‘Somebody introduced her to me, and then I had to walk about the grounds with her. That's the kind of thing one always does in those places.’
‘Just so. That is what “those places” are meant for, I suppose. But it was not apparently a great infliction.’ Lord Silverbridge had to explain that it was not an infliction; – that it was a privilege, seeing that Miss Boncassen was both clever and lovely; but that it did not mean anything in particular.
When he took his leave he asked his sister to go out into the grounds with him for a moment. This she did almost unwillingly, fearing that he was about to speak to her of Tregear. But he had no such purpose on his mind. ‘Of course you know,’ he began, ‘all that was nonsense you were saying about Mabel.’
‘I did not know.’
‘I was afraid you might blurt out something before her.’
‘I should not be so imprudent.’
‘Girls do make such fools of themselves sometimes. They are always thinking about people being in love. But it is the truth that my father said to me the other day how very much he liked what he had heard of her, and that he would like you to know her.’
On that same evening Silverbridge wrote from the Beargarden the shortest possible note to Lady Mabel, telling her what he had arranged. ‘I and Mary propose to call in B. Square on Friday at two. I must be early because of the House. You will give us lunch. S.’ There was no word of endearment, – none even of those ordinary words which people who hate each other use to one another. But he received the next day at home a much more kindly-written note from her;
‘DEAR LORD SILVERBRIDGE,
You are so good! You always do just what you think people will like best. Nothing could please me so much as seeing your sister, of whom of course I have heard very very much. There shall be nobody here but Miss Cass.
‘Yours most sincerely,
‘M.G.’
‘How I do wish I were a man!’ his sister said to him when they were in the hansom together.
‘You'd have a great deal more trouble.’
‘But I'd have a hansom of my own, and go where I pleased. How would you like to be shut up at a place like The Horns?’
‘You can go out if you like it.’
‘Not like you. Papa thinks it's the proper place for me to live in, and so I must live there. I don't think a woman ever chooses how or where she shall live herself.’
‘You are not going to take up woman's rights,1 I hope.’
‘I think I shall if I stay at The Horns much longer. What would papa say if he heard that I was going to give a lecture at an Institute?’
‘The governor has had so many things to bear that a trifle such as that would make but little difference.’
‘Poor papa!’
‘He was dreadfully cut up about Gerald. And then he is so good! He said more to me about Gerald than he ever did about my own little misfortune at Oxford; but to Gerald himself he said almost nothing. Now he has forgiven me because he thinks I am constant at the House.’
‘And are you?’
‘Not so much as he thinks. I do go there, – for his sake. He has been so good about my changing sides.’
‘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.2 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-Wise-man3 who won't let Christian go to the Straight 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 connection 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 Silver-bridge 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 th
e 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 anyone.
‘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 loves him almost as I have loved him,’ she said to herself. ‘I wonder whether he can love her as he did me?’
CHAPTER 30
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 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.
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