The cross-examination was continued for a considerable time—­till the earl had literally nothing more to say, and Lord Kilcullen was so irritated that he told his father he would not stand it any longer.  Then they went into money affairs, and the earl spoke despondingly about ten thousands and twenty thousands, and the viscount somewhat flippantly of fifty thousands and sixty thousands; and this was continued till the earl felt that his son was too deep in the mire to be pulled out, and the son thought that, deep as he was there, it would be better to remain and wallow in it than undergo so disagreeable a process as that to which his father subjected him in extricating him from it.  It was settled, however, that Mr. Jervis, Lord Cashel’s agent, should receive full authority to deal summarily in all matters respecting the horses and their trainers, the house in Curzon Street, and its inhabitants, and all other appendages and sources of expense which Lord Kilcullen had left behind him; and that he, Kilcullen, should at once commence his siege upon his cousin’s fortune.  And on this point the son bargained that, as it would be essentially necessary that his spirits should be light and easy, he was not, during the operation, to be subjected to any of his father’s book-room conversations:  for this he stipulated as an absolute sine qua non in the negotiation, and the clause was at last agreed to, though not without much difficulty.

Both father and son seemed to think that the offer should be made at once.  Lord Cashel really feared that his son would be arrested at Grey Abbey, and he was determined to pay nothing further for him, unless he felt secure of Fanny’s fortune; and whatever were Lord Kilcullen’s hopes and fears as to his future lot, he was determined not to remain long in suspense, as far as his projected marriage was concerned.  He was determined to do his best to accomplish it, for he would have done anything to get the command of ready money; if he was not successful, at any rate he need not remain in the purgatory of Grey Abbey.  The Queen’s Bench would be preferable to that.  He was not, however, very doubtful; he felt but little confidence in the constancy of any woman’s affection, and a great deal in his own powers of fascination:  he had always been successful in his appeals to ladies’ hearts, and did not doubt of being so now, when the object of his adoration must, as he thought, be so dreadfully in want of some excitement, something to interest her.  Any fool might have her now, thought he, and she can’t have any violent objection to being Lady Kilcullen for the present, and Lady Cashel in due time.  He felt, however, something like remorse at the arrangement to which he was a party; it was not that he was about to make a beautiful creature, his own cousin, miserable for life, by uniting her to a spendthrift, a roue, and a gambler—­such was the natural lot of women in the higher ranks of life—­but he felt that he was robbing her of her money.  He would have thought it to be no disgrace to carry her off had another person been her guardian.  She would then have had fair play, and it would be the guardian’s fault if her fortune were not secure.  But she had no friend now to protect her:  it was her guardian himself who was betraying her to ruin.