The Earl moved away from the window, and his half-veiled gaze dwelt on the details of the lofty chamber in which he waited.
Everything was very new, very magnificent. A cold, uncultured taste expressed itself in stiff, splendid furniture; in pictures selected for no reason, it seemed, but their bright colours and their massive frames, and in enormous mirrors that, rising from floor to ceiling, reflected their glories again and again after the manner of a public dancing-room.
The chairs and settees wore linen covers that concealed all but their shining gilt legs. There were no flowers in the painted vases nor any small or intimate object to disturb the stately expanses of the marble-topped tables and Japan cabinets; it appeared a room never often used and of late long shut up.
Rose Lyndwood walked softly up and down. He had his hat under his arm and his gloved hands clasped behind him; he wore an olive-green riding-coat, his hair unpowdered and plainly arranged.
He was utterly out of harmony with his surroundings. It might be that he was aware of this, for when he saw his image in the ostentatious mirrors he very slightly smiled, and not pleasantly.
The sunlight entered by the tall bare window and lay in a great square on the highly coloured carpet, dazzling in its passage on the flaunting gold of furniture and pictures.
Lord Lyndwood paced to and fro, glancing, when he reached the window, at the green chariot below, with its idle admirers, and at the empty street beyond, and when he reached the great glass the other end of the chamber at the reflection of his own superb person with that slight and sneering smile.
He was by the window when the heavy-carved door quickly opened, and a man stepped into the room.
Lord Lyndwood stood where he was.
"Good morning, Mr. Hilton," he said.
The new-comer advanced.
"I have kept you waiting, my lord," he said. "A domestic matter detained me."
He looked at the Earl gravely, yet intently, and came nearer. He was a middle-aged man, heavy in build, with a commonplace countenance imparted by ambitions satisfied and a prosperity hardly attained and keenly relished.
He was dressed in plum-coloured velvet. Across his waistcoat was a watch-chain set with rubies that he fingered with his coarse left hand, as if he could not forget it; he wore a large, old-fashioned peruke heavily powdered, that, flowing on to his shoulders, gave a touch of remote dignity to his person, belied by his shrewd, alert face.
"Your lordship must excuse the disorder of my house," he said. "We are but newly arrived in London."
"I observe no disorder," answered the Earl. His slow glance rested on the owner of the mansion. "It appears to me prodigious neat."
Mr. Hilton bowed.
"Will you be seated, my lord?"
Rose Lyndwood moved to one of the stiff, awkward-looking sofas, and seated himself there, with his back to the light.
"You received my letter?" he asked, placing his hat beside him.
"I had that honour, my lord."
Mr. Hilton placed himself in one of the covered chairs, sat erect in unconscious discomfort, and gazed at the Earl with narrowed eager eyes.
"Then there is the less for me to say," answered Rose Lyndwood.
He sat carelessly, and his voice was languid, as if it were no great matter that he discussed; but his face was pale above the black stock, and his lips had the look of disdain that came to them when against his will he forced himself to touch affairs he wished to spurn.
"If your lordship's object in this visit is what I imagine it to be," said Mr. Hilton, "there is not much for us to discuss."
Rose Lyndwood lifted his head; he did not look at the other man, but beyond him.
"A year ago, or nearly a year ago, Mr. Hilton, you and I met on a matter of business." The disdainful smile was now unmistakable. "You, as one of the gentlemen connected with my banking house, knew, and know, something of my affairs."
Mr. Hilton nodded, as if he heard what he had expected and was satisfied.
The Earl began to pull off his gloves slowly, loosening each finger first. He turned his eyes on Mr. Hilton, and they looked as dark as the velvet bat at the corner of his beautiful mouth.
"I was in difficulties then, you will remember, and you made a proposition to me that I rejected. How much of this need I recall to you?"
"I recollect it," said Mr. Hilton, "perfectly."
There was a hardly noticeable pause and a hardly noticeable effort on the part of the Earl before he spoke again.
"I am now an utterly ruined man."
Mr. Hilton nodded for the second time, as if he listened to something that he knew, and yet something that he was pleased to hear put into words.
"I shall not even be able to save Lyndwood or the property in the North. My credit is strained to the utmost, and it is only a matter of days before the brokers seize even my personal effects."
He smiled rather insolently and looked fixedly at his listener.
"Do you care to repeat what you said when last we met, Mr. Hilton?"
"The proposal I made you, my lord?"
"Yes."
Mr. Hilton clasped the arm of his chair with his right hand; his left fondled the ruby watch-chain, his lips were set firmly, and a little sparkle danced in his eyes.
"I repeat that proposal, my lord."
"You understand my position, Mr. Hilton—that I am a penniless man?"
"I understand, my lord, what a nobleman's ruin means. I will assume the worst—that your debts are immense, the Jews outrageous, the creditors flint, that you have obligations, hungry relations and the like, and still I make you the offer I made you a year ago."
Lord Lyndwood flushed faintly.
"I have come to accept it, Mr. Hilton."
The elder man rose abruptly.
"I thought," he said, in a soft tone, "that it could be only a question of time, my lord."
The Earl was now on his feet, too.
"Let us put this matter formally," he said, and his grey eyes were afire. "I request the honour of your daughter's hand in marriage. Now is it Yes?"
The colour had deepened in his face, and the knot of the black silk cravat on his breast rose and fell quickly; but for that he had the appearance of complete composure.
"It is Yes, my lord," answered Mr. Hilton. "From this moment Lavinia is your betrothed wife"—he uttered the words as if they gave him intense pleasure, and repeated them—"your betrothed wife."
The Earl stood silent, his right hand closed down on the hilt of his sword, his eyes on Mr. Hilton, who took a sharp turn about the room, then stopped before him.
"What are your debts?" he asked; and his fingers were busily caressing his watch-chain. "How much do you owe the Jews, and what is the mortgage on Lyndwood? But no matter, that is a business affair, we must see the lawyers," he smiled; "all shall be paid—every penny," his smile deepened; "it is good to have money, is it not, my lord?"
"It is necessary," said my lord, and he also smiled. "As I have found——"
Mr. Hilton moved slowly away and contemplated Rose Lyndwood out of wholly triumphant eyes.
The great chamber, the rich paintings, the gilt mirrors were his, bought with his money; this man, Rose Lyndwood,