“My son,” interposed the countess, “is, I am sure, gratified to hear you so commend his conduct.”
Mr. Templeton bowed to her with a great politeness. “I should be a stone, ma'am, did I not signify my--ah--appreciation of it.”
“There is a little more to follow, sir,” put in Mr. Caryll, in that quiet manner of his. “I think you will find it blunt the edge of his lordship's lofty loyalty--cause it to savor less like the patriotism of Rome, and more like that of Israel.”
Mr. Templeton turned upon him a face of cold displeasure. He would have spoken, but that whilst he was seeking words of a becoming gravity, Rotherby forestalled him.
“Sir,” he exclaimed, “what I did, I did though my ruin must have followed. I know what this traitor has in mind. He imagines I have a bargain to make. But you must see, sir, that in no sense is it so, for, having already surrendered the facts, it is too late now to attempt to sell them. I am ready to yield up the letters that I have found. No consideration could induce me to do other; and yet, sir, I venture to hope that in return, the government will be pleased to see that I have some claim upon my country's recognition for the signal service I am rendering her--and in rendering which I make a holocaust of my father's honor.”
“Surely, surely, sir,” murmured Mr. Templeton, but his countenance told of a lessening enthusiasm in his lordship's Roman patriotism. “Lord Carteret, I am sure, would never permit so much--ah--devotion to his majesty to go unrewarded.”
“I only ask, sir--and I ask it for the sake of my father's name, which stands in unavoidable danger of being smirched--that no further shame be heaped upon it than that which must result from the horror with which the discovery of this plot will inspire all right-thinking subjects.”
Mr. Caryll smiled and nodded. He judged in a detached spirit--a mere spectator at a play--and he was forced to admit to himself that it was subtly done of his brother, and showed an astuteness in this thing, at least, of which he had never supposed him capable.
“There is, sir,” Rotherby proceeded, “the matter of my father's dealings with the South Sea Company. He is no longer alive to defend himself from the accusations--from the impeachment which has been levelled against him by our enemy, the Duke of Wharton. Therefore, it might be possible to make it appear as if his dealings were--ah--not--ah--quite such as should befit an upright gentleman. There is that, and there is this greater matter against him. Between the two, I should never again be able to look my fellow-countrymen in the face. Yet this is the more important since the safety of the kingdom is involved; whilst the other is but a personal affair, and trivial by comparison.