“No, no,” he said, waving his hand, “nothing, it’s nothing, a kind of faintness I have sometimes since my illness, which goes off directly. I see--I see--an old servant. Well, of course, it was a very odd coincidence, very odd. But I thought at first the young lady supposed--that this old man of hers was somehow connected with my son-in-law. Thank you! thank you! I see how absurd I was.”
“Oh, I don’t think Lydia could be so ridiculous as to think that,” said Lady Brotherton, “only my son and she were both struck by the name; it is such an uncommon name. At least, the two together were struck by it; they both cried out, ‘Isaac Oliver!’ My son is rather fond of telling absurd stories about this poor old man. He is a kind of a wit in his way, it seems, but a little of that goes a long way in the country. I don’t think I have seen much humour in what they tell of him--”
“A thing that is quite commonplace often seems original from the lips of a clown,” said the Vice-Consul, with solemnity. “Perhaps you have heard something about the family, or children, or other relatives of this--old man?” Mr. Bonamy felt disposed to call him a confounded old man, but, after all, it was not the old man’s fault.
“Nothing at all, nothing whatever, I assure you. You must not think, Mr. Bonamy, for a moment--it was only _pour rire_; they never supposed, I am sure you will believe me when I say it, of connecting old Isaac with--any gentleman; it was a mere joke. They thought the coincidence so amusing, and Lydia, I suppose, as girls do, thought it was fun to tease Mr. Oliver a little; that was all. I have never heard a word more about it. It was only at the moment. I hope you will forgive my silly youngsters. They are both out. I cannot think where they are gone, or they would make their apologies themselves.”
“No apologies are necessary,” the Vice-Consul said. He was very grave, his countenance had changed even since he came in, much more since yesterday, when his handsome head had been full of serene content. There was a deeply marked wrinkle in his forehead, and the lines at the corners of his mouth drooped heavily. He seemed to have aged half-a-dozen years. “There is no harm done; and where there is no offence there need be no excuse.” He said this with a sort of formality, such as he was in the habit of employing to troublesome British subjects, who got into many scrapes and gave much occupation to the representative of their country in pulling them out. It was a style that told (for the moment) upon such persons, and it came to his hand readily on an emergency. “I am glad to hear there is so little in it,” he added, rising. “Unfortunately my son-in-law is estranged from his family, and we know but little about them; so that I thought it just possible this might be some one--in whose well-being he was interested. It is I who should apologise for troubling you. I hope Sir John is none the worse for last night?”