"But, Mr. Trevor, I am sorry to say that Eugene's case is of greater, more immediate importance than you imagine. Eugene, I grieve to tell you, has lost a very considerable sum of money at Epsom, and requires an immediate remittance for payment (as it is called) of his debt of honour."
Mr. Trevor changed colour, and an involuntary oath escaped his lips. But something--perhaps it was the glance he saw exchanged between the mother and son--caused him to restrain any further ebullition of the feeling with which this revelation inwardly inspired him.
For he fancied--how unjustly may be imagined--that something of triumphant exultation was expressed in that glance, that it was now the father's favourite on whom was about to descend his displeasure--perhaps the present forfeiture of his former favour. This was most fortunate for Eugene. It turned the course of his passion into another channel.
"And what, allow me to ask," he proceeded with forced composure, "may be the amount of this unfortunate involvement?"
Mrs. Trevor, in a low tone, named the sum.
Its extent probably exceeded Mr. Trevor's expectation, and the expression of his countenance plainly indicated the struggle of contending feelings within his breast.
He took two or three strides about the room, then ordered Eugene to be sent to him.
"Nay, Madam, pray do not you trouble yourself," as Mrs. Trevor was preparing to leave the room, too willing to escape from the scene of whatever nature which was to follow; and he rang the bell, and desired Eugene to be summoned.
In a few minutes, during which no one spoke--Mrs. Trevor sitting pale and patient, Eustace walking to the window with a look of weary disgust upon his countenance, whilst Mr. Trevor's dark eye glanced alternately the one from the other, with the wary suspicious glare of an angry animal--Eugene entered, prepared for the worst, with a dogged indifference of countenance and threw himself upon a chair behind his father.
"Well, Sir, and what is this I hear of you?" Mr. Trevor commenced. "Lost a thousand pounds! a pretty story truly; and want me to give you the money. Really one would think you were heir to twenty thousand a-year, instead of a younger son," with a significant glance towards the window, "totally and entirely dependent on my bounty."