He then sat himself down on the sofa, and rang for Gibson, but still the train of thought pursued him.

“As to Lucy, I think it is still possible to force her into the position for which I destined her—­quite possible.  She reasons like a girl, of course, as I told her.  She reasons like a girl who looks upon that silly nonsense called love as the great business of life; and acts accordingly.  Little she thinks, however, that love—­her love—­his love—­both their loves—­will never meet twelve months after what is termed the honey-moon.  No, they will part north and south.  And yet the honey-moon has her sharp ends, as well as every other moon.  When love passes away, she will find that the great business of life is, to make as many as she can feel that she is above them in the estimation of the world; to impress herself upon her equals, until they shall be forced to acknowledge her superiority.  And although this may be sometimes done by intellect and principle, yet, in the society in which she must move, it is always done by rank, by high position, and by pride, that jealous vindictive pride which is based upon the hatred of our kind, and at once smiles and scorns.  What would I be if I were not a baronet?  Sir Thomas Gourlay passes where Mr. Gourlay would be spurned.  This is the game of life, and we shall play it with the right weapons.  Many a cringing scoundrel bows to the baronet who despises the man; and for this reason it is that I have always made myself to be felt to some purpose, and so shall Lucy, if I should die for it.  I hate society, because I know that society hates me; and for that reason I shall so far exalt her, that she will have the base compound at her feet, and I shall teach her to scorn and trample upon it.  If I thought there were happiness in any particular rank of life, I would not press her; but I know there is not, and for that reason she loses nothing, and gains the privilege—­the power—­of extorting homage from the proud, the insolent, and the worthless.  This is the triumph she shall and must enjoy.”

Gibson then entered, and the baronet, on hearing his foot, threw himself into a languid and invalid attitude.

“Gibson,” said he, “I am very unwell; I apprehend a serious attack of illness.”

“I trust not, sir.”

“If any person should call, I am ill, observe, and not in a condition to see them.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Unless you should suspect, or ascertain, that it is some person on behalf of Miss Gourlay; and even then, mark, I am very ill indeed, and you do not think me able to speak to any one; but will come in and see.”

“Yes, sir; certainly sir.”

“There, then, that will do.”

The priest, on leaving the baronet’s residence, was turning his steps toward the hotel in which the stranger had put up, when his messenger to Constitution Hill approaching put his hand to his hat, and respectfully saluted him.