“So-so; an effeminate humourist,—says the most absurd things, and fancies them wise. Never mind him. You wanted to speak to me, Frank?”
“Yes; I am so obliged to you for introducing me to Levy. I must tell you how handsomely he has behaved.”
“Stop; allow me to remind you that I did not introduce you to Levy; you had met him before at Borrowell’s, if I recollect right, and he dined with us at the Clarendon,—that is all I had to do with bringing you together. Indeed I rather cautioned you against him than not. Pray don’t think I introduced you to a man who, however pleasant and perhaps honest, is still a money-lender. Your father would be justly angry with me if I had done so.”
“Oh, pooh! you are prejudiced against poor Levy. But just hear: I was sitting very ruefully, thinking over those cursed bills, and how the deuce I should renew them, when Levy walked into my rooms; and after telling me of his long friendship for my uncle Egerton and his admiration for yourself, and (give me your hand, Randal) saying how touched he felt by your kind sympathy in my troubles, he opened his pocket-book, and showed me the bills safe and sound in his own possession.”
“How?”
“He had bought them up. ‘It must be so disagreeable to me,’ he said, ‘to have them flying about the London moneymarket, and those Jews would be sure sooner or later to apply to my father. And now,’ added Levy, ‘I am in no immediate hurry for the money, and we must put the interest upon fairer terms.’ In short, nothing could be more liberal than his tone. And he says, he is thinking of a way to relieve me altogether, and will call about it in a few days, when his plan is matured. After all, I must owe this to you, Randal. I dare swear you put it into his head.”
“Oh, no, indeed! On the contrary, I still say, Be cautious in all your dealings with Levy. I don’t know, I ‘m sure, what he means to propose. Have you heard from the Hall lately?”
“Yes, to-day. Only think—the Riccaboccas have disappeared. My mother writes me word of it,—a very odd letter. She seems to suspect that I know where they are, and reproaches me for ‘mystery’—quite enigmatical. But there is one sentence in her letter—see, here it is in the postscript—which seems to refer to Beatrice: ‘I don’t ask you to tell me your secrets, Frank, but Randal will no doubt have assured you that my first consideration will be for your own happiness, in any matter in which your heart is really engaged.’”
“Yes,” said Randal, slowly; “no doubt this refers to Beatrice; but, as I told you, your mother will not interfere one way or the other,—such interference would weaken her influence with the squire. Besides, as she said, she can’t wish, you to marry a foreigner; though once married, she would—But how do you stand now with the marchesa? Has she consented to accept you?”
“Not quite; indeed I have not actually proposed. Her manner, though much softened, has not so far emboldened me; and, besides, before a positive declaration, I certainly must go down to the Hall and speak at least to my mother.”
“You must judge for yourself, but don’t do anything rash: talk first to me. Here we are at my office. Good-by; and—and pray believe that, in whatever you do with Levy, I have no hand in it.”
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