At any rate, whatever was the cause of the interruption to the dinner which had just happened, it was not important enough to require everybody to fast around the table of the feast. He asked it as a favour to himself, that no further notice might be taken of what had occurred. While Mr Langley was speaking thus, he hastily wrote a few lines on a piece of paper, and gave it to one of the servants. The note was directed to Mr Streatfield; the lines contained only these words: 'Two hours hence, I shall expect to see you alone in the library.'
The dinner proceeded; the places occupied by the female members of the Langley family, and by the young lady who had attracted Mr Streatfield's notice in so extraordinary a manner, being left vacant. Every one present endeavoured to follow Mr Langley's advice, and go through the business of the dinner, as if nothing had occurred; but the attempt failed miserably. Long, blank pauses occurred in the conversation; general topics were started, but never pursued; it was more like an assembly of strangers, than a meeting of friends; people neither ate nor drank, as they were accustomed to eat and drink; they talked in altered voices, and sat with unusual stillness, even in the same positions. Relatives, friends, and acquaintances, all alike perceived that some great domestic catastrophe had happened; all foreboded that some serious, if not fatal, explanation of Mr Streatfield's conduct would ensue: and it was vain and hopeless -- a very mockery of self-possession -- to attempt to shake off the sinister and chilling influences that recent events had left behind them, and resume at will the thoughtlessness and hilarity of ordinary life.
Still, however, Mr Langley persisted in doing the honours of his table, in proceeding doggedly through all the festive ceremonies of the hour, until the ladies rose and retired. Then, after looking at his watch, he beckoned to one of his sons to take his place; and quietly left the room. He only stopped once, as he crossed the hall, to ask news of his daughter from one of the servants. The reply was, that she had had a hysterical fit; that the medical attendant of the family had been sent for; and that since his arrival she had become more composed. When the man had spoken, Mr Langley made no remark, but proceeded at once to the library. He locked the door behind him, as soon as he entered the room.
Mr Streatfield was already waiting there -- he was seated at the table, endeavouring to maintain an appearance of composure, by mechanically turning over the leaves of the books before him. Mr Langley drew a chair near him; and in low, but very firm tones, began the conversation thus:
'I have given you two hours, Sir, to collect yourself, to consider your position fully -- I presume, therefore, that you are now prepared to favour me with an explanation of your conduct at my table, to-day.'
'What explanation can I make? -- what can I say, or think of this most terrible of fatalities?' exclaimed Mr Streatfield, speaking faintly and confusedly; and still not looking up -- 'There has been an unexampled error committed! -- a fatal mistake, which I could never have anticipated, and over which I had no control!'
'Enough, sir, of the language of romance,' interrupted Mr Langley, coldly; 'I am neither of an age nor a disposition to appreciate it. I come here to ask plain questions honestly, and I insist, as my right, on receiving answers in the same spirit. You, Mr Streatfield, sought an introduction to me -- you professed attached to my daughter Jane -- your proposals were (I fear unhappily for us) accepted -- your wedding-day was fixed -- and now, after all this, when you happen to observe my daughter's twin-sister sitting opposite to you --'
'Her twin-sister!' exclaimed Mr Streatfield; and his trembling hand crumpled the leaves of the book, which he still held while he spoke. 'Why is it, intimate as I have been with your family, that I now know for the first time that Miss Jane Langley has a twin-sister?'
'Do you descend, sir, to a subterfuge, when I ask you for an explanation?' returned Mr Langley, angrily. 'You must have heard, over and over again, that my children, Jane and Clara, were twins.'
'On my word and honour, I declare that --'
'Spare me all appeals to your word or your honour, sir; I am beginning to doubt both.'
'I will not make the unhappy situation in which we are all placed, still worse, by answering your last words, as I might, at other times, feel inclined to answer them,' said Mr Streatfield, assuming a calmer demeanour than he had hitherto displayed. 'I tell you the truth, when I tell you that, before to-day, I never knew that any of your children were twins. Your daughter, Jane, has frequently spoken to me of her absent sister, Clara, but never spoke of her as her twin-sister. Until to-day, I have had no opportunity of discovering the truth; for until to-day, I have never met Miss Clara Langley since I saw her in the balcony of the house in St. James's Street. The only one of your children who was never present during my intercourse with your family, in London, was your daughter Clara -- the daughter whom I now know, for the first time, as the young lady who really arrested my attention on my way to the levée -- whose affections it was really my object to win in seeking an introduction to you.