‘Why, surely that is our young friend Talbot, is it not, Samuel?’ exclaimed Mr. Erin with effusion; and he held out his hand to the young man at once, not because he was glad to see him, far from it, but because he thought he was making a friend of his son welcome. William Henry, however, was well convinced that Talbot was no longer his friend, a circumstance that had not hitherto distressed him. Indeed, he had by no means regretted their little tiff, since it had been the means of keeping Talbot away from Norfolk Street; but now that they had met again he had reasons for wishing that they had not quarrelled. The very cordiality with which the other addressed him aroused his apprehensions, for he knew that it was feigned; he would much rather indeed have seen him, as on the occasion when he had last met her, make advances to Margaret herself. Of her he was sure; no dandy, whether metropolitan or provincial, could, he knew, ever rival him in her affections; but this fellow, smarting from the slight that had been put upon his muse, might injure him in other ways. He knew from experience Mr. Reginald Talbot was capable of being what at school was termed ‘nasty,’ _i.e._ malignant. It has been said of the great Marlborough that whenever he permitted himself a noble phrase it was a sure sign that he was about to commit a baseness; and similarly, the fact of Mr. Talbot’s being upon his best behaviour was a symptom dangerous to his friends. On the present occasion he was studiously genteel. His manner to Margaret—very different from that he generally adopted towards the fair sex—was distantly polite, while to Mr. Samuel Erin he was respectful to servility. What especially marked the abnormal condition of his mind, and showed his feelings to be. under severe restraint, was that he never alluded to his own poetical genius. In speaking to William Henry the subject might well indeed have been avoided as a painful one; but that he should exercise this reticence with respect to the antiquary—to whom on a previous occasion, it will be remembered, he had mentioned within the first five minutes that he was ‘a man of letters’—was something portentous. He did not indeed talk much, but he did what was a thousand times more difficult to him—he held his tongue and listened.