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Young Sir Willoughby was fond of talking of his "military namesake and distant cousin, young Patterne the Marine". It was funny; and not less laughable was the description of his namesake's deed of valour: with the rescued British sailor inebriate, and the hauling off to captivity of the three braves of the black dragon on a yellow ground, and the tying of them together back to back by their pigtails, and driving of them into our lines upon a newly devised dying-top style of march that inclined to the oblique, like the astonished six eyes of the celestial prisoners, for straight they could not go.
She was glad of his absence, after a certain hour that she passed with Willoughby, a wretched hour to remember. Mr. Whitford had left, and Willoughby came, bringing bad news of his mother's health. Lady Patterne was fast failing. Her son spoke of the loss she would be to him; he spoke of the dreadfulness of death. He alluded to his own death to come carelessly, with a philosophical air.
It melted him, she was so sweet! She shone for him like the sunny breeze on water. Thinking of her caused a catch of his breath. The dreadful young woman had a keener edge for the senses of men than sovereign beauty. It would be madness to let her go. She affected him like an outlook on the great Patterne estate after an absence, when his welcoming flag wept for pride above Patterne Hall!
The amiability of the Patterne ladies combined with their total eclipse behind their illustrious nephew invited enterprising women of the world to take liberties, and they were not backward. Lady Busshe said: "Well? the news! we have the outlines. Don't be astonished: we know the points: we have heard the gun. I could have told you as much yesterday. I saw it. And I guessed it the day before.
The effect of it, nevertheless, was to hurry him with all his might into the heat of the chase, while yet he knew no more of her than that he was competing for a prize, and Willoughby Patterne was only one of dozens to the young lady. A deeper student of Science than his rivals, he appreciated Nature's compliment in the fair ones choice of you.
Middleton; he has a language that I can compare only to a review-day of the field forces. But I have the story on authority that I cannot question: it is confirmed by my daughter's unexampled behaviour. And if I live through this day I shall look about me as a ghost to-morrow." "Dear Mr. Dale!" said the Patterne ladies, compassionately.
He was not conceited at all he simply regarded himself as a completely exceptional person. Brandon had none of the sublime egoism of Sir Willoughby Patterne he thought of others and was kindly and often unselfish but he did, like Sir Willoughby, believe himself to be of quite another clay from the rest of mankind.
The visitor carried a bag, and his coat-collar was up, his hat was melancholy; he had the appearance of a bankrupt tradesman absconding; no gloves, no umbrella. As to the incident we have to note, it was very slight. The card of Lieutenant Patterne was handed to Sir Willoughby, who laid it on the salver, saying to the footman, "Not at home."
Either she had guessed it, or Clara had confided to her the treacherous passion of Horace De Craye. However, the world was shut away from Patterne for the night. Willoughby shut himself up in his laboratory to brood awhile after the conflict.
"My dear Clara!" exclaimed the astonished lover, "how can you term them borrowed, when they are the Patterne jewels, our family heirloom pearls, unmatched, I venture to affirm, decidedly in my county and many others, and passing to the use of the mistress of the house in the natural course of things?" "They are yours, they are not mine." "Prospectively they are yours."
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