CHAPTER XIV.
Shakspeare.
It was on the same day that Germain had been thus employed on his return to town, that Oakley was dining alone in the coffee-room of —— Club. The time of probation fixed by Helen had almost expired, and he ventured to look forward to the immediate reward of his patience.
There was another table laid for three in another part of the room, but those who were expected to occupy it had not arrived when he began his solitary meal. His back was turned towards their table, and their entrance taking place during a pause in his own dinner, when he was agreeably anticipating his future prospects, and apparently occupied with the evening paper, he did not turn round to remark who came in.
They talked in rather an under-tone, but with that quick ear which one has for his own name, he thought he heard his repeated in a whisper, and presently after, in the same voice, that of Miss Mordaunt. He turned hastily round, and opposite to him, sitting between two other gentlemen, he beheld Fitzalbert, and, as he fancied, with the same intolerably insolent expression of countenance which had disgusted him at Germain’s. He longed immediately and openly to notice it, but the mere mention of a name presented no tangible ground of offence.
Sir Gregory Greenford was one of Fitzalbert’s companions; the other was an officer on the eve of departure to join his regiment in Portugal. They now conversed together in a louder tone, and the subject was Germain and his losses. Fitzalbert spoke slightingly of him, and mentioned rather boastfully the sums he had himself won of him in the course of the year.
Oakley could bear this no longer, and turning round, said: “I believe, Mr. Fitzalbert, you consider yourself as much Germain’s friend as I am; but my idea of that character would be rather to relieve his distress than to ruin him first, and ridicule him afterwards.”
This was in itself not an over-conciliatory address, and Oakley had condensed into his delivery of it all his long-suppressed dislike of Fitzalbert, who, on his side, answered very coolly:
“The very natural distinction between having more money than you know how to spend, and spending more money than you know how to get.”
He then continued talking on the same subject to his two companions, saying: “As to Germain, no Mentor could have saved him six months: I never saw any one so devotedly determined to lose.”
“Better to lose like Germain, than win like some others!” audibly ejaculated Oakley; but at the same moment the waiter was asking Fitzalbert’s orders as to what claret he would choose. He therefore did not catch the words, and here the matter might have rested, but for Sir Gregory Greenford, who furnished another proof that a fool is the surest mischief-maker, by saying to the military gentleman: “That’s meant as a cut at Fitz, I think.”
The military gentleman looked grim, and shook his head. Fitzalbert’s attention was thus called to what had passed, and he turned towards Oakley: “If you did me the honour to address any thing further to me, Mr. Oakley,” said he, “I have to regret that the more interesting occupation of choosing my claret prevented my hearing it. I am now perfectly at leisure.”
“I don’t feel myself bound to repeat what you found it convenient not to hear.”
“If you mean that I myself should have regarded it as not of the slightest consequence, you are quite right; but as those gentlemen seem to attach some importance to it, I must request Sir Gregory to tell me what it was you said, and then I shall know whether it is worth my while to require you either to repeat or retract it.”
Sir Gregory gave it word for word, and so repeated, it certainly seemed to convey an insinuation which might have been missed when originally spoken. Fitzalbert’s cheek reddened with indignation at the idea of being suspected of foul play, of which he was quite incapable, though sufficiently ready to avail himself of what are called “fair advantages.”
“Mr. Oakley,” said he, “your words certainly mean to impute something to somebody, as even you, I suppose, are not Utopian enough to conceive the mere act of winning to any amount, worse than losing, independent of some disgrace attached to the manner of doing so. As this sentiment followed immediately after a lecture on friendship with which you were kind enough to favour me, I feel myself bound to ask, what under other circumstances I certainly should not have conceived possible, whether you meant any allusion to me?”
“I stated my opinion generally; you may apply it particularly where you know it to be best deserved.”
“Excuse me, sir; it is not a riddle you have given me to guess, but an accusation you have hazarded: and either to support or retract it, since you have presumed to call my character in question, you must be now prepared.”
“I am not prepared to think such a subject worth any further trouble,” replied Oakley.
There was much in all this, and in what followed, like what occurs in most quarrels of a similar description, which both parties would have been at once ashamed and surprised at, had it been shown to them in writing on the following morning, and which is therefore very little worth commemorating. It is sufficient to state, that it led to the application of words which are rarely uttered, and still more rarely retracted. The inevitable result must have been guessed. A meeting was arranged for the next morning, and in this instance the time and place were rather unusually fixed by the two principals, who felt too much mutual animosity to allow the intervention of any other parties to delay the settlement of so important a point.
Fitzalbert immediately dispatched a note to Lord Latimer, desiring to see him on particular business, without mentioning what it was. The military friend, who had dined with him, was to set out that very night to join his regiment in Portugal; and Fitzalbert was not at all desirous to trust the arrangement of so serious an affair to Sir Gregory Greenford.
Oakley, on his part, his habits being little gregarious, was rather at a loss for a second, even had he been aware of Germain’s return to London; and his having been innocently enough the cause of the immediate quarrel would have put him out of the question. He accidentally met a casual House of Commons acquaintance in the streets, and not having any one with whom he was more intimate, to whom he could apply, he asked and obtained of him a promise to accompany him in the morning to Wimbledon.
When Lord Latimer received Fitzalbert’s note, he hastened up to town immediately, and repaired straight to the Club, where he found his friend still awaiting him. Upon its being mentioned to him with whom the quarrel was, he at first positively declined having any thing to do with it, and that, he said, for reasons of a private nature which had been mentioned to him in confidence that day, but which had no reference whatever to Fitzalbert.
“But,” said Fitzalbert, “hear at least the whole case, and then say, whether you think I am in a situation in which you are prepared to desert me.”
When the quarrel was detailed to Lord Latimer from the beginning, the unprovoked nature of the attack inferred from Oakley’s words by Fitzalbert, and the odious imputation upon his honour which had been first insinuated and afterwards maintained, was fairly submitted to his consideration, he shook his head, and said, “Certainly no concession can originate with you.” After thinking a little, he continued: “And you are really anxious that I should be your second in this affair?”
“I consider it as of the highest possible importance. I told Greenford, who was present at the time, that I had written to you for that purpose, and should you decline, the most disadvantageous constructions will be put upon my conduct.”
“Well,” said Lord Latimer, “allow me but another hour to act as a free agent on my own account, and then, if you still require me, of course I will not disappoint you.”
It was with a heavy heart, and very faint hopes of success, that Lord Latimer went direct from the Club to Oakley’s house.
Since the Latimers had retired to their friend’s villa at Wimbledon, they had of course been much alone, and habits of confidence had revived between them. Within the last two days, they had been joined by Helen. Lady Latimer felt it impossible to conceal from her husband the delight she felt at the happy prospects of her friend; and she obtained permission to communicate them at once to him, particularly as this seemed to be a very good opportunity for at once putting an end to the foolish coolness between him and Oakley, which had continued ever since the election.
Lord Latimer was delighted with what he heard; for even amidst so many other pursuits he had not been before insensible to Helen’s merits, and the good sense and good feeling which she showed in her conversations with Lady Latimer on the subject of their present distresses had confirmed his former very favourable impression. He therefore had, that very evening, readily undertaken, at Lady Latimer’s request, to ride up on the morrow, the day of the expiration of Helen’s mourning, to London, to extend a friendly hand to Oakley, and bring him down with him to see his betrothed bride, a distinction which, they none of them doubted, would at once make Oakley forget any soreness he might once have felt towards a now-welcome ambassador.
As Lord Latimer slowly walked towards Oakley’s, in vain endeavouring to make up his mind as to how he was to execute the difficult task with which he had charged himself, the sad contrast between his present business, and the happy mission on which he expected to have been sent, oppressed him heavily, and of the still more melancholy catastrophe to which it might lead he could not bear to think.