"Mr. Maitland," said she, gravely, "Tony Butler is not in the least like what you would represent him. In my life I never knew any one so full of consideration for others."
"Go on," said he, laughing. "It's only another goldmine of his you are displaying before me. Has he any other gifts or graces?"
"He has a store of good qualities, Mr. Maitland; they are not, perhaps, very showy ones."
"Like those of some other of our acquaintance," added he, as if finishing her speech for her. "My dear Mrs. Trafford, I would not disparage your early friend--your once playfellow--for the world. Indeed, I feel, if life could be like a half-holiday from school, he 'd be an admirable companion to pass it with; the misfortune is that these men must take their places in the common tournament with the rest of us, and then they are not so certain of making a distinguished figure as when seen in the old playground with bat and ball and wicket."
"You mean that such a man as Tony Butler will not be likely to make a great career in life?"
"And why not, pray?" asked she, defiantly.
"What if you were to ask Mark this question? Let him give you his impressions on this theme."
"I see what it is," cried she, warmly. "You two fine gentlemen have conspired against this poor simple boy,--for really, in all dealings with the world, he is a boy; and you would like us to believe that if we saw him under other circumstances and with other surroundings, we should be actually ashamed of him. Now, Mr. Maitland, I resent this supposition at once, and I tell you frankly I am very proud of his friendship."
"You are pushing me to the verge of a great indiscretion; in fact, you have made it impossible for me to avoid it," said he, seriously. "I must now trust you with a secret, or what I meant to be one. Here it is. Of course, what I am about to tell you is strictly to go no further,--never, never to be divulged. It is partly on this young man's account--chiefly so--that I am in Ireland. A friend of mine--that same Caffarelli of whom you heard--was commissioned by a very eccentric old Englishman who lives abroad, to learn if he could hear some tidings of this young Butler,--what sort of person he was, how brought up, how educated, how disciplined. The inquiry came from the desire of a person very able indeed to befriend him materially. The old man I speak of is the elder brother of Butler's father; very rich and very influential. This old man, I suppose, repenting of some harshness or other to his brother in former days, wants to see Tony,--wants to judge of him for himself,--wants, in fact, without disclosing the relationship between them, to pronounce whether this young fellow is one to whom he could rightfully bequeath a considerable fortune, and place before the world as the head of an honored house; but he wants to do this without exciting hopes or expectations, or risking, perhaps, disappointments. Now, I know very well by repute something of this eccentric old man, whose long life in the diplomatic service has made him fifty times more lenient to a moral delinquency than to a solecism in manners, and who could forgive the one and never the other. If he were to see your diamond in the rough, he 'd never contemplate the task of polishing,--he 'd simply say, 'This is not what I looked for; I don't want a gamekeeper, or a boatman, or a horse-breaker.'"