‘Confess, I must. My heart is full of the secret; it must be spoken. I only wish you were Mr. Helstone instead of Mr. Sympson, you would sympathize with me better.’
‘Madam—it is a question of common-sense and common prudence, not of sympathy and sentiment, and so on. Did you say it was Mr. Helstone?’
‘Not precisely, but as near as may be. They are rather alike.’
‘I will know the name—I will have particulars.’
‘They positively are rather alike; their very faces are not dissimilar—a pair of human falcons—and dry, direct, decided both. But my hero is the mightier of the two. His mind has the clearness of the deep sea, the patience of its rocks, the force of its billows.’
‘Rant and fustian!’
‘I dare say he can be harsh as a saw-edge, and gruff as a hungry raven.’
‘Miss Keeldar, does the person reside in Briarfield? Answer me that.’
‘Uncle, I am going to tell you—his name is trembling on my tongue.’
‘Speak, girl!’
‘That was well said, uncle. “Speak, girl!”—it is quite tragic. England has howled savagely against this man, uncle, and she will one day roar exultingly over him. He has been unscared by the howl, and he will be unelated by the shout.’
‘I said she was mad—she is!’
‘This country will change and change again in her demeanour to him. He will never change in his duty to her. Come! cease to chafe, uncle—I’II tell you his name.’
‘You shall tell me, or—’
‘Listen! Arthur Wellesley, Lord Wellington.’
Mr. Sympson rose up furious. He bounced out of the room, but immediately bounced back again, shut the door, and resumed his seat.
‘Ma’am, you shall tell me this: Will your principles permit you to marry a man without money—a man below you?’
‘Never a man below me.’
In a high voice:
‘Will you, Miss Keeldar, marry a poor man?’
‘What right have you, Mr. Sympson, to ask me?’
‘I insist upon knowing.’
‘You don’t go the way to know.’
‘My family respectability shall not be compromised.