Dear boy! But on one condition, on one condition
only, can I accept it - this is a loan, a loan mind! and not
a gift. No, no - it is useless to protest; my pride, my
sense of honour, forbids my acceptance upon any other terms.'
A day or two afterwards I would learn from George Bird that
he and Miss Alice had accepted an invitation to meet me at
Sevenoaks. Mr. Donovan, the famous phrenologist, was to be
of the party; the Rector of Sevenoaks, and one or two local
magnates, had also been invited to dine. We Londoners were
to occupy the spare rooms, for this was in the coaching days.
We all knew what we had to expect - a most enjoyable banquet
of conviviality. Young Mrs. Wigan, his second wife, was an
admirable housekeeper, and nothing could have been better
done. The turbot and the haunch of venison were the pick of
Grove's shop, the champagne was iced to perfection, and there
was enough of it, as Mr. Donovan whispered to me, casting his
eyes to the ceiling, 'to wash an omnibus, bedad.' Mr.
Donovan, though he never refused Mr. Wigan's hospitality,
balanced the account by vilipending his friend's extravagant
habits. While Mr. Wigan, probably giving him full credit for
his gratitude, always spoke of him as 'Poor old Paddy
Donovan.'
With Alfred Wigan, the eldest son, I was on very friendly
terms. Nothing could be more unlike his father.
