That good fellow was honestly pleased. 'Sir John's fame has reached you,' he said. 'And perhaps you may have met him in society?'
Mabel acknowledged that she had met him, and said no more. Cyril sang his praises.
'What a man! He builds places of public amusement, he wins money on racecourses, he sits on the throne of the Press and dictates the policy of Europe -- and, only think, he is My Friend!'
But Mabel's thoughts were otherwise employed. A young person, hitherto free from any weak leanings towards superstition, she now dimly perceived the hand of Fate, mysteriously pointing to Sir John, at the very time when she had determined to dismiss him from her mind and from her list of visitors. What would be the next event? Would he discover Oakapple Hall? Preceded by his celebrity, would he obtain an introduction to Mrs Corydon, and renew his offer of marriage? With the ready inconsistency of her sex and age, Mabel began to feel a certain reluctant interest in Sir John. He assumed romantic proportions in his absence. She had left him a shadowy figure disappearing, as it were, in the background. And here he was in the front of the picture again; presenting himself through the innocent medium of this nice boy -- so proud of him, so grateful to him! Her curiosity was excited by the very man whom she had despised not three days since. She encouraged poor Cyril to talk of Sir John. One of Eve's daughters -- there is nothing else to be said for her: one of Eve's daughters.
The course of their walk had brought them back, by this time, to the house. Cyril suddenly made an apology.
'Excuse me for one moment; I have something to show you.' He ran into the house, and ran out again with the local newspaper in his hand.
'Nothing that I can say of our gifted friend will be as interesting to you as this,' he announced, and pointed to the column of the newspaper filled by the London correspondent with news from the fashionable world. There was Sir John again! 'A brilliant circle had assembled' at the country seat of a great nobleman, situated within an hour's drive of Oakapple Hall -- and in two days more Sir John Bosworth was expected as a welcome addition to the number of his lordship's guests.
Mabel made the first excuse that occurred to her, and escaped from Cyril to the solitude of her own room. It was high time to consider what she had better do next.
III Decision of character is, generally speaking, a plant of slow growth, in the human constitution. When the age is seventeen, the sex female, and the question: What am I to do next? -- perplexing circumstances wait for an answer, and seldom get it. Mabel could not venture to consult her uncle -- and if Mrs Corydon had an amiable weakness, it took the form of habitual reliance on other people's advice. In this emergency, Mabel's temper escaped from control; and Cyril's position in the estimation of his charming friend receded, without any reason for that deplorable event which it was possible to discover. Ignorant of the ways of women -- in love, with the ready inflammability of a young man who has led an innocent life -- Cyril was foolish enough to ask if he had offended Mabel. He made the mistake with the utmost humility of manner and language -- and was received with a toss of the head, and a reply which expressed surprise that a member of an English University should prove to be an ill-bred man.
Three days passed. Sir John Bosworth (if the newspaper could be trusted) was already established as a guest at the country seat of his noble friend. In sheer despair of recovering the ground that he had lost by any effort of his own, Cyril decided on asking the advice of the one competent and trustworthy person within his reach.
Sir John was in the house; Sir John hurried into the room in which Cyril was waiting for him, and shook hands with a cordial squeeze. This inestimable friend of Cyril's was a tall finely-made man, rather dark than light in complexion, and a little bald; otherwise remarkable for bushy eyebrows, a strong Roman nose, and magnificent whiskers; eyes bright and striking in themselves, but a little shifty in expression at times: in one word, a most agreeable person -- with a false nature, concealed from the mass of mankind under a surface of easy humour and hearty good spirits.
'My dear boy, how glad I am to see you! You are one of us, of course? and you have come to luncheon? No? You are not invited by my lord? Come along and see him. Between ourselves, he's a bit of a bore -- and a bright young fellow like you will be a perfect godsend to the rest of us. You won't? Now I look at you again, I see signs of something wrong. Am I rushing at rash conclusions if I suspect that my young friend is in a scrape? No explanations! At your age there is only one scrape -- a woman.'
'The loveliest girl in the world, Sir John. I am in sore need of your advice. Can we speak here without interruption?'
'Of course we can!'
He rang the bell as he replied, and gave his orders to the servant as coolly as if he had been in his own house. He was obsequiously obeyed.