The Palliser Novels

by Anthony Trollope

  “My Lord,” said Miss Cassewary — she always called him “My Lord” — “Lord Silverbridge is going to stand for the Duke’s borough in the Conservative interest.”

  “I didn’t know the Duke had a borough,” said the Earl.

  “He had one till he thought it proper to give it up,” said the son, taking his father’s part.

  “And you are going to pay him off for what he has done by standing against him. It’s just the sort of thing for a son to do in these days. If I had a borough Percival would go down and make radical speeches there.”

  “There isn’t a better Conservative in England than Percival,” said Lady Mabel, bridling up.

  “Nor a worse son,” said the father. “I believe he would do anything he could lay his hand on to oppose me.” During the past week there had been some little difference of opinion between the father and the son as to the signing of a deed.

  “My father does not take it in bad part at all,” said Silverbridge.

  “Perhaps he’s ratting himself,” said the Earl. “When a man lends himself to a coalition he is as good as half gone.”

  “I do not think that in all England there is so thorough a Liberal as my father,” said Lord Silverbridge. “And when I say that he doesn’t take this badly, I don’t mean that it doesn’t vex him. I know it vexes him. But he doesn’t quarrel with me. He even wrote down to Barsetshire to say that all my expenses at Silverbridge were to be paid.”

  “I call that very bad politics,” said the Earl.

  “It seems to me to be very grand,” said Frank.

  “Perhaps, sir, you don’t know what is good or what is bad in politics,” said the Earl, trying to snub his guest.

  But it was difficult to snub Frank. “I know a gentleman when I see him, I think,” he said. “Of course Silverbridge is right to be a Conservative. Nobody has a stronger opinion about that than I have. But the Duke is behaving so well that if I were he I should almost regret it.”

  “And so I do,” said Silverbridge.

  When the ladies were gone the old Earl turned himself round to the fire, having filled his glass and pushed the bottles away from him, as though he meant to leave the two young men to themselves. He sat leaning with his head on his hand, looking the picture of woe. It was now only nine o’clock, and there would be no whist at the Beaufort till eleven. There was still more than an hour to be endured before the brougham would come to fetch him. “I suppose we shall have a majority,” said Frank, trying to rouse him.

  “Who does ‘We’ mean?” asked the Earl.

  “The Conservatives, of whom I take the liberty to call myself one.”

  “It sounded as though you were a very influential member of the party.”

  “I consider myself to be one of the party, and so I say ‘We.’”

  Upstairs in the drawing-room Miss Cassewary did her duty loyally. It was quite right that young ladies and young gentlemen should be allowed to talk together, and very right indeed that such a young gentleman as Lord Silverbridge should be allowed to talk to such a young lady as Lady Mabel. What could be so nice as a marriage between the heir of the house of Omnium and Lady Mabel Grex? Lady Mabel looked indeed to be the elder, — but they were in truth the same age. All the world acknowledged that Lady Mabel was very clever and very beautiful and fit to be a Duchess. Even the Earl, when Miss Cassewary hinted at the matter to him, grunted an assent. Lady Mabel had already refused one or two not ineligible offers, and it was necessary that something should be done. There had been at one time a fear in Miss Cassewary’s bosom lest her charge should fall too deeply in love with Frank Tregear; — but Miss Cassewary knew that whatever danger there might have been in that respect had passed away. Frank was willing to talk to her, while Mabel and Lord Silverbridge were in a corner together.

  “I shall be on tenterhooks now till I know how it is to be at Silverbridge,” said the young lady.

  “It is very good of you to feel so much interest.”

  “Of course I feel an interest. Are not you one of us? When is it to be?”

  “They say that the elections will be over before the Derby.”

  “And which do you care for the most?”

  “I should like to pull off the Derby, I own.”

  “From what papa says, I should think the other event is the more probable.”

  “Doesn’t the Earl stand to win on Prime Minister?”

  “I never know anything about his betting. But, — you know his way, — he said you were going to drop a lot of money like a — I can’t quite tell you what he likened you to.”

  “The Earl may be mistaken.”

  “You are not betting much, I hope.”

  “Not plunging. But I have a little money on.”

  “Don’t get into a way of betting.”

  “Why: — what difference does it make, — to you?”

  “Is that kind, Lord Silverbridge?”

  “I meant to say that if I did make a mess of it you wouldn’t care about it.”

  “Yes, I should. I should care very much. I dare say you could lose a great deal of money and care nothing about it.”

  “Indeed I could not.”

  “What would be a great deal of money to me. But you would want to get it back again. And in that way you would be regularly on the turf.”

  “And why not?”

  “I want to see better things from you.”

  “You ought not to preach against the turf, Lady Mab.”

  “Because of papa? But I am not preaching against the turf. If I were such as you are I would have a horse or two myself. A man in your position should do a little of everything. You should hunt and have a yacht, and stalk deer and keep your own trainer at Newmarket.”

  “I wish you’d say all that to my father.”

  “Of course I mean if you can afford it. I like a man to like pleasure. But I despise a man who makes a business of his pleasures. When I hear that this man is the best whist-player in London, and that man the best billiard-player, I always know that they can do nothing else, and then I despise them.”

  “You needn’t despise me, because I do nothing well,” said he, as he got up to take his leave.

  “I do so hope you’ll get the seat, — and win the Derby.”

  These were her last words to him as she wished him good-night.

  CHAPTER X

  “Why Not Like Romeo If I Feel Like Romeo?”

  “That’s nonsense, Miss Cass, and I shall,” said Lady Mabel. They were together, on the morning after the little dinner-party described in the last chapter, in a small back sitting-room which was supposed to be Lady Mabel’s own, and the servant had just announced the fact that Mr. Tregear was below.

  “Then I shall go down too,” said Miss Cassewary.

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind. Will you please to tell me what it is you are afraid of? Do you think that Frank is going to make love to me again?”

  “No.”

  “Or that if I chose that he should I would let you stop me? He is in love with somebody else, — and perhaps I am too. And we are two paupers.”

  “My lord would not approve of it.”

  “If you know what my lord approves of and what he disapproves you understand him a great deal better than I do. And if you mind what he approves or disapproves, you care for his opinion a great deal more than I do. My cousin is here now to talk to me, — about his own affairs, and I mean to see him, — alone.” Then she left the little room, and went down to that in which Frank was waiting for her, without the company of Miss Cassewary.

  “Do you really mean,” she said after they had been together for some minutes, “that you had the courage to ask the Duke for his daughter’s hand?”

  “Why not?”

  “I believe you would dare do anything.”

  “I couldn’t very well take it without asking him.”

  “As I am not acquainted with the young lady I don’t know how that might be.”

  “And if I too
k her so, I should have to take her empty-handed.”

  “Which wouldn’t suit; — would it?”

  “It wouldn’t suit for her, — whose comforts and happiness are much more to me than my own.”

  “No doubt! Of course you are terribly in love.”

  “Very thoroughly in love, I think, I am.”

  “For the tenth time, I should say.”

  “For the second only. I don’t regard myself as a monument of constancy, but I think I am less fickle than some other people.”

  “Meaning me!”

  “Not especially.”

  “Frank, that is ill-natured, and almost unmanly, — and false also. When have I been fickle? You say that there was one before with you. I say that there has never really been one with me at all. No one knows that better than yourself. I cannot afford to be in love till I am quite sure that the man is fit to be, and will be, my husband.”

  “I doubt sometimes whether you are capable of being in love with any one.”

  “I think I am,” she said, very gently. “But I am at any rate capable of not being in love till I wish it. Come, Frank; do not quarrel with me. You know, — you ought to know, — that I should have loved you had it not been that such love would have been bad for both of us.”

  “It is a kind of self-restraint I do not understand.”

  “Because you are not a woman.”

  “Why did you twit me with changing my love?”

  “Because I am a woman. Can’t you forgive as much as that to me?”

  “Certainly. Only you must not think that I have been false because I now love her so dearly.”

  “I do not think you are false. I would do anything to help you if there were anything I could do. But when you spoke so like a Romeo of your love — “

  “Why not like a Romeo, if I feel like a Romeo?”

  “But I doubt whether Romeo talked much to Rosaline of his love for Juliet. But you shall talk to me of yours for Lady Mary, and I will listen to you patiently and encourage you, and will not even think of those former vows.”

  “The former vows were foolish.”

  “Oh, — of course.”

  “You at least used to say so.”

  “I say so now, and they shall be as though they had been never spoken. So you bearded the Duke in his den, and asked him for Lady Mary’s hand, — just as though you had been a young Duke yourself and owned half a county?”

  “Just the same.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He swore that it was impossible. — Of course I knew all that before.”

  “How will it be now? You will not give it up?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “And Lady Mary?”

  “One human being can perhaps never answer for another with perfect security.”

  “But you feel sure of her?”

  “I do.”

  “He, I should think, can be very imperious.”

  “And so can she. The Pallisers are all obstinate.”

  “Is Silverbridge obstinate?” she asked.

  “Stiff-necked as a bull if he takes it into his head to be so.”

  “I shouldn’t have thought it.”

  “No; — because he is so soft in his manner, and often finds it easier to be led by others than to direct himself.”

  Then she remained silent for a few seconds. They were both thinking of the same thing, and both wishing to speak of it. But the words came to her first. “I wonder what he thinks of me.” Whereupon Tregear only smiled. “I suppose he has spoken to you about me?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Why!”

  “And why should I tell you? Suppose he should have said to me in the confidence of friendship that he thinks you ugly and stupid.”

  “I am sure he has not said that. He has eyes to see and ears to hear. But, though I am neither ugly nor stupid, he needn’t like me.”

  “Do you want him to like you?”

  “Yes, I do. Oh yes; you may laugh; but if I did not think that I could be a good wife to him I would not take his hand even to become Duchess of Omnium.”

  “Do you mean that you love him, Mabel?”

  “No; I do not mean that. But I would learn to love him. You do not believe that?” Here he smiled again and shook his head. “It is as I said before, because you are not a woman, and do not understand how women are trammelled. Do you think ill of me because I say this?”

  “No, indeed.”

  “Do not think ill of me if you can help it, because you are almost the only friend that I can trust. I almost trust dear old Cass, but not quite. She is old-fashioned and I shock her. As for other women, there isn’t one anywhere to whom I would say a word. Only think how a girl such as I am is placed; or indeed any girl. You, if you see a woman that you fancy, can pursue her, can win her and triumph, or lose her and gnaw your heart; — at any rate you can do something. You can tell her that you love her; can tell her so again and again even though she should scorn you. You can set yourself about the business you have taken in hand and can work hard at it. What can a girl do?”

  “Girls work hard too sometimes.”

  “Of course they do; — but everybody feels that they are sinning against their sex. Of love, such as a man’s is, a woman ought to know nothing. How can she love with passion when she should never give her love till it has been asked, and not then unless her friends tell her that the thing is suitable? Love such as that to me is out of the question. But, as it is fit that I should be married, I wish to be married well.”

  “And you will love him after a fashion?”

  “Yes; — after a very sterling fashion. I will make his wishes my wishes, his ways my ways, his party my party, his home my home, his ambition my ambition, — his honour my honour.” As she said this she stood up with her hands clenched and head erect, and her eyes flashing. “Do you not know me well enough to be sure that I should be loyal to him?”

  “Yes; — I think that you would be loyal.”

  “Whether I loved him or not, he should love me.”

  “And you think that Silverbridge would do?”

  “Yes, I think that Silverbridge would do. You, no doubt, will say that I am flying high?”

  “Not too high. Why should you not fly high? If I can justify myself, surely I cannot accuse you.”

  “It is hardly the same thing, Frank. Of course, there is not a girl in London to whom Lord Silverbridge would not be the best match that she could make. He has the choice of us all.”

  “Most girls would think twice before refusing him.”

  “Very few would think twice before accepting him. Perhaps he wishes to add to his wealth by marrying richly, — as his father did.”

  “No thought on that subject will ever trouble him. That will be all as it happens. As soon as he takes a sufficient fancy to a girl he will ask her straight off. I do not say that he might not change afterwards, but he would mean it at the time.”

  “If he had once said the word to me, he should not change. But then what right have I to expect it? What has he ever said about me?”

  “Very little. But had he said much I should not tell you.”

  “You are my friend, — but you are his too; and he, perhaps, is more to you than I am. As his friend it may be your duty to tell him all that I am saying. If so, I have been wrong.”

  “Do you think that I shall do that, Mabel?”

  “I do not know. Men are so strong in their friendships.”

  “Mine with you is the older, and the sweeter. Though we may not be more than friends, I will say that it is the more tender. In my heart of hearts I do not think that Silverbridge could do better.”

  “Thanks for that, Frank.”

  “I shall tell him nothing of you that can set him against you.”

  “And you would be glad to see me his wife?” she said.

  “As you must be somebody’s wife, and not mine.”

  “I cannot be yours, Frank; can I?”

&
nbsp; “And not mine,” he repeated. “I will endeavour to be glad. Who can explain his feelings in such a matter? Though I most truly love the girl I hope to marry, yet my heart goes back to former things and opens itself to past regrets.”

  “I know it all,” she whispered.

  “But you and I must be too wise to permit ourselves to be tormented by such foolish melancholy.” As he said this he took her hand, half with the purpose of bidding her good-bye, but partly with the idea of giving some expression to the tenderness of his feelings. But as he did so, the door was opened, and the old Earl shambled into the room.

  “What the deuce are you doing here?” he said.

  “I have been talking to Lady Mabel.”

  “For about an hour.”

  “Indeed I do not know for how long.”

  “Papa, he is going to be married.” When she said this Frank Tregear turned round and looked at her almost in anger.

  “Going to be married, is he? Who is the fortunate woman?”

  “I don’t think he will let me tell you.”

  “Not yet, I think,” said Frank, gloomily. “There is nothing settled.”

  The old Earl looked puzzled, but Lady Mabel’s craft had been successful. If this objectionable young second-cousin had come there to talk about his marriage with another young woman, the conversation must have been innocent. “Where is Miss Cassewary?” asked the Earl.

  “I asked her not to come down with me because Frank wished to speak to me about his own affairs. You have no objection to his coming, papa?”

  There had been objections raised to any intimacy with Frank Tregear; but all that was now nearly two years since. He had been assured over and over again by Miss Cassewary that he need not be afraid of Frank Tregear, and had in a sort of way assented to the young man’s visits. “I think he might find something better to do with his time than hanging about here all day.” Frank, shrugging his shoulders, and having shaken hands both with the daughter and father, took his hat and departed. “Who is the girl?” asked the Earl.