might have cost about a hundred guineas apiece) without hypocrisy. Miss Catherine brought out her portfolio in a matter-of-fact way, as if the performance were an accustomed one to be gone through; but Miss Lucy gave a toss of her little head while showing her part of the exhibition, as if she estimated it at its proper value. Then Mrs. Peevor and Miss Maria retired — invalid habits being implied in the parting ceremony — and an adjournment was proposed to the billiard-room, an ample chamber fitted up with luxurious settees. Cigars of admirable aroma were now produced, and Mr. Peevor insisted upon Yorke's lighting one, notwithstanding the young ladies' presence, observing that the girls liked the smell, and that these were some very rare tobacco which he had succeeded in procuring through a friend in Spain; he did not smoke himself, but he liked to keep a tolerable cigar for his friends.
The young ladies' performances at the billiard-table were not more brilliant than their efforts in the fine arts; and as Mr. Peevor himself, although careful to explain that the table was of a peculiar construction made to special order, turned out to be an indifferent player, the game was rather one-sided. But it did not last long; for as breakfast was ordered for nine o'clock the next morning on account of the hunting, Mr. Peevor soon became fidgety about his daughters not being up in time, and hurried them off to bed; and then before wishing his guest good-night at his room-door, gave a last order to the butler for the despatch of the tax-cart to Castleroyal the first thing in the morning; after which he proceeded to make the round of the house to see that all the bolts and bars were properly secured, and the warning-bells attached to all the windows, without taking which precaution nightly, he said, he should not be able to get a moment's sleep.
As Yorke in the retirement of his luxurious bedroom reflected with a sort of amused curiosity on the proceedings of the evening, he felt almost angry with himself at harbouring involuntarily a suspicion of his generous host's honesty. And yet the suspicion would come up. Is all this luxury and apparent wealth, he thought, a mere blind to delude the world? And the stories came up to his mind of the different swindlers in recent years who had imposed upon the public for a brief space by prodigal scattering of money which did not belong to them. Does he want to get rid of one of his daughters before the impending smash takes place? Surely, if he is really the man of substance he appears to be, it would not be necessary to seek out a stranger like myself, a mere soldier of fortune, in order to get a husband for presentable, well-portioned daughters. Such wonderful eagerness is enough to make one suspicious. But this idea was quickly dismissed. Clearly there were no marks of the adventurer about Mr. Peevor. Nothing could be more in contrast to the uneasy forced composure that would be expected in the swindler who is striving to keep up appearances till ruin and exposure should overtake him, than the easy-going indolence of the worthy host, whose mind would not run upon trifles as it did if there were graver subjects to occupy it. Yet it seemed impossible to mistake the broad hints he dropped of his anxiety to dispose of his daughters. Mr. Peevor, however, was evidently a desperate fidget; and perhaps in view of poor Miss Maria's impending fate of old-maidhood before him, he had worked himself into a craze to make any reasonable match for the others before it was too late. Miss Maria had evidently been the victim of a disappointment. Yet why should eligible bachelors be wanting in such desirable quarters? And then Yorke, half ashamed of himself for his treachery to the passion which he taken a secret pride in cherishing for so long, amused himself with speculating on the absurdity of a lovemaking from which all the usual necessary ingredients of the pursuit should be wanting. No blind passion in this case, at any rate; it must be the mere caricature of the real thing when you set off by appraising all the lady's blemishes. To think of professing to make love to a girl when all the time you were criticising her little imperfections! Truly this would be a droll conclusion for a man who had prided himself on his power of romantic devotion. And after all, which of the two was it to be? Even this preliminary step was not yet settled. Thus musing, Yorke fell asleep.
