“It has this moment occurred to me, my lord, with reference to this very point, that it may be possible, and by no means improbable—­at least I for one anxiously hope it—­that the recent illness of my Lord Dunroe may have given him time to reflect upon his escapades and follies, and that he will rejoin society a wiser and a better man.  Under these expectations, I appeal to your own good sense, my lord, whether it would be wise or prudent by at present alluding—­especially if it be rendered unnecessary by his reformation—­to his want of morals, in any conversation I may hold with my daughter, and thereby deprive him of her personal respect and esteem, the only basis upon which true affection and domestic happiness can safely rest.  Let us therefore wait, my lord.  Perhaps the loss of some of his hot blood may have cooled him.  Perhaps, after all,” he added, smiling, “we may have reason to thank his phlebotomist.”

The peer saw Sir Thomas’s play, and, giving him another keen glance, replied: 

“I never depended much upon a dramatic repentance, my dear baronet.  Many a resolution of amendment has been made on the sick bed; but we know in general how they are kept, especially by the young.  Be this as it may, our discussion has been long enough, and sufficiently ineffectual.  My impression is, that Miss Gourlay is disinclined to the alliance.  In truth, I dare say she is as well acquainted with his moral reputation as we are—­perhaps better.  Dunroe’s conduct has been too often discussed in fashionable life to be a secret to her, or any one else who has access to it.  If she reject him from a principle of virtuous delicacy and honor, she deserves a better fate than ever to call him husband.  But perhaps she may have some other attachment?”

“My lord,” replied Sir Thomas, rising, “I think I can perceive on which side the disinclination lies.  You have—­and pray excuse me for saying so—­studiously thrown, during the present conference, every possible obstruction in the way of an arrangement on this subject.  If your lordship is determined that the alliance between our families shall not take place, I pray you to say so.  Upon your own showing my daughter will have little that she ought to regret in escaping Dunroe.”

“And Dunroe would have much to be thankful to God for in securing your daughter.  But, Sir Thomas Gourlay, I will be candid and open with you.  Pray observe, sir, that, during this whole discussion, conference, or what you will, I did not get out of you a single direct answer, and that upon a subject involving the life-long happiness of your only child.  I tell you, baronet, that your indirectness of purpose, and—­you will excuse me, too, for what I am about to say, the importance of the subject justifies me—­your evasions have excited my suspicions, and my present impression is, that Miss Gourlay is averse to a matrimonial union with my son; that she has heard reports of his character which have justly