The Absentee Part 3

'Yes! Did not your father give you any hint?'

'No, ma'am; I have seen my father but for half an hour since I came to town, and in that time he said nothing to me--of his affairs.'

'But what I allude to is more your affair.'

'He did not speak to me of any affairs, ma'am--he spoke only of my horses.'

'Then I suppose my lord leaves it to me to open the matter to you. I have the pleasure to tell you, that we have in view for you--and I think I may say with more than the approbation of all her family--an alliance--'

'Oh! my dear mother! you cannot be serious,' cried Lord Colambre; 'you know I am not of years of discretion yet--I shall not think of marrying these ten years, at least.'

'Why not? Nay, my dear Colambre, don't go, I beg--I am serious, I a.s.sure you--and, to convince you of it, I shall tell you candidly, at once, all your father told me: that now you've done with Cambridge, and are come to Lon'on, he agrees with me in wis.h.i.+ng that you should make the figure you ought to make, Colambre, as sole heir-apparent to the Clonbrony estate, and all that sort of thing. But, on the other hand, living in Lon'on, and making you the handsome allowance you ought to have, are, both together, more than your father can afford, without inconvenience, he tells me.'

'I a.s.sure you, mother, I shall be content--'

'No, no; you must not be content, child, and you must hear me. You must live in a becoming style, and make a proper appearance. I could not present you to my friends here, nor be happy, if you did not, Colambre.

Now the way is clear before you: you have birth and t.i.tle, here is fortune ready made; you will have a n.o.ble estate of your own when old Quin dies, and you will not be any enc.u.mbrance or inconvenience to your father or anybody. Marrying an heiress accomplishes all this at once; and the young lady is everything we could wish, besides--you will meet again at the gala. Indeed, between ourselves, she is the grand object of the gala; all her friends will come EN Ma.s.sE, and one should wish that they should see things in proper style. You have seen the young lady in question, Colambre--Miss Broadhurst. Don't you recollect the young lady I introduced you to last night after the opera?'

'The little, plain girl, covered with diamonds, who was standing beside Miss Nugent?'

'In di'monds, yes. But you won't think her plain when you see more of her--that wears off; I thought her plain, at first--I hope--'

'I hope,' said Lord Colambre, 'that you will not take it unkindly of me, my dear mother, if I tell you, at once, that I have no thoughts of marrying at present--and that I never will marry for money. Marrying an heiress is not even a new way of paying old debts--at all events, it is one to which no distress could persuade me to have recourse; and as I must, if I outlive old Mr. Quin, have an independent fortune, THERE IS NO occasion to purchase one by marriage.'

'There is no distress, that I know of, in the case,' cried Lady Clonbrony. 'Where is your imagination running, Colambre? But merely for your establishment, your independence.'

'Establishment, I want none--independence I do desire, and will preserve. a.s.sure my father, my DEAR MOTHER, that I will not be an expense to him. I will live within the allowance he made me at Cambridge--I will give up half of it--I will do anything for his convenience--but marry for money, that I cannot do.'

'Then, Colambre, you are very disobliging,' said Lady Clonbrony, with an expression of disappointment and displeasure; 'for your father says, if you don't marry Miss Broadhurst, we can't live in Lon'on another winter.'

This said--which, had she been at the moment mistress of herself, she would not have let out--Lady Clonbrony abruptly quitted the room. Her son stood motionless, saying to himself--

'Is this my mother?--How altered!'

The next morning he seized an opportunity of speaking to his father, whom he caught, with difficulty, just when he was going out, as usual, for the day. Lord Colambre, with all the respect due to his father, and with that affectionate manner by which he always knew how to soften the strength of his expressions, made nearly the same declarations of his resolution, by which his mother had been so much surprised and offended.

Lord Clonbrony seemed more embarra.s.sed, but not so much displeased. When Lord Colambre adverted, as delicately as he could, to the selfishness of desiring from him the sacrifice of liberty for life, to say nothing of his affections, merely to enable his family to make a splendid figure in London, Lord Clonbrony exclaimed, 'That's all nonsense!--cursed nonsense! That's the way we are obliged to state the thing to your mother, my dear boy, because I might talk her deaf before she would understand or listen to anything else. But, for my own share, I don't care a rush if London was sunk in the salt sea. Little Dublin for my money, as Sir Terence O'Fay says.'

'Who is Sir Terence O'Fay, may I ask, sir?'

'Why, don't you know Terry? Ay, you've been so long at Cambridge, I forgot. And did you never see Terry?'

'I have seen him, sir--I met him yesterday at Mr. Mordicai's, the coachmaker's.'

'Mordicai's!' exclaimed Lord Clonbrony, with a sudden blush, which he endeavoured to hide by taking snuff. 'He is a d.a.m.ned rascal, that Mordicai! I hope you didn't believe a word he said--n.o.body does that knows him.'

'I am glad, sir, that you seem to know him so well, and to be upon your guard against him,' replied Lord Colambre; 'for, from what I heard of his conversation, when he was not aware who I was, I am convinced he would do you any injury in his power.'

'He shall never have me in his power, I promise him. We shall take care of that. But what did he say?'

Lord Colambre repeated the substance of what Mordicai had said, and Lord Clonbrony reiterated--'d.a.m.ned rascal!--d.a.m.ned rascal! I'll get out of his hands; I'll have no more to do with him.' But, as he spoke, he exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness, moving continually, and s.h.i.+fting from leg to leg like a foundered horse.

He could not bring himself positively to deny that he had debts and difficulties; but he would by no means open the state of his affairs to his son--'No father is called upon to do that,' said he to himself; 'none but a fool would do it.'

Lord Colambre, perceiving his father's embarra.s.sment, withdrew his eyes, respectfully refrained from all further inquiries, and simply repeated the a.s.surance he had made to his mother, that he would put his family to no additional expense; and that, if it was necessary, he would willingly give up half his allowance.

'Not at all--not at all, my dear boy,' said his father; 'I would rather cramp myself than that you should be cramped, a thousand times over.

But it is all my Lady Clonbrony's nonsense. If people would but, as they ought, stay in their own country, live on their own estates, and kill their own mutton, money need never be wanting.'

For killing their own mutton, Lord Colambre did not see the indispensable necessity; but he rejoiced to hear his father a.s.sert that people should reside in their own country.

'Ay,' cried Lord Clonbrony, to strengthen his a.s.sertion, as he always thought it necessary to do, by quoting some other person's opinion. 'So Sir Terence O'Fay always says, and that's the reason your mother can't endure poor Terry. You don't know Terry? No, you have only seen him; but, indeed, to see him is to know him; for he is the most off-hand, good fellow in Europe.'

'I don't pretend to know him yet,' said Lord Colambre. 'I am not so presumptuous as to form my opinion at first sight.'

'Oh, curse your modesty!' interrupted Lord Clonbrony; 'you mean, you don't pretend to like him yet; but Terry will make you like him. I defy you not. I'll introduce you to him--him to you, I mean--most warn-hearted, generous dog upon earth--convivial--jovial--with wit and humour enough, in his own way, to split you--split me if he has not. You need not cast down your eyes, Colambre. What's your objection?'

'I have made none, sir; but, if you urge me, I can only say that, if he has all these good qualities, it is to be regretted that he does not look and speak a little more like a gentleman.'

'A gentleman! he is as much a gentleman as any of your formal prigs--not the exact Cambridge cut, maybe. Curse your English education! 'Twas none of my advice. I suppose you mean to take after your mother in the notion that nothing can be good, or genteel, but what's English.'

'Far from it, sir; I a.s.sure you, I am as warm a friend to Ireland as your heart could wish. You will have no reason, in that respect at least, nor, I hope, in any other, to curse my English education; and, if my grat.i.tude and affection can avail, you shall never regret the kindness and liberality with which you have, I fear, distressed yourself to afford me the means of becoming all that a British n.o.bleman ought to be.'

'Gad! you distress me now!' said Lord Clonbrony, 'and I didn't expect it, or I wouldn't make a fool of myself this way,' added he, ashamed of his emotion, and whiffling it off. 'You have an Irish heart, that I see, which no education can spoil. But you must like Terry. I'll give you time, as he said to me, when first he taught me to like usquebaugh. Good morning to you!'

Whilst Lady Clonbrony, in consequence of her residence in London, had become more of a fine lady, Lord Clonbrony, since he left Ireland, had become less of a gentleman. Lady Clonbrony, born an Englishwoman, disclaiming and disenc.u.mbering herself of all the Irish in town, had, by giving splendid entertainments, at an enormous expense, made her way into a certain set of fas.h.i.+onable company. But Lord Clonbrony, who was somebody in Ireland, who was a great person in Dublin, found himself n.o.body in England, a mere cipher in London, Looked down upon by the fine people with whom his lady a.s.sociated, and heartily weary of them, he retreated from them altogether, and sought entertainment and self-complacency in society beneath him--indeed, both in rank and education, but in which he had the satisfaction of feeling himself the first person in company. Of these a.s.sociates, the first in talents, and in jovial profligacy, was Sir Terence O'Fay--a man of low extraction, who had been knighted by an Irish lord-lieutenant in some convivial frolic. No one could tell a good story, or sing a good song better than Sir Terence; he exaggerated his native brogue, and his natural propensity to blunder, caring little whether the company laughed at him or with him, provided they laughed. 'Live and laugh--laugh and live,'

was his motto; and certainly he lived on laughing, as well as many better men can contrive to live on a thousand a year.

Lord Clonbrony brought Sir Terence home with him next day to introduce him to Lord Colambre; and it happened that on this occasion Terence appeared to peculiar disadvantage, because, like many other people, 'Il gatoit l'esprit qu'il avoit en voulant avoir celui qu'il n'avoit pas.'

Having been apprised that Lord Colambre was a fine scholar, fresh from Cambridge, and being conscious of his own deficiencies of literature, instead of trusting to his natural talents, he summoned to his aid, with no small effort, all the sc.r.a.ps of learning he had acquired in early days, and even brought before the company all the G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses with whom he had formed an acquaintance at school. Though embarra.s.sed by this unusual enc.u.mbrance of learning, he endeavoured to make all subservient to his immediate design, of paying his court to Lady Clonbrony, by forwarding the object she had most anxiously in view--the match between her son and Miss Broadhurst.

'And so, Miss Nugent,' said he, not daring, with all his a.s.surance, to address himself directly to Lady Clonbrony--'and so, Miss Nugent, you are going to have great doings, I'm told, and a wonderful grand gala.

There's nothing in the wide world equal to being in a good, handsome crowd. No later now than the last ball at the Castle that was before I left Dublin, Miss Nugent--the apartments, owing to the popularity of my lady-lieutenant, was so throng--so throng--that I remember very well, in the doorway, a lady--and a very genteel woman she was too, though a stranger to me--saying to me, "Sir, your finger's in my ear." "I know it, madam," says I, "but I can't take it out till the crowd give me elbow room."

'But it's gala I'm thinking of now. I hear you are to have the golden Venus, my Lady Clonbrony, won't you?'

'Sir!'

This freezing monosyllable notwithstanding, Sir Terence pursued his course fluently. 'The golden Venus!--Sure, Miss Nugent, you, that are so quick, can't but know I would apostrophise Miss Broadhurst that is, but that won't be long so, I hope. My Lord Colambre, have you seen much yet of that young lady?'

'No, sir.'

'Then I hope you won't be long so. I hear great talk now of the Venus of Medicis, and the Venus of this and that, with the Florence Venus, and the sable Venus, and that other Venus, that's was.h.i.+ng of her hair, and a hundred other Venuses, some good, some bad. But, be that as it will, my lord, trust a fool--ye may, when he tells you truth--the golden Venus is the only one on earth that can stand, or that will stand, through all ages and temperatures; for gold rules the court, gold rules the camp, and men below, and heaven above.'

'Heaven above! Take care, Terry! Do you know what you're saying?'

interrupted Lord Clonbrony.

'Do I? Don't I?' replied Terry. 'Deny, if you please, my lord, that it was for a golden pippin that the three G.o.ddesses FIT--and that the HIPPOMENES was about golden apples--and did not Hercules rob a garden for golden apples?--and did not the pious Eneas himself take a golden branch with him, to make himself welcome to his father in h.e.l.l?' said Sir Terence, winking at Lord Colambre.