Cashel Byron's Profession
Page 95As the days passed, Bashville became nervous, and sometimes wondered
whether Lydia had met her cousin and heard from him of the interview
at Downing Street. He fancied that her manner towards him was
changed; and he was once or twice on the point of asking the most
sympathetic of the housemaids whether she had noticed it. On
Wednesday his suspense ended. Lucian came, and had a long
conversation with Lydia in the library. Bashville was too honorable
to listen at the door; but he felt a strong temptation to do so, and
almost hoped that the sympathetic housemaid might prove less
scrupulous. But Miss Carew's influence extended farther than her
bodily presence; and Lucian's revelation was made in complete
privacy.
When he entered the library he looked so serious that she asked him
whether he had neuralgia, from which he occasionally suffered. He
replied with some indignation that he had not, and that he had a
"What! Another!"
"Yes, another," he said, with a sour smile; "but this time it does
not concern myself. May I warn you as to the character of one of
your guests without overstepping my privilege?"
"Certainly. But perhaps you mean Vernet. If so, I am perfectly aware
that he is an exiled Communard."
"I do not mean Monsieur Vernet. You understand, I hope, that I do
not approve of him, nor of your strange fancy for Nihilists,
Fenians, and other doubtful persons; but I think that even you might
draw the line at a prize-fighter."
Lydia lost color, and said, almost inaudibly, "Cashel Byron!"
"Then you KNEW!" exclaimed Lucian, scandalized.
Lydia waited a moment to recover, settled herself quietly in her
chair, and replied, calmly, "I know what you tell me--nothing more.
"He is simply what his name indicates. He is a man who fights for
prizes."
"So does the captain of a man-of-war. And yet society does not place
them in the same class--at least, I do not think so."
"As if there could be any doubt that society does not! There is no
analogy whatever between the two cases. Let me endeavor to open your
eyes a little, if that be possible, which I am sometimes tempted to
doubt. A prize-fighter is usually a man of naturally ferocious
disposition, who has acquired some reputation among his associates
as a bully; and who, by constantly quarrelling, has acquired some
practice in fighting. On the strength of this reputation he can
generally find some gambler willing to stake a sum of money that he
will vanquish a pugilist of established fame in single combat. Bets
are made between the admirers of the two men; a prize is subscribed
racehorses, gamecocks, or their like are trained; they meet, and
beat each other as savagely as they can until one or the other is
too much injured to continue the combat. This takes place in the
midst of a mob of such persons as enjoy spectacles of the kind; that
is to say, the vilest blackguards whom a large city can afford to
leave at large, and many whom it cannot. As the prize-money
contributed by each side often amounts to upwards of a thousand
pounds, and as a successful pugilist commands far higher terms for
giving tuition in boxing than a tutor at one of the universities
does for coaching, you will see that such a man, while his youth and
luck last, may have plenty of money, and may even, by aping the
manners of the gentlemen whom he teaches, deceive careless
people--especially those who admire eccentricity--as to his
character and position."