The Kennyfecks were without strangers that day, and Cashel, who was now, as it were by unanimous election, received into the bosom of the family, enjoyed for the first time in his life a peep into the science of dinner-giving, in the discussions occasioned by the approaching banquet.
No sooner were they assembled around the drawing-room fire, than Mrs. Kennyfeck, whose whole soul was occupied by the one event, took occasion, as it were by pure accident, to remember that they “were to have some people to-morrow.” Now, the easy nonchalance of the reminiscence and the shortness of the invitation would seem to imply that it was merely one of those slight deviations from daily routine which adds two or three guests to the family table; and so, indeed, did it impress Cashel, who little knew that the dinner in question had been devised, planned, and arranged full three weeks before, and the company packed with a degree of care and selection that evinced all the importance of the event.
Time was when the Irish capital enjoyed, and justly, the highest reputation for all that constitutes social success; when around the dinner-tables of the city were met men of the highest order of intelligence, men pleased to exercise, without effort or display, all the charm of wit and eloquence, and to make society a brilliant reunion of those gifts which, in the wider sphere of active life, won fame and honors.
As the race of these bright conversers died out,—for, alas! they belonged to a past era,—their places were assumed by others of very dissimilar tastes. Many educated at English universities brought back with them to Ireland the more reserved and cautious demeanor of the other country, and thus, if not by their influence, by their mere presence, threw a degree of constraint over the tone of society, which, in destroying its freedom, despoiled it of all its charm.
Fashion, that idol of an Englishman's heart, soon became an Irish deity too, and it now grew the “ton” to be English, or at least what was supposed to be such, in dress and manner, in hours, accent, and demeanor. The attempt was never successful; the reserve and placidity which sit with gracefulness on the high-bred Englishman, was a stiff, uncourteous manner in the more cordial and volatile Irishman. His own demeanor was a tree that would not bear grafting, and the fruit lost all its raciness by the admixture.
The English officials at the Castle, the little staff of a commander of the forces, a newly-made bishop, fresh from Oxford, even the officers of the last arrived dragoon regiment, became, by right of “accent,” the types of manner and breeding in circles where, in the actual enjoyment of social qualities, they were manifestly beneath those over whom they held sway; however, they were stamped at the metropolitan mint, and the competitors were deemed a mere depreciated currency which a few years more would cancel forever.
Mrs. Kennyfeck, as a fashionable dinner-giver, of course selected her company from this more choice section; a fact which deserves to be recorded, to the credit of her hospitality; for it was a very rare occurrence indeed, when she found herself invited by any of those distinguished personages who figured the oftenest at her own table. They thought, perhaps justly, that their condescension was sufficiently great to demand no further acknowledgment; and that, as virtue is said to be its own reward, theirs was abundantly exhibited in the frankness with which they ate Kennyfeck's venison, and drank his Burgundy, both of which were excellent.
Every one dined there, because they knew “they 'd meet every one.” A pretender in the world of fashion, unlike a pretender to monarchy, is sure to have the best company in his salon; and so, although you might have met many at the tables of the first men of the country, who were there by virtue of their talents or abilities, at Kennyfeck's the company was sure to be “select.” They could not afford dilution, lest they should find themselves at ease!
“Olivia, pray take that newspaper from Mr. Kennyfeck, and let us hear who he has asked to dinner to-morrow,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, gracefully imitating an attitude of Lady Londonderry in the “Book of Beauty.”
Mr. Kennyfeck heard the request, and started; his surprise had not been greater if the Chancellor had addressed him as “Tom.” It was the first time in his life that an allusion had ever been made to the bare possibility of his inviting the company of a grand dinner; a prerogative he had never so much as dreamed of, and now he actually heard his wife refer to him, as if he were even a party to the deed.
“Invite! Mrs. Kennyfeck. I 'm sure I never thought—”
“No matter what you thought,” said his spouse, reddening at his stupidity. “I wanted to remember who are coming, that we may let Mr. Cashel learn something of our Dublin folk.”
“Here's a list, mamma,” said Olivia; “and I believe there are no apologies. Shall I read it?”
“Do so, child,” said she, but evidently out of humor that the delightful little display of indifference and ignorance should not have succeeded better.
“Sir Andrew and Lady Janet MacFarline, of course!” cried Miss Kennyfeck; “ain't they first?”
“They are,” replied her sister.
“Sir Andrew, Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, “is a very distinguished officer,—a K.C.B., and something else besides. He was in all the Duke's battles in Spain; a most gallant officer, but a little rough in manner,—Scotch, you know. Lady Janet was sister to Lord—What is that lord, Caroline? I always forget.”
“Dumkeeran, mamma.”
“Yes, that's it She is a charming person, but very proud,—very proud, indeed; will not visit with the Dublin people. With us, I must say, I have never seen anything like her kindness; we are absolutely like sisters. Go on, Olivia.”
“Lord Charles Frobisher.”
“And the Honorable Elliot St. John,” chimed in her sister; “Damon and Pythias, where a dinner is concerned.” This was said in a whisper.
“They are aides-de-camp to the Lord Lieutenant. Lord Charles is younger brother to the Duke of Derwent; quite a man of fashion, and so amusing. Oh, he 's delightful!”
“Charming!” duetted the two sisters.
“Mr. St. John is a very nice person too; but one never knows him like Lord Charles: he is more reserved. Olivia, however, says he has a great deal in him.”
“Oh, mamma! I 'm sure I don't know; I only thought him much more conversable than he gets credit for.”
“Well, I meant no more,” said her mother, who did not fancy the gathering gloom on Cashel's face at this allusion; “read on again, child.”
“Lord Chief Justice Malone.”
“Oh, Mr. Kennyfeck,” said she, playfully, “this is your doing; I suspected, from your confusion awhile ago, what you were at.” Then, turning to Roland, she said, “He is always playing us this trick, Mr. Cashel; whenever we have a few friends together, he will insist upon inviting some of his old bar cronies!”
A deep groan from Mr. Kennyfeck at the terrible profanity of thus styling the chief of the Common Pleas, made every one start; but even this, like a skilful tactician, Mrs. Kennyfeck turned to her own advantage.
“Pray don't sigh that way. He is a most excellent person, a great lawyer, and, they say, must eventually have the peerage.” She nodded to Olivia to proceed, who read on.
“The Attorney-General and Mrs. Knivett.”
“Oh, really, Mr. Kennyfeck, this is pushing prerogative; don't you think so, Mr. Cashel? Not but, you know, the Attorney-General is a great personage in this poor country; he is member for—where is it?”
“Baldoyle, mamma.”
“Yes, member for Baldoyle; and she was a Miss Gamett, of Red Gamett, in Antrim; a most respectable connection; so I think we may forgive him. Yes, Mr. Kennyfeck, you are, at least, reprieved.”
“Here come the Whites, mamma. I suppose we may reckon on both, though she, as usual, sends her hopes and fears about being with us at dinner, but will be delighted to come in the evening.”
“That apology is stereotyped,” broke in Miss Kennyfeck, “as well as the little simpering speech she makes on entering the drawing-room. 'So you see, my dear Mrs. Kennyfeck, there is no resisting you. Colonel White assured me that your pleasant dinners always set him up for a month,—he, he, he.'”
If Cashel had not laughed heartily at the lisping imitation, it is possible Mrs. Kennyfeck might have been displeased; but as the quiz “took,” she showed no umbrage whatever.
“The Honorable Downie Meek, Under Secretary of State,” read Olivia, with a little more of emphasis than on the last-mentioned names.
“A person you'll be charmed with, Mr. Cashel,—so highly informed, so well bred, so perfectly habituated to move in the very highest circles,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, giving herself, as she spoke, certain graces of gesture which she deemed illustrative of distinguished fashion.
“A cucumber dressed in oil,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck, who showed more than once a degree of impatience at these eulogistic descriptions.
“The Dean of Dramcondera, your great favorite, mamma.”
“So he is, my dear. Now, Mr. Cashel, I shall insist upon you liking my Dean. I call him my Dean, because one day last spring—”
“Mrs. Biles wants to speak to you, ma'am, for a minute,” said the butler from behind the chair; and although the interruption was anything but pleasant, yet the summons must be obeyed, for Mrs. Biles was the housekeeper, and any approach to treating her with indifference or contempt on the eve of a great dinner would be about as impolitic as insulting a general who was about to command in a great battle; so that Mrs. Kennyfeck rose to comply, not even venturing a word of complaint, lest the formidable functionary should hear of it, and take her revenge on the made dishes.
“Now for the Dean. Is mamma out of hearing?” said Miss Kennyfeck, who rejoiced at the casual opportunity of a little portrait-painting in a different style. “Conceive a tall, pompous man, with large white features, and a high bald head with a conical top; a sharp, clear, but unpleasant voice, always uttering grave nonsense, or sublime absurdity. He was a brilliant light at Oxford, and came over to illumine our darkness, and if pedantry could only supply the deficiency in the potato crop, he would be a providence to the land. His affectation is to know everything, from chuck-farthing to conic sections, and so to diffuse his information as always to talk science to young ladies, and discuss the royal game of goose with Lords of the Treasury. His failures in these attempts at Admirable Crichtonism would abash even confidence great as his, but that he is surrounded by a little staff of admirers, who fend off the sneers of the audience, and, like buffers, break the rude shocks of worldly collision. Socially, he is the tyrant of this capital; for having learning enough to be more than a match for those he encounters, and skill enough to give his paradoxes a mock air of authority, he usurps a degree of dictation and rule that makes society mere slavery. You 'll meet him to-morrow evening, and you'll see if he does not know more of Mexico and Savannah life than you do. Take care, I say, that you venture not into the wilds of the Pampas; for you'll have his companionship, not as fellow-traveller, but as guide and instructor. As for myself, whenever I read in the papers of meetings to petition Parliament to repeal this or redress that, in the name of 'Justice to Ireland,' I ask, why does nobody pray for the recall of the Dean of Drumcondera?”
“Here's mamma,” whispered Olivia, as the drawing-room door opened.
“We've done the Dean, mamma,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with calm composure.
“Well, don't you feel that you love him already? Mr. Cashel, confess that you participate in all my raptures. Oh dear! I do so admire talent and genius,” exclaimed Mrs. Kennyfeck, theatrically.
Cashel smiled, and muttered something unintelligible; and Olivia read on, but with a rapidity that showed the names required no special notice. “The Craufurds, the Smythes, Mrs. Felix Brown, Lady Emmeline Grove.”
“Oh, that dear Lady Emmeline! a most gifted creature; she 's the authoress of some sweet poems. She wrote that touching sonnet in the 'Nobility's Gallery of Loveliness,' beginning, 'Twin Sister of the Evening Star.' I'm sure you know it.”
“I 'm unfortunate enough never to have seen it,” said Cashel.
“Well, you shall see the writer to-morrow evening; I must really take care that you are acquainted. People will tell you that she is affected, and takes airs of authorship; but remember her literary success,—think of her contributions to the 'Court Journal.'”
“Those sweet flatteries of the nobility that Linton calls court-plaster, mamma,” said Miss Kennyfeck, laughing maliciously.
“Linton is very abusive,” said her mother, tartly; “he never has a good word for any one.”
“He used to be a pet of yours, mamma,” insinuated Olivia.
“So he was till he became so intimate with those atrocious Fothergills.”
“Who is he?” said Cashel.
“He's a son of Sir George Linton.”
“That's one story, mamma; but as nobody ever saw the aforesaid Sir George, the presumption is it may be incorrect. The last version is that he was found, like Moses, the discoverer being Lady Harriet Dropmore, who, with a humanity never to be forgotten,”—“or forgiven,” whispered Olivia, “for she has been often taunted with it,”—“took care of the creature, and had it reared,—nay, better again, she sent it to Rugby and to Cambridge, got it into Parliament for Elmwood, and has now made it Master of the Horse in Ireland.”
“He is the most sarcastic person I ever met.”
“It is such an easy talent,” said Miss Kennyfeck; “the worst of wine makes capital vinegar.”
“Then here follow a set of soldier people,” said Olivia,—“hussars and Queen's Bays, and a Captain Tanker of the Royal Navy,—oh, I remember, he has but one arm,—and then the Pelertons and the Cuffes.”
“Well, are we at the end of our muster-roll?”
“Yes, we have nearly reached the dregs of the cup. I see Mr. Knox Softly, and the Townleys!”
“Oh, the Townleys! Poor Mrs. Townley, with her yellow turban and red feathers, that Lord Dunbrock mistook for a vol-au-vent garnished with shrimps.”
“Caroline!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, reprovingly, for her daughter's sallies had more than once verged upon the exhaustion of her patience.
“We shall not weary you with any description of the 'refreshers,' Mr. Cashel.”
“Pray who and what are they?” inquired Cashel.
“The 'refreshers' are that amiable but undervalued class in society who are always asked for the evening when the other members of the family are invited to dine. They are the young lady and young gentleman class,—the household with ten daughters, and a governess that sings like, anything but, Persiani. They are briefless barristers, with smart whiskers; and young men reading for the Church, with moustaches; infantry officers, old maids, fellows of college, and the gentleman who tells Irish stories.”
“Caroline, I really must request—”
“But, mamma, Mr. Cashel surely ought to learn the map of the country he is to live in.”
“I am delighted to acquire my geography so pleasantly,” cried Cashel. “Pray go on.”
“I am bound over,” said she, smiling; “mamma is looking penknives at me, so I suppose I must stop. But as to these same 'refreshers,' you will easily distinguish them from the dinner company. The young ladies are always fresher in their white muslin; they walk about in gangs, and eat a prodigious deal of bread-and-butter at tea. Well, I have done, mamma, though I 'm sure I was not aware of my transgressions.”
“I declare Mr. Kennyfeck is asleep again.—Mr. Kenny-feck, have the goodness to wake up and say who is to make the whist-table for Lady Blennerbore.”
“Yes, my Lord,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, waking up and rubbing his eyes, “we'll take a verdict for the plaintiff, leaving the points reserved.”
A very general laugh here recalled him to himself, as with extreme confusion he continued, “I was so fatigued in the Rolls to-day. It was an argument relative to a trust, Mr. Cashel, which it is of great moment you should be relieved of.”
“Oh, never trouble your head about it now, sir,” said Cashel, good-naturedly. “I am quite grieved at the weariness and fatigue my affairs are costing you.”
“I was asking about Lady Blennerbore's whist,” interposed Mrs. Kennyfeck. “Who have you for her party besides the Chief Justice?”
“Major M'Cartney says he can't afford it, mamma,” said the eldest daughter, slyly. “She is so very lucky with the honors!”
“Where is Thorpe?” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, not deigning to notice this speech,—“he used to like his rubber.”
“He told me,” said Miss Kennyfeck, “that he would n't play with her Ladyship any more; that one had some chance formerly, but that since she has had that touch of the palsy, she does what she likes with the Kings and Aces.”
“This is atrocious; never let me hear it again,” said the mamma, indignantly; “at all events, old Mr. Moore Hacket will do.”
“Poor old man, he is so blind that he has to thumb the cards all over to try and know them by the feel, and then he always washes the King and Queen's faces with a snuffy handkerchief, so that the others are sneezing at every trick they play.”
“Caroline, you permit yourself to take the most improper freedoms; I desire that we may have no more of this.”
“I rather like old Mr. Hacket,” said the incorrigible assailant; “he mistook Mr. Pottinger's bald and polished head for a silver salver, and laid his teacup on it, the last evening he was here.”
If Cashel could not help smiling at Miss Kennyfeck's sallies, he felt it was in rather a strange spirit of hospitality the approaching entertainment was given, since few of the guests were spared the most slighting sarcasms, and scarcely for any was there professed the least friendship or affection. He was, however, very new to “the world,” and the strange understanding on which its daily intercourse, its social life of dinners, visits, and déjeuners subsists, was perfectly unknown to him. He had much to learn; but as his nature was of an inquiring character, he was as equal as he was well inclined to its task. It was then, with less enjoyment of the scene for its absurdity, than actually as an occasion to acquire knowledge of people and modes of living hitherto unknown, he listened gravely to the present discussion, and sat with attentive ears to hear who was to take in Lady Janet, and whether Sir Archy should precede the Chief Justice or not; if a Dragoon Colonel should take the pas of an Attorney-General, and whether it made the same difference in an individual's rank that it did in his comfort, that he was on the half-pay list When real rank is concerned, few things are easier than the arrangement of such details; the rules are simple, the exceptions few, if any; but in a society where the distinctions are inappreciable, where the designations are purely professional, an algebraic equation is simpler of solution than such difficulties.
Then came a very animated debate as to the places at table, wherein lay the extreme difficulty of having every one away from the fire and nobody in a draught, except, of course, those little valued guests who really appeared to play the ignoble part of mortar in a great edifice, being merely the cohesive ingredient that averted friction between more important materials. Next came the oft-disputed question as to whether the champagne should be served with the petits pâtés, after the fish, or at a remote stage of the second course, the young ladies being eager advocates of the former, Mrs. Kennyfeck as firmly denouncing the practice as a new-fangled thing, that “the Dean” himself said he had never seen at Christchurch; but the really great debate arose on a still more knotty point, and one on which it appeared the family had brought in various bills, without ever discovering the real remedy. It was by what means—of course, moral force means—it were possible to induce old Lady Blennerbore to rise from table whenever Mrs. Kennyfeck had decreed that move to be necessary.
It was really moving to listen to Mrs. Kennyfeck's narratives of signals unnoticed and signs unattended to; that even on the very last day her Ladyship had dined there, Mrs. Kennyfeck had done little else for three quarters of an hour than half stand and sit down again, to the misery of herself and the discomfort of her neighbors.
“Poor dear old thing,” said Olivia, “she is so very nearsighted.”
“Not a bit of it,” said her sister; “don't tell me of bad sight that can distinguish the decanter of port from the claret, which I have seen her do some half-dozen times without one blunder.”
“I 'd certainly stop the supplies,” said Cashel; “wouldn't that do?”
“Impossible!” said Miss Kennyfeck; “you couldn't starve the whole garrison for one refractory subject.”
“Mr. Linton's plan was a perfect failure, too,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck. “He thought by the introduction of some topic ladies do not usually discuss that she would certainly withdraw; on the contrary, her Ladyship called out to me, 'I see your impatience, my dear, but I must hear the end of this naughty story.' We tried the French plan, too, and made the gentlemen rise with us; but really they were so rude and ill-tempered the entire evening after, I 'll never venture on it again.”
Here the whole party sighed and were silent, as if the wished-for mode of relief were as distant as ever.
“Must we really ask those Claridge girls to sing, mamma?” said Miss Kennyfeck, after a long pause.
“Of course you must. They were taught by Costa, and they are always asked wherever they go.”
“As a matter of curiosity, Mr. Cashel, the thing is worth hearing. Paganini's monocorde was nothing to it, for they 'll go through a whole scena of Donizetti with only one note in their voice. Oh dear! how very tiresome it all is; the same little scene of pressings and refusals and entreaties and rejections, and the oft-repeated dispute of the sisters between 'Notte divina' and 'Non vedro mai,' ending in that Tyrolese thing, which is on every organ in the streets, and has not the merit of the little shaved dog with the hat in his mouth, to make it droll. And then”—here Miss Kennyfeck caught a side glance of a most rebuking frown on her mother's face, so that adroitly addressing herself to Cashel, she seemed unaware of it,—“and then, when the singing is over, and those who detest music are taking their revenge by abusing the singers, and people are endeavoring to patch up the interrupted chattings,—then, I suppose, we are quite suddenly, without the slightest premeditation, to suggest a quadrille or carpet-dance. This is to be proposed as a most new and original idea that never occurred to any one before, and is certain to be hailed with a warm enthusiasm; all the young ladies smiling and smirking, and the gentlemen fumbling for their soiled kid gloves,—clean ones would destroy the merit of the impromptu.”
“I 'm certain Mr. Cashel's impression of our society here will scarcely be flattering, from what he has heard this evening,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, rising.
“He'll see with his own eyes to-morrow night,” said Miss Kennyfeck, coolly.
“Will you favor me with a little of your time in the morning?” said Mr. Kennyfeck to Cashel. “I find that I cannot avoid troubling you; there are several documents for signature, and if you could devote an hour, or, if possible, two—”
“I am perfectly at your orders,” said Cashel; “the ladies say that they will not ride, and therefore dispose of me as you like.”
A hearty good-night followed, and the party broke up.
When Cashel descended the stairs to breakfast, he took a peep into the drawing-room as he went, some slight hope of seeing Olivia, perhaps, suggesting the step. He was disappointed, however; except a servant arranging candies in the lustres, the room was empty. The same fate awaited him in the breakfast-room, where a small table, most significantly laid for two, showed that a tête-à-tête with his host was in store for him. No wonder, then, if Mr. Kennyfeck saw something of impatience in the air of his young guest, whose eyes turned to the door each time it opened, or were as hastily directed to the garden at each stir without,—evident signs of thoughts directed in channels different from the worthy solicitor's.
Confess, my dear reader,—if you be of the sex to judge of these matters,—confess it is excessively provoking when you have prepared your mind, sharpened your wit—perhaps, too, curled your whiskers—with a latent hope that you are to meet and converse with two very handsome and sprightly girls, that the interview is converted into a scene with “Papa.” For ourselves, who acknowledge to have a kind of Catholicism in these affairs, who like the dear creatures in all the flaunting dash of a riding-hat and habit, cantering away of a breezy day, with laughing voice and half-uncurled hair; who delight to see them lounging in a britzska or lolling in a phaeton; who gaze with rapture on charms heightened by the blaze of full-dress, and splendid in all the brilliancy of jewels and flowers,—we own that we have a kind of fondness, almost amounting to a preference, for the prim coquettishness of a morning-dress—some light muslin thing, floating and gauzy—showing the figure to perfection, and in its simplicity suiting well the two braids of hair so innocently banded on the cheeks. There is something of conscious power in the quiet garb, a sense of trustfulness; it is like the warrior advancing without his weapons to a conference that is exceedingly pleasing, seeming to say, You see that I am not a being of tulle, and gauze, and point de Bruxelles, of white satin, and turquoise, and pink camellias, but a creature whose duties may be in the daily round of life, meant to sit beside on a grassy slope as much as on a velvet ottoman, to talk with as well as flirt with.
We have no means of knowing if Cashel was of our mind, and whether these demi-toilette visions were as suggestive to his as they are to our imagination, but that he bore his disappointment with a very bad grace we can perfectly answer for, and showed, by his distracted manner and inattentive air, that the papa's companionship was a very poor substitute for the daughters'.
It must be owned, too, that Mr. Kennyfeck was scarcely a brilliant converser, nor, had he been so, was the matter under consideration of a kind to develop and display his abilities. The worthy solicitor had often promised himself the pleasure he now enjoyed of recounting the whole story of the law proceedings. It was the great event of his own life, “his Waterloo,” and he dwelt on every detail with a prosy dalliance that was death to the listener. Legal subtleties, shrewd and cunning devices of crafty counsellors, all the artful dodges of the profession, Cashel heard with a scornful indifference or a downright apathy, and it demanded all Mr. Kennyfeck's own enthusiasm in the case to make him persist in a narrative so uninteresting to its only auditor.
“I fear I weary you, Mr. Cashel,” said the solicitor, “with these details, but I really supposed that you must feel desirous of knowing not only the exact circumstances of your estate, but of learning the very singular history by which your claim was substantiated.”
“If I am to be frank,” said Cashel, boldly, “I must tell you that these things possess not the slightest interest for me. When I was a gambler—which, unfortunately, I was at one time—whether I won or lost, I never could endure to discuss the game after it was over. So long as there was a goal to reach, few men could feel more ardor in the pursuit. I believe I have the passion for success as strong as my neighbors, but the struggle over, the prize won, whether by myself or another it mattered not, it ceased to have any hold upon me. I could address myself to a new contest, but never look back on the old one.”
“So that,” said Kennyfeck, drawing a long breath to conceal a sigh, “I am to conclude that this is a topic you would not desire to renew. Well, I yield of course; only pray how am I to obtain your opinion on questions concerning your property?”
“My opinions,” said Cashel, “must be mere arbitrary decisions, come to without any knowledge; that you are well aware of. I know nothing of this country,—neither its interests, its feelings, nor its tastes. I know just as little of what wealth will do, and what it will not do. Tell me, therefore, in a few words, what other men, situated as I am, would pursue,—what habits they would adopt, how live, and with whom. If I can conform, without any great sacrifice of personal freedom, I 'll do so, because I know of no slavery so bad as notoriety. Just then give me your counsel, and I ask, intending to follow it.”
Few men were less able than Mr. Kennyfeck to offer a valuable opinion on these difficult subjects, but the daily routine of his professional life had made him acquainted with a certain detail that seemed, to himself at least, an undeviating rule of procedure. He knew that, to the heir of a large estate coming of age, a wife and a seat in Parliament were the two first objects. He had so often been engaged in drawing up settlements for the one, and raising money for the other contingency, that they became as associated in his mind with one-and-twenty years of age as though intended by Nature to denote it.
With some reserve, which we must not scrutinize, he began with the political object.
“I suppose, sir,” said he, “you will desire to enter Parliament?”
“I should like it,” said Cashel, earnestly, “if a sense of inferiority would not weigh too heavily on me to compensate for the pleasure. With an education so neglected as mine, I should run the hazard of either unjustly depreciating my own judgment, or what is worse, esteeming it at more than its worth. Now, though I suspect that the interest of politics would have a great attraction for me, I should always occupy too humble a station regarding them, to make that interest a high one. Omit Parliament, then, and what next?”
“The duties of a country gentleman are various and important—the management of your estates—”
“This I must leave in your hands,” said Cashel, abruptly. “Suggest something else.”
“Well, of course, these come in a far less important category; but the style of your living, the maintenance of a house befitting your rank and property, the reception of your country neighbors,—all these are duties.”
“I am very ignorant of forms,” said Cashel, haughtily; “but I opine that if a man spare no money, with a good cook, a good cellar, a good stable, and carte blanche from the owner to make free with everything, these duties are not very difficult to perform.”
Had Mr. Kennyfeck known more of such matters, he might have told him that something was still wanting,—that something which can throw its perfume of good-breeding and elegance over the humble dinner-party in a cottage, and yet be absent from the gorgeous splendor of a banquet in a palace. Mr. Kennyfeck did not know this, so he accorded his fullest assent to Cashel's opinion.
“What comes next?” said Roland, impatiently, “for as I am neither politician nor country gentleman, nor can I make a pursuit of mere hospitality, I really do not see what career is open to me.”
Mr. Kennyfeck had been on the eve of introducing the topic of marriage, when this sally suddenly routed the attempt. The man who saw nothing to occupy him in politics, property, or social intercourse would scarcely deem a wife an all-sufficient ambition. Mr. Kennyfeck was posed.
“I see, sir, your task is a hard one; it is no less than to try and conform my savage tastes and habits to civilized usages,—a difficult thing, I am certain; however, I promise compliance with any ritual for a while. I have often been told that the possession of fortune in these countries imposes more restraints in the shape of duties than does poverty elsewhere. Let me try the problem for myself. Now, dictate, and I obey.”
“After all,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, taking courage, “few men would deem it a hard condition in which to find themselves master of above £16,000 a year, to enter Parliament, to keep a good house, and marry—as every man in your circumstances may—the person of his choice.”
“Oh! Is matrimony another article of the code?” said Cashel, smiling. “Well, that is the greatest feature, because the others are things to abandon, if not found to suit your temper or inclination—but a wife—that does look somewhat more permanent. No matter, I'll adventure all and everything—of course depending on your guidance for the path.”
Mr. Kennyfeck was too happy at these signs of confidence to neglect an opportunity for strengthening the ties, and commenced a very prudent harangue upon the necessity of Cashel's using great caution in his first steps, and not committing himself by anything like political pledges, till he had firmly decided which side to adopt. “As to society,” said he, “of course you will select those who please you most for your intimates; but in politics there are many considerations very different from mere liking. Be only guarded, however, in the beginning, and you risk nothing by waiting.”
“And as to the other count in the indictment,” said Cashel, interrupting a rather prosy dissertation about political parties,—“as to the other count—matrimony I mean. I conclude, as the world is so exceedingly kind as to take a profound interest in all the sayings and doings of a man with money, that perhaps it is not indifferent regarding so eventful a step as his marriage. Now, pray, Mr. Kennyfeck, having entered Parliament, kept open house, hunted, shot, raced, dined, gambled, duelled, and the rest, to please society, how must I satisfy its exigencies in this last particular? I mean, is there any particular style of lady,—tall, short, brunette or fair, dark-eyed or blue-eyed,—or what, in short, is the person I must marry if I would avoid transgressing any of those formidable rules which seem to regulate every action of your lives, and, if I may believe Mr. Phillis, superintend the very color of your cravat and the shape of your hat?”
“Oh, believe me,” replied Mr. Kennyfeck with a bland persuasiveness, “fashion is only exigeant in small matters; the really momentous affairs of life are always at a man's own disposal. Whoever is fortunate enough to be Mr. Cashel's choice, becomes, by the fact, as elevated above envious criticisms as she will be above the sphere where they alone prevail.”
“So far that is very flattering. Now for another point. There is an old shipmate of mine—a young Spanish officer—who has lived rather a rakish kind of life. I 'm not quite sure if he has not had a brush or two with our flag, for he dealt a little in ebony—you understand—the slave-trade, I mean. How would these fine gentlemen, I should like to know, receive him? Would they look coldly and distantly at him? I should naturally wish to see him at my house, but not that he might be offered anything like slight or insult.”
“I should defer it, certainly. I would recommend you not pressing this visit, till you have surrounded yourself with a certain set, a party by whom you will be known and upheld.”
“So then, if I understand you aright, I must obtain a kind of security for my social good conduct before the world will trust me? Now, this does seem rather hard, particularly as no man is guilty till he has been convicted.”
“The bail-bond is little else than a matter of form,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, smiling, and glad to cap an allusion which his professional pursuits made easy of comprehension.
“Well,” sighed Cashel, “I'm not quite certain that this same world of yours and I shall be long friends, if even we begin as such. I have all my life been somewhat of a rebel, except where authority was lax enough to make resistance unnecessary. How am I to get on here, hemmed in and fenced by a hundred restrictions?”
Mr. Kennyfeck could not explain to him that these barriers were less restrictions against personal liberty than defences against aggression; so he only murmured some commonplaces about “getting habituated,” and “time,” and so on, and apologized for what he, in reality, might have expatiated on as privileges.
“My mistress wishes to know, sir,” said a footman, at this juncture, “if Mr. Cashel will drive out with her? the carriage is at the door.”
“Delighted!” cried Cashel, looking at the same time most uncourteously pleased to get away from his tiresome companion.
Cashel found Mrs. Kennyfeck and her daughters seated in a handsome barouche, whose appointments, bating, perhaps, some little exuberance in display, were all perfect. The ladies, too, were most becomingly attired, and the transition from the tittle cobwebbed den of the solicitor to the free air and pleasant companionship, excited his spirits to the utmost.
“How bored you must have been by that interview!” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, as they drove away.
“Why do you say so?” said Cashel, smiling.
“You looked so weary, so thoroughly tired out, when you joined us. I'm certain Mr. Kennyfeck has been reading aloud all the deeds and documents of the trial, and reciting the hundred-and-one difficulties which his surpassing acuteness, poor dear man! could alone overcome.”
“No, indeed you wrong him,” said Roland, with a laugh; “he scarcely alluded to what he might have reasonably dwelt upon with pride, and what demands all my gratitude. He was rather giving me, what I so much stand in need of, a little lecture on my duties and devoirs as a possessor of fortune; a code, I shame to confess, perfectly strange to me.”
A very significant glance from Mrs. Kennyfeck towards the girls revealed the full measure of her contempt for the hardihood of poor Mr. Kennyfeck's daring; but quickly assuming a smile, she said, “And are we to be permitted to hear what these excellent counsels were, or are these what the Admiralty calls 'secret instructions'?”
“Not in the least. Mr. Kennyfeck sees plainly enough—it is but too palpable—that I am as ignorant of this new world as he himself would be, if dropped down suddenly in an Indian encampment, and that as the thing I detest most in this life is any unnecessary notoriety, I want to do as far as in me lies, like my neighbors. I own to you that the little sketch with which he favored me is not too fascinating, but he assures me that with time and patience and zeal I'll get over my difficulties, and make a very tolerable country gentleman.”
“But, my dear Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a great emphasis on the epithet, “why do you think of listening to Mr. Kennyfeck on such a subject? Poor man, he takes all his notions of men and manners from the Exchequer and Common Pleas.”
“Papa's models are all in horse-hair wigs,—fat mummies in ermine!” said Miss Kennyfeck.
“When Mr. Cashel knows Lord Charles,” said Olivia.
“Or Mr. Linton—”
“Or the Dean,” broke in Mrs. Kennyfeck; “for although a Churchman, his information on every subject is boundless.”
Miss Kennyfeck gave a sly look towards Cashel, which very probably entered a dissent to her mamma's opinion.
“If I were you,” resumed she, tenderly, “I know what I should do; coolly rejecting all their counsels, I should fashion my life as it pleased myself to live, well assured that in following my bent I should find plenty of people only too happy to lend me their companionship. Just reflect, for a moment, how very agreeable you can make your house, without in the least compromising any taste or inclination of your own; without, in fact, occupying your mind on the subject.”
“But the world,” remarked Mrs. Kennyfeck, “must be cared for! It would not do for one in Mr. Cashel's station to form his associates only among those whose agreeability is their recommendation.”
“Then let him know the Dean, mamma,” said Miss Kennyfeck, slyly.
“Yes, my dear,” rejoined Mrs. Kennyfeck, not detecting the sarcasm, “I cannot fancy one more capable of affording judicious counsel. You spoke about ordering plate, Mr. Cashel; but of course you will apply to Storr and Mortimer. Everything is so much better in London; otherwise, here we are at Leonard's.”
The carriage drove up, as she spoke, to the door of a very splendid-looking shop, where in all the attractive display modern taste has invented, plate and jewellery glittered and dazzled.
“It was part of Mr. Kennyfeck's counsel this morning,” said Cashel, “that I should purchase anything I want in Ireland, so far, at least, as practicable; so, if you will aid me in choosing, we 'll take the present opportunity.”
Mrs. Kennyfeck was overjoyed at the bare mention of such an occasion of display, and sailed into the shop with an air that spoke plain as words themselves, “I'm come to make your fortune.” So palpable, indeed, was the manner of her approach, that the shopman hastily retired to seek the proprietor of the establishment,—a little pompous man, with a bald head,—who, having a great number of “bad debts” among his high clients, had taken to treating great folk with a very cool assumption of equality.
“Mr. Cashel is come to look about some plate, Mr. Leonard. Let us see your book of drawings; and have you those models you made for Lord Kellorane?”
“We have better, ma'am,” said Leonard. “We have the plate itself. If you will step upstairs. It is all laid out on the tables. The fact is”—here he dropped his voice—“his lordship's marriage with Miss Fenchurch is broken off, and he will not want the plate, and we have his orders to sell it at once.”
“And is that beautiful pony-phaeton, with the two black Arabians, to be sold?” asked Miss Kennyfeck, eagerly. “He only drove them once, I think.”
“Yes, madam, everything: they are all to be auctioned at Dycer's to-day.”
“At what hour?” inquired Cashel.
“At three, precisely, sir.”
“Then it wants but five minutes of the time,” said Cashel, looking at his watch.
“But the plate, sir? Such an opportunity may never occur again,” broke in Leonard, fearful of seeing his customer depart unprofitably.
“Oh, to be sure. Let us see it,” said Cashel, as he handed Mrs. Kennyfeck upstairs.
An exclamation of surprise and delight burst from the party at the magnificent display which greeted them on entering the room. How splendid—what taste—how very beautiful—so elegant—so massive—so chaste! and fifty other encomiastic phrases.
“Very fine, indeed, ma'am,” chimed in Leonard; “cost fifteen and seven-pence the ounce throughout, and now to be sold for thirteen shillings.”
“What is the price?” said Cashel, in a low whisper.
“There are, if I remember right, sir, but I 'll ascertain in a moment, eight thousand ounces.”
“I want to know the sum in one word,” rejoined Cashel, hastily.
“It will be something like three thousand seven hundred and—”
“Well, say three thousand seven hundred, it is mine.”
“These ice-pails are not included, sir.”
“Well, send them also, and let me know the price. How handsome that brooch is! Let me see it on your velvet dress, Mrs. Kennyfeck. Yes, that really looks well. Pray let it remain there.”
“Oh, I could not think of such a thing! It is far too costly. It is the most splendid—”
“You 'll not refuse me, I hope, a first request, madam,” said he, with a half-offended air.
Mrs. Kennyfeck, really overwhelmed by the splendor of the gift, complied with a reluctant shame.
“These are the diamonds that were ordered for the bride,” said Leonard, opening a jewel-casket, and exhibiting a most magnificent suite.
“Oh, how sorry she must be!” cried Miss Kennyfeck, as she surveyed the glittering mass.
“If she loved him,” murmured Olivia, in a low whisper, as if to herself, but overheard by Cashel, who kept his eyes towards her with an expression of deep interest.
“If the gentleman stood in need of such a set,” said Leonard, “I am empowered to dispose of them at the actual cost. It is old Mr. Fenchurch who suffers all the loss, and he can very well afford it. As a wedding present, sir—”
“But I am not going to be married, that I know of,” said Cashel, smiling.
“Perhaps not this week, sir, or the next,” rejoined the self-sufficient jeweller; “but, of course, that time will come. Two thousand pounds for such a suite is positively getting them a present, to break them up and reset them.”
“How shocking!” cried Miss Kennyfeck.
“Yes, madam; but what is to be done? They only suit large fortunes in their present form; these, unfortunately, are very rare with us.”
“A quarter past three!” exclaimed Cashel; “we shall be too late.”
“And the diamonds, sir?” said Leonard, following him downstairs.
“Do you think them so handsome?” said Cashel to Olivia, as she walked at his side.
“Oh, they are most beautiful,” replied she, with a bashful falling of her eyelids.
“I 'll take them also,” whispered Cashel to Leonard, who, for perhaps the only time for years past, accompanied the party, bareheaded, to their carriage, and continued bowing till they drove away.
“Dycer's,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck; “and as fast as you can.”
With all their speed they came too late. The beautiful equipage had been already disposed of, and was driving from the gate as they drew up.
“How provoking!—how terribly provoking!” exclaimed Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“I declare, I think them handsomer than ever,” said Miss Kennyfeck, as she surveyed the two well-matched and highly-bred ponies.
“Who bought them?” asked Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“I am the fortunate individual, or rather the unhappy one, who excites such warm regrets,” said Mr Linton, as he lounged on the door of the carriage. “I would I were Rothschild, or his son, or his godson, to beg your acceptance of them.”
“What did you give for them, Mr. Linton?” asked Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“How unfair to ask; and you, too, who understand these things so well.”
“I want to purchase them,” said she, laughing; “that was my reason.”
“To you, then, the price is what I have just paid,—a hundred and fifty.”
“How cheap!”
“Absolutely for nothing. I bought them on no other account. I really do not want such an equipage.”
“To be serious, then,” resumed Mrs. Kennyfeck, “we came here with Mr. Cashel to purchase them, and just arrived a few minutes too late.”
“Quite early enough to allow of my being able to render you a slight service; without, however, the satisfaction of its having demanded any effort from me. Will you present me to Mr. Cashel?” The gentlemen bowed and smiled, and Linton resumed: “If you care for the ponies, Mr. Cashel, I am delighted to say they are at your service. I really bought them, as I say, because they were going for nothing.” Cashel did not know how to return the generosity, but accepted the offer, trusting that time would open an occasion to repay the favor.
“Shall I send them home to you, or will you drive them?”
“Will you venture to accompany me?” said Cashel, turning to Olivia Kennyfeck; who, seeing at once the impropriety of a proposal which Roland's ignorance of the world alone could have committed, was silent and confused.
“Are you afraid, my dear?” inquired Mrs. Kennyfeck, to show that all other objections might be waived.
“Oh no, mamma, if you are not.”
“The ponies are perfectly quiet,” said Linton.
“I 'm certain nothing will happen,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with a most significant glance at her sister.
“Take care of her, Mr. Cashel,” said the mamma, as Roland handed the blushing girl to her place. “I have never trusted her in any one's charge before; and if I had not such implicit confidence—” Before the sentence was finished, the ponies sprang forward in a trot, the equipage in a moment fled and disappeared from view.
“A fine young fellow he seems to be,” said Linton, as he raised his hat in adieu; “and so frank, too!” There was a something in his smile that looked too intelligent, but Mrs. Kennyfeck affected not to notice it, as she said “Good-bye.”