“I think you were quite right there.”
“I am beginning to think I was quite wrong. What did it matter to me?”
“I suppose it did make papa unhappy.”
“Of course it did; — and then this affair of yours.” As soon as this was said Lady Mary at once hardened her heart against her father. Whether Silverbridge was or was not entitled to his own political opinions, — seeing that the Pallisers had for ages been known as staunch Whigs and Liberals, — might be a matter for question. But that she had a right to her own lover she thought that there could be no question. As they were sitting in the cab he could hardly see her face, but he was aware that she was in some fashion arming herself against opposition. “I am sure that this makes him very unhappy,” continued Silverbridge.
“It cannot be altered,” she said.
“It will have to be altered.”
“Nothing can alter it. He might die, indeed; — or so might I.”
“Or he might see that it is no good, — and change his mind,” suggested Silverbridge.
“Of course that is possible,” said Lady Mary very curtly, — showing plainly by her manner that the subject was one which she did not choose to discuss any further.
“It is very good of you to come to me,” said Lady Mabel, kissing her new acquaintance. “I have heard so much about you.”
“And I also of you.”
“I, you know, am one of your brother’s stern Mentors. There are three or four of us determined to make him a pattern young legislator. Miss Cassewary is another. Only she is not quite so stern as I am.”
“He ought to be very much obliged.”
“But he is not, — not a bit. Are you, Lord Silverbridge?”
“Not so much as I ought to be, perhaps.”
“Of course there is an opposing force. There are the race-horses, and the drag, and Major Tifto. No doubt you have heard of Major Tifto. The Major is the Mr. Worldly-Wiseman who won’t let Christian go to the Strait Gate. I am afraid he hasn’t read his Pilgrim’s Progress. But we shall prevail, Lady Mary, and he will get to the beautiful city at last.”
“What is the beautiful city?” he asked.
“A seat in the Cabinet, I suppose, — or that general respect which a young nobleman achieves when he has shown himself able to sit on a bench for six consecutive hours without appearing to go to sleep.”
Then they went to lunch, and Lady Mary did find herself to be happy with her new acquaintance. Her life since her mother’s death had been so sad, that this short escape from it was a relief to her. Now for awhile she found herself almost gay. There was an easy liveliness about Lady Mabel, — a grain of humour and playfulness conjoined, — which made her feel at home at once. And it seemed to her as though her brother was at home. He called the girl Lady Mab, and Queen Mab, and once plain Mabel, and the old woman he called Miss Cass. It surely, she thought, must be the case that Lady Mabel and her brother were engaged.
“Come upstairs into my own room, — it is nicer than this,” said Lady Mabel, and they went from the dining-room into a pretty little sitting-room with which Silverbridge was very well acquainted. “Have you heard of Miss Boncassen?” Mary said she had heard something of Miss Boncassen’s great beauty. “Everybody is talking about her. Your brother met her at Mrs. Montacute Jones’s garden-party, and was made a conquest of instantly.”
“I wasn’t made a conquest of at all,” said Silverbridge.
“Then he ought to have been made a conquest of. I should be if I were a man. I think she is the loveliest person to look at and the nicest person to listen to that I ever came across. We all feel that, as far as this season is concerned, we are cut out. But we don’t mind it so much because she is a foreigner.” Then just as she said this the door was opened and Frank Tregear was announced.
Everybody there present knew as well as does the reader, what was the connexion between Tregear and Lady Mary Palliser. And each knew that the other knew it. It was therefore impossible for them not to feel themselves guilty among themselves. The two lovers had not seen each other since they had been together in Italy. Now they were brought face to face in this unexpected manner! And nobody except Tregear was at first quite sure whether somebody had not done something to arrange the meeting. Mary might naturally suspect that Lady Mabel had done this in the interest of her friend Tregear, and Silverbridge could not but suspect that it was so. Lady Mabel, who had never before met the other girl, could hardly refrain from thinking that there had been some underhand communication, — and Miss Cassewary was clearly of opinion that there had been some understanding.
Silverbridge was the first to speak. “Halloo, Tregear, I didn’t know that we were to see you.”
“Nor I, that I should see you,” said he. Then of course there was a shaking of hands all round, in the course of which ceremony he came to Mary the last. She gave him her hand, but had not a word to say to him. “If I had known that you were here,” he said, “I should not have come; but I need hardly say how glad I am to see you, — even in this way.” Then the two girls were convinced that the meeting was accidental; but Miss Cass still had her doubts.
Conversation became at once very difficult. Tregear seated himself near, but not very near, to Lady Mary, and made some attempt to talk to both the girls at once. Lady Mabel plainly showed that she was not at her ease; — whereas Mary seemed to be stricken dumb by the presence of her lover. Silverbridge was so much annoyed by a feeling that this interview was a treason to his father, that he sat cudgelling his brain to think how he should bring it to an end. Miss Cassewary was dumbfounded by the occasion. She was the one elder in the company who ought to see that no wrong was committed. She was not directly responsible to the Duke of Omnium, but she was thoroughly permeated by a feeling that it was her duty to take care that there should be no clandestine love meetings in Lord Grex’s house. At last Silverbridge jumped up from his chair. “Upon my word, Tregear, I think you had better go,” said he.
“So do I,” said Miss Cassewary. “If it is an accident — “
“Of course it is an accident,” said Tregear angrily, — looking round at Mary, who blushed up to her eyes.
“I did not mean to doubt it,” said the old lady. “But as it has occurred, Mabel, don’t you think that he had better go?”
“He won’t bite anybody, Miss Cass.”
“She would not have come if she had expected it,” said Silverbridge.
“Certainly not,” said Mary, speaking for the first time. “But now he is here — ” Then she stopped herself, rose from the sofa, sat down, and then rising again, stepped up to her lover, who rose at the same moment, — and threw herself into his arms and put up her lips to be kissed.
“This won’t do at all,” said Silverbridge. Miss Cassewary clasped her hands together and looked up to heaven. She probably had never seen such a thing done before. Lady Mabel’s eyes were filled with tears, and though in all this there was much to cause her anguish, still in her heart of hearts she admired the brave girl who could thus show her truth to her lover.
“Now go,” said Mary, through her sobs.
“My own one,” ejaculated Tregear.
“Yes, yes, yes; always your own. Go, — go; go.” She was weeping and sobbing as she said this, and hiding her face with her handkerchief. He stood for a moment irresolute, and then left the room without a word of adieu to any one.
“You have behaved very badly,” said the brother.
“She has behaved like an angel,” said Mabel, throwing her arms round Mary as she spoke, “like an angel. If there had been a girl whom you loved and who loved you, would you not have wished it? Would you not have worshipped her for showing that she was not ashamed of her love?”
“I am not a bit ashamed,” said Mary.
“And I say that you have no cause. No one knows him as I do. How good he is, and how worthy!” Immediately after that Silverbridge took his sister away, and Lady Mabel, escaping from Miss Cass, was alone. “She l
oves him almost as I have loved him,” she said to herself. “I wonder whether he can love her as he did me?”
CHAPTER XXX
What Came of the Meeting
Not a word was said in the cab as Lord Silverbridge took his sister to Carlton Terrace, and he was leaving her without any reference to the scene which had taken place, when an idea struck him that this would be cruel. “Mary,” he said, “I was very sorry for all that.”
“It was not my doing.”
“I suppose it was nobody’s doing. But I am very sorry that it occurred. I think that you should have controlled yourself.”
“No!” she almost shouted.
“I think so.”
“No; — if you mean by controlling myself, holding my tongue. He is the man I love, — whom I have promised to marry.”
“But, Mary, — do ladies generally embrace their lovers in public?”
“No; — nor should I. I never did such a thing in my life before. But as he was there I had to show that I was not ashamed of him! Do you think I should have done it if you all had not been there?” Then again she burst into tears.
He did not quite know what to make of it. Mabel Grex had declared that she had behaved like an angel. But yet, as he thought of what he had seen, he shuddered with vexation. “I was thinking of the governor,” he said.
“He shall be told everything.”
“That you met Tregear?”
“Certainly; and that I — kissed him. I will do nothing that I am ashamed to tell everybody.”
“He will be very angry.”
“I cannot help it. He should not treat me as he is doing. Mr. Tregear is a gentleman. Why did he let him come? Why did you bring him? But it is of no use. The thing is settled. Papa can break my heart, but he cannot make me say that I am not engaged to Mr. Tregear.”
On that night Mary told the whole of her story to Lady Cantrip. There was nothing that she tried to conceal. “I got up,” she said, “and threw my arms round him. Is he not all the world to me?”
“Had it been planned?” asked Lady Cantrip.
“No; — no! Nothing had been planned. They are cousins and very intimate, and he goes there constantly. Now I want you to tell papa all about it.”
Lady Cantrip began to think that it had been an evil day for her when she had agreed to take charge of this very determined young lady; but she consented at once to write to the Duke. As the girl was in her hands she must take care not to lay herself open to reproaches. As this objectionable lover had either contrived a meeting, or had met her without contriving, it was necessary that the Duke should be informed. “I would rather you wrote the letter,” said Lady Mary. “But pray tell him that all along I have meant him to know all about it.”
Till Lady Cantrip seated herself at her writing-table she did not know how great the difficulty would be. It cannot in any circumstance be easy to write to a father as to his daughter’s love for an objectionable lover; but the Duke’s character added much to the severity of the task. And then that embrace! She knew that the Duke would be struck with horror as he read of such a tale, and she found herself almost struck with horror as she attempted to write it. When she came to the point she found she could not write it. “I fear there was a good deal of warmth shown on both sides,” she said, feeling that she was calumniating the man, as to whose warmth she had heard nothing. “It is quite clear,” she added, “that this is not a passing fancy on her part.”
It was impossible that the Duke should be made to understand exactly what had occurred. That Silverbridge had taken Mary he did understand, and that they had together gone to Lord Grex’s house. He understood also that the meeting had taken place in the presence of Silverbridge and of Lady Mabel. “No doubt it was all an accident,” Lady Cantrip wrote. How could it be an accident?
“You had Mary up in town on Friday,” he said to his son on the following Sunday morning.
“Yes, sir.”
“And that friend of yours came in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you not know what my wishes are?”
“Certainly I do; — but I could not help his coming. You do not suppose that anybody had planned it?”
“I hope not.”
“It was simply an accident. Such an accident as must occur over and over again, — unless Mary is to be locked up.”
“Who talks of locking anybody up? What right have you to speak in that way?”
“I only meant that of course they will stumble across each other in London.”
“I think I will go abroad,” said the Duke. He was silent for awhile, and then repeated his words. “I think I will go abroad.”
“Not for long, I hope, sir.”
“Yes; — to live there. Why should I stay here? What good can I do here? Everything I see and everything I hear is a pain to me.” The young man of course could not but go back in his mind to the last interview which he had had with his father, when the Duke had been so gracious and apparently so well pleased.
“Is there anything else wrong, — except about Mary?” Silverbridge asked.
“I am told that Gerald owes about fifteen hundred pounds at Cambridge.”
“So much as that! I knew he had a few horses there.”
“It is not the money, but the absence of principle, — that a young man should have no feeling that he ought to live within certain prescribed means! Do you know what you have had from Mr. Morton?”
“Not exactly, sir.”
“It is different with you. But a man, let him be who he may, should live within certain means. As for your sister, I think she will break my heart.” Silverbridge found it to be quite impossible to say anything in answer to this. “Are you going to church?” asked the Duke.
“I was not thinking of doing so particularly.”
“Do you not ever go?”
“Yes; — sometimes. I will go with you now, if you like it, sir.”
“I had thought of going, but my mind is too much harassed. I do not see why you should not go.”
But Silverbridge, though he had been willing to sacrifice his morning to his father, — for it was, I fear, in that way that he had looked at it, — did not see any reason for performing a duty which his father himself omitted. And there were various matters also which harassed him. On the previous evening, after dinner, he had allowed himself to back the Prime Minister for the Leger to a very serious amount. In fact he had plunged, and now stood to lose some twenty thousand pounds on the doings of the last night. And he had made these bets under the influence of Major Tifto. It was the remembrance of this, after the promise made to his father, that annoyed him the most. He was imbued with a feeling that it behoved him as a man to “pull himself together,” as he would have said himself, and to live in accordance with certain rules. He could make the rules easily enough, but he had never yet succeeded in keeping any one of them. He had determined to sever himself from Tifto, and, in doing that, had intended to sever himself from affairs of the turf generally. This resolution was not yet a week old. It was on that evening that he had resolved that Tifto should no longer be his companion; and now he had to confess to himself that because he had drunk three or four glasses of champagne he had been induced by Tifto to make those wretched bets.
And he had told his father that he intended to ask Mabel Grex to be his wife. He had so committed himself that the offer must now be made. He did not specially regret that, though he wished that he had been more reticent. “What a fool a man is to blurt out everything!” he said to himself. A wife would be a good thing for him; and where could he possibly find a better wife than Mabel Grex? In beauty she was no doubt inferior to Miss Boncassen. There was something about Miss Boncassen which made it impossible to forget her. But Miss Boncassen was an American, and on many accounts out of the question. It did not occur to him that he would fall in love with Miss Boncassen; but still it seemed hard to him that this intention of marriage should stand in his way of having a good time with Miss Boncass
en for a few weeks. No doubt there were objections to marriage. It clipped a fellow’s wings. But then, if he were married, he might be sure that Tifto would be laid aside. It was such a great thing to have got his father’s assured consent to a marriage. It meant complete independence in money matters.
Then his mind ran away to a review of his father’s affairs. It was a genuine trouble to him that his father should be so unhappy. Of all the griefs which weighed upon the Duke’s mind, that in reference to his sister was the heaviest. The money which Gerald owed at Cambridge would be nothing if that other sorrow could be conquered. Nor had Tifto and his own extravagance caused the Duke any incurable wounds. If Tregear could be got out of the way, his father, he thought, might be reconciled to other things. He felt very tender-hearted about his father; but he had no remorse in regard to his sister as he made up his mind that he would speak very seriously to Tregear.
He had wandered into St. James’s Park, and had lighted by this time half-a-dozen cigarettes one after another, as he sat on one of the benches. He was a handsome youth, all but six feet high, with light hair, with round blue eyes, and with all that aristocratic look, which had belonged so peculiarly to the late Duke but which was less conspicuous in the present head of the family. He was a young man whom you would hardly pass in a crowd without observing, — but of whom you would say, after due observation, that he had not as yet put off all his childish ways. He now sat with his legs stretched out, with his cane in his hands, looking down upon the water. He was trying to think. He worked hard at thinking. But the bench was hard and, upon the whole, he was not satisfied with his position. He had just made up his mind that he would look up Tregear, when Tregear himself appeared on the path before him.
“Tregear!” exclaimed Silverbridge.
“Silverbridge!” exclaimed Tregear.
“What on earth makes you walk about here on a Sunday morning?”
“What on earth makes you sit there? That I should walk here, which I often do, does not seem to me odd. But that I should find you is marvellous. Do you often come?”
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