The picture painted by the earl was terribly alluring.
He hesitated.
He was lost.
"Mugley," he whispered, hoarsely--"Mugley, I have wronged you. I thought
you were a fortune-hunter. I see you love her. Take her, my boy, and pass
me the brandy."
"Certainly, Mr. Terwilliger," replied the earl, affably. "And then, if
you've no objection, you may pass it back, and I'll join you in a
thimbleful myself."
And then the two men drank each other's health in silence, which was
prolonged for at least five minutes, during which time the earl and his
host both appeared to be immersed in deep thought.
"Come," said Terwilliger at last. "Let us go back to the drawing-room, or
they'll miss us, and, by-the-way, you might speak of that little matter to
Ariadne to-night. It'll help the fall trade to have the engagement
announced."
"I will, Mr. Terwilliger," returned the earl, as they started to leave the
room; "but I say, father-in-law elect," he whispered, catching
Terwilliger's coat sleeve and drawing him back into the office for an
instant, "you couldn't let me have five pounds on account this evening,
could you?"
Two minutes later Terwilliger and the earl appeared in the drawing-room,
the former looking haggard and worn, his eyes feverishly bright, and his
manner betraying the presence of disturbing elements in his nerve centres;
the latter smiling more affably than was consistent with his title, and
jingling a number of gold coins in his pocket, which his intimate friend
and old college chum, Lord Dufferton, on the other side of the room,
marvelled at greatly, for he knew well that upon the earl's arrival at
Bangletop Hall an hour before his pockets were as empty as a flunky's
head.
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