“This, Sir Thomas,” replied Mrs. Mainwaring, avoiding a direct reply as to her knowledge of Lucy’s movements, “is, I presume, with reference to her marriage with Lord Dunroe.”

“Oh yes; young women will not, now-a-days, allow a parent to form any opinion as to what constitutes their happiness; but I cannot be angry with Lucy now; indeed, I am not.  I only regret her absence from my sick bed, as I may term it; for, indeed, it is in bed I ought to be.”

“Sir Thomas, I, came to speak with you very seriously, upon the subject of her union with that young nobleman.”

“Ah, but I am not in a condition, Mrs. Mainwaring, to enter upon such a topic at present.  The doctor has forbidden me to speak upon any subject that might excite me.  You must excuse me, then, madam; I really cannot enter upon it.  I never thought T loved Lucy so much;—­I only want my child to be with me.  She and I are all that I are left together now; but she has deserted me at the last moment, for I fear I am near it.”

“But, Sir Thomas, if you would only hear me for a few minutes, I could satisfy you that—­”

“But I cannot hear you, Mrs. Mainwaring; I cannot hear you; I am not in a state to do so; I feel feverish, and exceedingly ill.”

“Five minutes would do, Sir Thomas.”

“Five minutes! five centuries of torture!  I must ring the bell, Mrs. Mainwaring, if you attempt to force this subject on me.  I should be sorry to treat you rudely, but you must see at once that I am quite unable to talk of anything calculated to disturb me.  I have a tendency of blood to the head—­I am also nervous and irritable.  Put it off, my dear madam.  I trust you shall have another and a better opportunity.  Do ring, and desire Lucy to come to me.”

Mrs. Mainwaring really became alarmed at the situation of the baronet, and felt, from this request to have his daughter sent to him, which looked like delirium, that he was not in a state to enter upon or hear anything that might disappoint or disturb him.  She consequently rose to take her leave, which she did after having expressed her sincere regret at his indisposition, as she termed it.

“I wish it was only indisposition, Mrs. Mainwaring, I wish it was.  Present my respects to your husband, and I wish you and him all happiness;” and so with another courtesy, Mrs. Mainwaring took her leave.

After she had gone, Gibson once more attended the bell.

“Well, Gibson,” said his master, sitting up and flinging his nightcap aside, “did you see that old grindress?  Zounds and the devil, what are women?  The old mantrap has got married at these years!  Thank heaven, my grandmother is dead, or God knows what the devil might put into her old noddle.”

“Women are very strange cattle, certainly, sir,” replied Gibson, with a smirk, “and not age itself will keep them from a husband.”