‘Well; certainly not, I think.’
‘But now it is necessary that all noblemen in England should rally to the defence of their order.’ Miss Cassewary was a great politician, and was one of those who are always foreseeing the ruin of their country. ‘My dear, I will go and take my bonnet off. Perhaps you will have tea when I come down.’
‘Don't you go,’ said Lady Mabel, when Silverbridge got up to take his departure.
‘I always do when tea comes.’
‘But you are going to dine here?’
‘Not that I know of. In the first place, nobody has asked me. In the second place, I am engaged. Thirdly, I don't care about having to talk politics to Miss Cass; and fourthly, I hate family dinners on Sunday.’
‘In the first place, I ask you. Secondly, I know you were going to dine with Frank Tregear, at the club. Thirdly, I want you to talk to me, and not to Miss Cass. And fourthly, you are an uncivil young, – young, – young, – I should say cub if I dared, to tell me that you don't like dining with me any day of the week.’
‘Of course you know what I mean is, that I don't like troubling your father.’
‘Leave that to me. I shall tell him you are coming, and Frank too. Of course you can bring him. Then he can talk to me when papa goes down to his club, and you can arrange your politics with Miss Cass.’ So it was settled, and at eight o'clock Lord Silverbridge reappeared in Belgrave Square with Frank Tregear.
Earl Grex was a nobleman of very ancient family, the Grexes having held the parish of Grex, in Yorkshire, from some time long prior to the Conquest. In saying all this, I am, I know, allowing the horse to appear wholesale; – but I find that he cannot be kept out. I may as well go on to say that the present Earl was better known at Newmarket and the Beaufort,5 – where he spent a large part of his life in playing whist, – than in the House of Lords. He was a grey-haired, handsome, worn-out old man, who through a long life of pleasure had greatly impaired a fortune which, for an earl, had never been magnificent, and who now strove hard, but not always successfully, to remedy that evil by gambling. As he could no longer eat and drink as he had used to do, and as he cared no longer for the light that lies in a lady's eye, there was not much left to him in the world but cards and racing. Nevertheless he was a handsome old man, of polished manners, when he chose to use them; a staunch Conservative and much regarded by his party, for whom in his early life he had done some work in the House of Commons.
‘Silverbridge is all very well,’ he had said; ‘but I don't see why that young Tregear is to dine here every night of his life.
‘This is the second time since he has been up in town, papa.’
‘He was here last week, I know.’
‘Silverbridge wouldn't come without him.’
‘That's d—— nonsense,’ said the Earl. Miss Cassewary gave a start, – not, we may presume, because she was shocked, for she could not be much shocked, having heard the same word from the same lips very often; but she thought it right always to enter a protest. Then the two young men were announced.
Frank Tregear, having been known by the family as a boy, was Frank to all of them, – as was Lady Mabel, Mabel to him, somewhat to the disgust of the father and not altogether with the approbation of Miss Cass. But Lady Mabel had declared that she would not be guilty of the folly of changing old habits. Silverbridge, being Silverbridge to all his own people, hardly seemed to have a Christian name; – his godfathers and godmothers had indeed called him Plantagenet; – but having only become acquainted with the family since his Oxford days he was Lord Silverbridge to Lady Mabel. Lady Mabel had not as yet become Mabel to him, but, as by her very intimate friends she was called Mab, had allowed herself to be addressed by him as Lady Mab. There was thus between them all considerable intimacy.
‘I'm deuced glad to hear it,’ said the Earl when dinner was announced. For, though he could not eat much, Lord Grex was always impatient when the time of eating was at hand. Then he walked down alone. Lord Silverbridge followed with his daughter, and Frank Tregear gave his arm to Miss Cassewary. ‘If that woman can't clear her soup better than that, she might as well go to the d———,’ said the Earl; – upon which remark no one in the company made any observation. As there were two men-servants in the room when it was made the cook probably had the advantage of it. It may be almost unnecessary to add that though the Earl had polished manners for certain occasions he would sometimes throw them off in the bosom of his own family.
‘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 ratting6 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 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 Cassewa
ry'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.7 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 10
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 took 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 anyone.’
‘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 Rosaline1 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 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?’
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