“Well, but, my dear father,” said Lord Sherbrooke, “I will grant all that you say.  It is altogether my fault; I have behaved very stupidly, very wildly, very rudely, very viciously.  But there is no reason that you should be so angry with the young lady, or with my good lord duke.”

“Ay, sir! think you so?” said the Earl—­“you are mighty wise in your own conceit.  You have had your share, certainly; but I do not avenge myself on my own son.  They have had their share, however, too.  Their pride, their would-be importance, their insufferable arrogance, which makes them think that kings or princes are not too good for her—­these have all had no light share; and if I live for six months I will bring that pride down to the very lowest pitch.  I will degrade her till she thinks herself a servant wench.”

Wilton certainly did feel his blood boil, but he knew that he had neither any right nor any power to interfere; and he turned to some papers that were upon the tables, and hid the expression which his thoughts might communicate to his countenance, by apparent attention to something else.

Some more words passed between the father and son, but they were few.  Lord Sherbrooke, upon the whole, behaved better than Wilton could have expected.  He neither treated the subject lightly and jocularly as he was accustomed to do in most cases, nor bitterly and sarcastically, which his father’s evident want of principle in the whole business gave him but too fair an opportunity of doing.  He acknowledged fairly and straight-forwardly his errors and his vices; and all that he said in regard to the offence he had given his father was, that he imagined he could not in honour suffer Lady Laura to decide without letting her know the character at least of the man who was proposed for her husband.

“Well, sir,” replied his father, sharply, “you have convinced her of your character very soon.  Mine, she may be longer in finding out; but she shall not fail to be made equally well aware of it in the end.”

Thus saying, he turned and quitted the room, giving some casual directions to Wilton as he passed.

“Well, that business is so far done and over,” exclaimed Lord Sherbrooke, as soon as his father was gone; “and, as it is pleasant, my dear Wilton, to do a good action now and then, by way of a change, you and I must enter into a conspiracy together, to prevent my worthy, subtle, and revengeful father from executing a this poor girl, who has only done her duty to herself, and to me, and to her father.”

“I trust,” replied Wilton, “that the Earl’s threat was but one of those bursts of disappointment which will pass away with time.  I cannot imagine that, after a little consideration, he will have any inclination really to injure either the Duke or his daughter; nor, indeed, do I see that he could have the means either.”

Lord Sherbrooke shook his head with a gloomy air, and answered, “He will make them, Wilton—­he will make the means; and as to inclination, you do not know him as well as I do.  He will not forget what has occurred this day, as long as he remembers how to write his own name.  This same goodly desire of revenge is henceforth a part of his nature, and nothing will ever remove it, unless self-interest or ambition be brought into action against it.”