt that continuing the discussion would be but an indifferent mode of compensating for the injury already incurred.

“And now, Mr. Linton, I conclude that it was not without a reason you sought an interview at this unusual hour.”

“The old story, my Lord; and as I came to ask a favor, I selected the petit lever as the most appropriate hour.”

“Indeed! you surprise me much how an individual so much forgotten as Lord Kilgoff can possibly be of service to that most promising gentleman, Mr. Linton!”

Linton never heeded the sarcastic discontent of the speech, but went on,—

“Yes, my Lord, you find me, as you have so often found me, a suppliant.”

“I have nothing to bestow, sir.”

“You can do all that I could ask, or even wish for, my Lord. My ambition is not very unmeasured; my greatest desire is to have the opportunity of frequent intercourse with you, and the benefit of that practical wisdom for which your Lordship s conversation is distinguished at home and abroad.”

“My valet is not going to leave me,” said the old man, with an insolence of look that tallied with the rude speech.

“My Lord!—”

“Nay, nay, you must not be offended; I was rather jesting on my own barrenness of patronage than upon your proposal.”

Linton saw by the slight advantage he had gained that the bold course was the more promising, and continued:—

“You will soon have a great deal of business on your hands, my Lord, and so, I will economize your time and your patience. You have not heard, I am aware, that Dollington has been recalled. The mission at Florence is to give away, and I am here to ask for the secretaryship. I know well that the appointment is a Foreign-Office one; but Blackwell, who gives me the present information, says, 'If you have interest with Kilgoff, push it now; his recommendation will, I know, be attended to.' He then goes on to say that Dollington is most anxious to know if you would take his house off his hands. He has been furnishing and arranging the interior most expensively, never dreaming of a recall.”

“When did this news come?” said Lord Kilgoff, sitting down and wiping his forehead, on which the perspiration now stood, from agitation.

“Yesterday. Blackwell sent a cabinet messenger to me, but with the strictest injunctions to secrecy. In fact, the rumor would call so many suitors in the field, that the Foreign Office would be besieged.”

“You can rely upon it, however?”

“Unquestionably. Blackwell writes me that the thing is done. You will receive the offer immediately after the recess.”

“You acted very properly, I must say,—very properly, indeed, in giving me this early notice of his Majesty's gracious intentions with regard to me; the more, as I shall have time to consider how far my views upon questions of foreign politics are in agreement with those of the Government.”

“Upon that point your Lordship's mind may be at rest. I gather from Blackwell that you will receive the widest discretion. The Secretary of State has named you as the man; of course interference is out of the question.”

“Of course it would be, sir, were I to accept the mission. Dollington's house, I conclude, is a suitable one, and we 'll think of it; and as to yourself, Linton, I really am at a loss what to say. Lady Kilgoff—it is best to be candid—is prejudiced against you. She thinks you satirical and sarcastic, as if,”—and here he raised his head, and threw forward his chin with most imposing dignity,—“as if the person who bore my name need fear such qualities anywhere; but besides this, it appears to me that your abilities are not diplomatic. You have neither that natural reserve nor that suave impressiveness 'the line' requires. You are a Club man,-and will probably make a very good House of Commons man; but diplomacy, Mr. Linton,—diplomacy is a high, I had almost said a sacred vocation! To all the prestige of family and ancient lineage must be added the most insinuating graces of manner. Personal advantages should be combined with a high cultivation, so that the Envoy may worthily mirror forth the Majesty he represents. It would be an inestimable benefit if the Eastern principle of 'caste' were observed in diplomacy, and the office of Ambassador be limited to certain families! Believe me, sir, you may say of such, 'Nascitur non fit.'”

As he spoke, his eyes flashed, and his cheek became flushed; the flutter of self-importance gave a fresh impulse to his circulation, and he walked back and forward in a perfect ecstasy of delight.

“Alas, my Lord! you have made me feel too deeply the presumption of my request. I confess, till I had listened to your eloquent exposition, I had formed other and very erroneous ideas upon this subject. I see, now, that I am quite unsuited to the career. The very fact that it becomes your Lordship is evidence enough how unfitted it would prove to me.”

“I will not say, that in Greece, or perhaps with some republican government, you might not be very eligible. We'll consider about it.”

“No, no, my Lord; I'll content myself with more humble fortunes. I suppose there is always a place for every capacity; and now, to a matter purely personal to myself, and in which, I hope, I may count upon your kind co-operation. I have thoughts of marriage, my Lord, and as I am a stranger in this country, unconnected with it by kindred or connection, I would ask of you to give me that sanction and currency which the honor of your Lordship's friendship confers. The lady upon whom I have fixed my choice is without fortune, but of a family which traces back to royalty, I fancy. This Irish pride of lineage, then, requires that I, upon my side, should not be deficient in such pretensions.”

“I am not a Clarencieux, nor Norroy, sir, to make out your genealogy,” said the old peer, with ineffable disdain.

Linton had more difficulty to control his laughter than his anger at this impertinent absurdity. “I was not thinking of 'the tree,' my Lord, but its last and most insignificant twig, myself; and, remembering how many kindnesses I owed you, how uniformly your patronage had befriended me through life, I still reckon upon the feeling to serve me once more.”

“Be explicit. What do you ask?” said he, leaning back and looking like a monarch whose will was half omnipotence.

“What I should like, my Lord, is this,—that you would permit me to drive you over some morning to the gentleman's house, where, presenting the family to your Lordship, I might, while enjoying the sanction of your intimacy and friendship, also obtain your opinion upon the merits of one with whom I would link my humble destinies. I have said that the lady has no fortune; but your Lordship has shown the noble example of selecting for far higher and more ennobling qualities than wealth.” This was said with a spice of that subdued raillery of which Linton was a master; and he saw, with delight, how the old peer winced under it.

“Very true, sir; your remark is just, except that the disparity between our conditions does not give the instance the force of example; nor am I certain the experiment will be always successful!” The irritation under which the last words were uttered spread a triumphant joy through Linton's heart, nor dare he trust himself to speak, lest he should reveal it!

“Perhaps a letter, Mr. Linton, would answer your object. It appears to me that the condescension of a visit is a step too far in advance. You are aware that, in a day or two, as his Majesty's representative, etiquette would require that I should never make the initiative in acquaintance.”

“Pardon my interrupting, my Lord; but that rule will only apply to you at the seat of your mission. Here, you have no other distinction than of being the well-known leader of the Irish peerage,—the great head of an illustrious body, who look up to you for guidance and direction.”

“You are right, perhaps, sir,—my station is what you have described it. I trust you have not mentioned to Lady Kilgoff anything of your Foreign-Office news?”

“Of course not, my Lord. It will always remain with your discretion when and how to make the communication.”

“It appears to me, sir, that her Ladyship has admitted many of the inmates here to a degree of intimacy quite inconsistent with their relative stations.”

“Her Ladyship's youth and amiability of manner offer great temptations to the inroads of obtrusiveness,” said Linton, with the air of one thinking aloud.

“I disagree with you, sir, entirely. I was young myself, sir, and, I am told, not quite destitute of those attractions you speak of; but I am not aware that any one ever took a liberty with me! This must be looked to. And now, your affair? When is it to come off? Your marriage, I mean?”

“That is by no means so certain, my Lord,” said Linton, who smiled in spite of himself at the careless tone in which his Lordship treated so very humble an event. “I may reckon on your Lordship's assistance, however?”

Lord Kilgoff waved his hand in token of acquiescence, and Linton took a formal leave, almost bursting with laughter at the ridiculous conceit he had himself contributed to create.

“Ay,” muttered he, as he descended the stairs, “as a democrat, an out-and-out democrat, I say, 'Long live' an Hereditary Peerage! 'I know nothing can equal it, in making the untitled classes the rulers.”