‘A week or two, perhaps more,’ returned the other, without a shade of annoyance; he had evidently taken his host’s remark _au sérieux_. ‘I am come up on business of my own,’ he added grandly; ‘for as to old Docket, though my articles are not yet run out, I treat him as I please.’
‘You are in the fortunate position of having a competence of your own, I conclude.’
‘Well, yes; that is, I come into it on my majority. Something in land and also in hand. I shall then leave the law and pursue the profession of a man of letters.’
‘Heaven deliver us!’ ejaculated Mr. Erin.
‘And make us thankful for all its mercies,’ added his host, bending over his plate.
‘I beg pardon; grace,’ muttered Mr. Talbot, growing red to the roots of his hair.
Margaret reddened too, for it was not usual with her uncle to say grace; and William Henry reddened also with suppressed laughter. He had not given his father credit for so much dexterity.
‘And now I daresay, William Henry, you would like a talk with your old friend in your own room,’ observed Mr. Erin; ‘you must make Mr. Talbot quite at home here.’
The young gentleman looked as if he would quite as soon have remained in the society of Miss Margaret, who had obviously attracted his admiration, while William Henry could hardly repress a groan. But so broad a hint could scarcely be ignored, and the two young men retreated together accordingly.
‘I hope William Henry is pleased, my dear,’ said the old gentleman, when he found himself alone with his niece. ‘He cannot say that I have not made some little sacrifice. But why had he not been to see this fellow—I gave him leave.’
‘Nay, sir, you did not give him leave implicitly; you said that if he met Mr. Talbot he was to give him your compliments. Willie is always so very particular not to overstep your permission in any way.’
Mr. Erin muttered an articulate sound such as a bumble-bee makes when imprisoned between two panes of glass. It was not exactly ‘hum,’ but it resembled it. William Henry was now all that he could wish him to be, but there had been occasions—though to be sure there was now no need to think of them—when he had not been so very careful to obey the paternal commands.
‘Well, I hope he appreciates my little surprise,’ he murmured; ‘“a man of letters,” forsooth! Never, never, was I so pestered by a popinjay.’