'We take no notice of relations now, sir; that's out.'

'I'm sorry for it, nephew, for a relation's a relation, whether you take notice of him or not. And there's ne'er an ode in Virgil will tell you to the contrary, as I believe.'

A short silence now ensued, which was broken by a sigh from Sir Hugh, who e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed to himself, though aloud, 'I can't but think what my poor friend Westwyn will do, if his son's come home in this manner! caring for n.o.body, but an oyster, or a shrimp; ... unless it's a newspaper!'

'And what should a man care for else, my good old friend, in a desart place such as this?'

'Good old friend!' repeated the baronet; 'to be sure, I'm not very young.... However, as to that ... but you mean no harm, I know, for which reason I can't be so ill-natured as to take it ill. However, if poor Westwyn is served in this ... way.... He's my dearest friend that I've got, out of us all here, of my own kin, and he's got only one son, and he sent him to foreign parts only for cheapness; and if he should happen to like nothing he can get at home, it won't answer much in saving, to send out for things all day long.'

'O don't be troubled, sir; Westwyn's but a poor creature. He'll take up with anything. He lived within his allowance the whole time. A mighty poor creature.'

'I'm glad of it! glad of it, indeed!' cried Sir Hugh, with involuntary eagerness; 'I should have been sorry if my poor good old friend had had such disappointment.'

'Upon my honour,' cried Lynmere, piqued, 'the quoz of the present season are beyond what a man could have hoped to see!'

'Quoz! what's quoz, nephew?'

'Why, it's a thing there's no explaining to you sort of gentlemen; and sometimes we say quiz, my good old sir.'

Sir Hugh, now, for almost the first time in his life, felt seriously affronted. His utmost lenity could not palliate the wilful disrespect of his language; and, with a look of grave displeasure, he answered, 'Really, nephew, I can't but say, I think you've got rather a particular odd way of speaking to persons. As to talking so much about people's being old, you'd do well to consider that's no fault in anybody; except one's years, which is what we can't be said to help.'

'You descant too much upon words, sir; we have left off, now, using them with such prodigious precision. It's quite over, sir.'

'O, my dear Clermont!' cried Sir Hugh, losing his short movement of anger in a more tender sensation of concern, 'how it goes to my heart to see you turn out such a jackanapes!'

Lynmere, resentfully hanging back, said no more: and Mr. Dubster, having drunk seven dishes of tea, with a long apology between each for the trouble, gladly seized the moment of pause, to ask Camilla when she had heard from _their friend Mrs. Mittin_, adding, 'I should have brought you a letter from her, ma'am, myself, but that I was rather out of sorts with her; for happening to meet her, the day as you went, walking on them Pantiles, with some of her quality binding, when I was not dressed out quite in my best becomes, she made as if she did not know me. Not as it signifies. It's pretty much of a muchness to me. I remember her another sort of person to what she looks now, before I was a gentleman myself.'

'Why, pray, what was you then, sir?' cried Sir Hugh, with great simplicity.

'As to that, sir, there's no need to say whether I was one thing or another, as I know of; I'm not in the least ashamed of what I was.'

Sir Hugh seeing him offended, was beginning an apology; but, interrupting him, 'No, sir,' he said, 'there's no need to say nothing about it. It's not a thing to take much to heart. I've been defamed often enough, I hope, to be above minding it. Only just this one thing, sir; I beg I may have the favour to be introduced to that lady as had the obligingness to call me a tinker, when I never was no such thing.'

Breakfast now being done, the ladies retired to prepare for their journey.

'Well,' cried Mr. Dubster, looking after Eugenia, 'that little lady will make no great figure at such a place as Southton. I would not have her look out for a husband there.'

'She'd have been just the thing for me!' cried Lynmere, haughtily rising, and conceitedly parading his fine form up and down the room; his eyes catching it from looking-gla.s.s to looking-gla.s.s, by every possible contrivance; 'just the thing! matched to perfection!'

'Lord help me! if I don't find myself in the dark about every thing!'

cried Sir Hugh; 'who'd have thought of you scholars thinking so much of beauty; I should be glad to know what your cla.s.sics say to that point?'

'Faith, my good sir, I never trouble myself to ask. From the time we begin our tours, we wipe away all that stuff as fast as possible from our thoughts.'

'Why, pray, nephew, what harm could it do to your tours?'

'We want room, sir, room in the pericranium! As soon as we begin to travel, we give up everything to taste. And then we want clear heads.

Clear heads, sir, for pictures, statues, busts, alto relievos, ba.s.so relievos, tablets, monuments, mausoleums....'

'If you go on at that rate, nephew,' interrupted Sir Hugh, holding his ears, 'you'll put my poor head quite into a whirligig. And it's none of the deepest already, Lord help me!'

Lynmere now, without ceremony, made off; and Mr. Dubster, left alone with the baronet, said they might as well proceed to business. 'So pray, sir, if I may make bold, in the case we come to a right understanding about the young lady, what do you propose to give her down?'

Sir Hugh, staring, inquired what he meant.

'Why, I mean, sir, what shall you give her at the first? I know she's to have it all at your demise; but that i'n't the bird in the hand. Now, when once I know that, I can make my offers, which shall be handsome or not, according. And that's but fair. So how much can you part with, sir?'

'Not a guinea!' cried Sir Hugh, with some emotion; 'I can't give her anything! Mr. Edgar knows that.'

'That's hard, indeed, sir. What nothing for a setting out? And, pray, sir, what may the sum total be upon your demise?'

'Not a penny!' cried Sir Hugh, with still more agitation: 'Don't you know I've disinherited her?'

'Disinherited her? why this is bad news enough! And pray, sir, what for?'

'Nothing! She never offended me in thought, word, nor deed!'

'Well, that's odd enough. And when did you do it, sir?'

'The very week she was nine years old, poor thing! which I shall never forget as long as I live, being my worst action.'

'Well, this is particular enough! And young squire Tyrold's never heard a word of it: which is somewhat of a wonder too.'

'Not heard of it? why the whole family know it! I've settled everything I was worth in the world upon her younger sister, that you saw sitting by her.'

'Well, if Tom Hicks did not as good as tell me so ever so long ago, though the young squire said it was all to the contrary: what for, I don't know; unless to take me in. But he won't find that quite so easy, asking his pardon. Matrimony's a good thing enough, when it's to help a man forward: but a person must be a fool indeed, to put himself out of his way for nothing.'

He then formally wished the baronet a good day, and hastened from the house, puffed up with vain glory, at his own sagacious precautions, which had thus happily saved him from being tricked into unprofitable wedlock.

Mrs. Berlinton now arrived, and, as Camilla was ready, though trembling, doubtful, apprehensive of the step she was taking, declined alighting. A general meeting was to take place at the inn: and the baronet, putting a twenty pound note into her hand, with the most tender blessings parted with his darling niece. And then, surprised at not seeing Edgar to breakfast, sent his butler to tell him the history of the excursion.

Lynmere was already set off on horseback: and the party, consisting of Dr. Orkborne, Miss Margland, Indiana, and Eugenia, followed two hours after, in the coach of the baronet, which drove from the park as the chaise entered it with Mr. Tyrold and Lavinia, to supply their places.

BOOK VIII

CHAPTER I

_A Way to make Friends_

When Camilla appeared at the hall-door, a gentleman descended from the carriage of Mrs. Berlinton, with an air the most melancholy, and eyes bent to the earth, in the mournful bow with which he offered her his hand: though, when he had a.s.sisted her into the coach, he raised them, and, turning round, cast upon the mansion a look of desponding fondness, that immediately brought to her recollection young Melmond, the Oxford student, and the brother of her new friend.