At noon next day, John Willet"s guest sat lingering over hisbreakfast in his own home, surrounded by a variety of comforts,which left the Maypole"s highest flight and utmost stretch ofaccommodation at an infinite distance behind, and suggestedcomparisons very much to the disadvantage and disfavour of thatvenerable tavern.
In the broad old-fashioned window-seat--as capacious as many modernsofas, and cushioned to serve the purpose of a luxurious settee--inthe broad old-fashioned window-seat of a roomy chamber, Mr Chesterlounged, very much at his ease, over a well-furnished breakfast-table. He had exchanged his riding-coat for a handsome morning-gown, his boots for slippers; had been at great pains to atone forthe having been obliged to make his toilet when he rose without theaid of dressing-case and tiring equipage; and, having graduallyforgotten through these means the discomforts of an indifferentnight and an early ride, was in a state of perfect complacency,indolence, and satisfaction.
The situation in which he found himself, indeed, was particularly favourable to the growth of these feelings; for, not to mention thelazy influence of a late and lonely breakfast, with the additionalsedative of a newspaper, there was an air of repose about his placeof residence peculiar to itself, and which hangs about it, even inthese times, when it is more bustling and busy than it was in daysof yore.
There are, still, worse places than the Temple, on a sultry day,for basking in the sun, or resting idly in the shade. There is yeta drowsiness in its courts, and a dreamy dulness in its trees andgardens; those who pace its lanes and squares may yet hear theechoes of their footsteps on the sounding stones, and read upon itsgates, in passing from the tumult of the Strand or Fleet Street,"Who enters here leaves noise behind." There is still the plash offalling water in fair Fountain Court, and there are yet nooks andcorners where dun-haunted students may look down from their dustygarrets, on a vagrant ray of sunlight patching the shade of thetall houses, and seldom troubled to reflect a passing stranger"sform. There is yet, in the Temple, something of a clerkly monkishatmosphere, which public offices of law have not disturbed, andeven legal firms have failed to scare away. In summer time, itspumps suggest to thirsty idlers, springs cooler, and moresparkling, and deeper than other wells; and as they trace the spillings of full pitchers on the heated ground, they snuff thefreshness, and, sighing, cast sad looks towards the Thames, andthink of baths and boats, and saunter on, despondent.
It was in a room in Paper Buildings--a row of goodly tenements,shaded in front by ancient trees, and looking, at the back, uponthe Temple Gardens--that this, our idler, lounged; now taking upagain the paper he had laid down a hundred times; now trifling withthe fragments of his meal; now pulling forth his golden toothpick,and glancing leisurely about the room, or out at window into thetrim garden walks, where a few early loiterers were already pacingto and fro. Here a pair of lovers met to quarrel and make up;there a dark-eyed nursery-maid had better eyes for Templars thanher charge; on this hand an ancient spinster, with her lapdog in astring, regarded both enormities with scornful sidelong looks; onthat a weazen old gentleman, ogling the nursery-maid, looked withlike scorn upon the spinster, and wondered she didn"t know she wasno longer young. Apart from all these, on the river"s margin twoor three couple of business-talkers walked slowly up and down inearnest conversation; and one young man sat thoughtfully on abench, alone.
"Ned is amazingly patient!" said Mr Chester, glancing at this last named person as he set down his teacup and plied the goldentoothpick, "immensely patient! He was sitting yonder when I beganto dress, and has scarcely changed his posture since. A mosteccentric dog!"
As he spoke, the figure rose, and came towards him with a rapidpace.
"Really, as if he had heard me," said the father, resuming hisnewspaper with a yawn. "Dear Ned!"
Presently the room-door opened, and the young man entered; to whomhis father gently waved his hand, and smiled.
"Are you at leisure for a little conversation, sir?" said Edward.
"Surely, Ned. I am always at leisure. You know my constitution.-Haveyou breakfasted?"
"Three hours ago."
"What a very early dog!" cried his father, contemplating him frombehind the toothpick, with a languid smile.
"The truth is," said Edward, bringing a chair forward, and seatinghimself near the table, "that I slept but ill last night, and wasglad to rise. The cause of my uneasiness cannot but be known toyou, sir; and it is upon that I wish to speak."
"My dear boy," returned his father, "confide in me, I beg. But youknow my constitution--don"t be prosy, Ned."
"I will be plain, and brief," said Edward.
"Don"t say you will, my good fellow," returned his father, crossinghis legs, "or you certainly will not. You are going to tell me"-"Plainly this, then," said the son, with an air of great concern,"that I know where you were last night--from being on the spot,indeed--and whom you saw, and what your purpose was."
"You don"t say so!" cried his father. "I am delighted to hear it.
It saves us the worry, and terrible wear and tear of a longexplanation, and is a great relief for both. At the very house!
Why didn"t you come up? I should have been charmed to see you."
"I knew that what I had to say would be better said after a night"sreflection, when both of us were cool," returned the son.
""Fore Gad, Ned," rejoined the father, "I was cool enough lastnight. That detestable Maypole! By some infernal contrivance ofthe builder, it holds the wind, and keeps it fresh. You rememberthe sharp east wind that blew so hard five weeks ago? I give youmy honour it was rampant in that old house last night, though outof doors there was a dead calm. But you were saying"-"I was about to say, Heaven knows how seriously and earnestly, thatyou have made me wretched, sir. Will you hear me gravely for amoment?"
"My dear Ned," said his father, "I will hear you with the patienceof an anchorite. Oblige me with the milk."
