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% •

V 3

THE PRIME MINISTER,

ru^'a,'

\U^

./^

1%^ /

^t \VL

TH'

THE PRIME MINISTER.

ANTHONY TROIXOPK

TORONTO :

BELFORD BROTHERS.

1876.

Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thoiwand eight hundred and seventy-eu, by Bm-FOBD Bbothbbb, in the
office of the Minister of Agricultunt

CONTENTS.

in the year oue
10THBB8, in the

OBAPTER

J. Ferdinand Lopez , , ^ ^
II. Ev BRETT Wharton . . » .

III. Mr. Abel Wharton, q.c.

IV. Mus. ROBY

V. "No ONE KNOWS ANYTHING ABOUT HIM."

V . An old friend goes to Windsor .
VII. Another old friend
VIII. The beginning of a nbw career .
IX. Mrs. Dick's dinner par-^y. — No. i.
X. Mrs. Dick's dinner party. — No. ii.
XI. Carlton Terrace

XII. ^IHB gathering of CLOUDS

XIII. Mr. Wharton complains .

XIV. A lover's fersbyerancb .
XV. Arthur Fletcher .

XVI. Never hiun away ! .

XVII. QOO-J-BYB ....

.XVIII. TrE Dukb of Omnium thinks
XIX. Vulgarity ....
XX. Sir Orlando's policy
XXI. The Duchess's new swan
XXII. St. James's Park

XXIII. SuftRENDEB

XXIV. The Marriagb .
XXV. The beginning of the honeymoon
XXVI. The und of the honeymoon

OF himself

pAav
1

101

109

113

121

127

135

140

151

158

163

170

IU)NIKNT8,

(IIAITKH

I'AUB

CIIAI'

XXVII.

TmR DrKK'8 MIHEUY

. 176

XXVIII.

ThR D1CHE88 IH MICH THOl'Hl.BI) . .

. 18G

LXX

XXIX.

Tick two cANmnAiBs for Silvkkhhidor .

. 190

LXXI

XXX.

" Yes ;— a lie ! "

. 197

LXX

XXXI.

"Yes; with a hohskwhip tN my jiand." .

. 204

LXX

XXXII.

"What hvsinebs is it ok yoiiihI'*' .

. 210

LXX

XXXIII.

Showing that a man RHotLD not howl .

. 217

LXXV

IJ XXXIV.

The Sii.vkuhhjdoe elkction . . . ■

. 22'2

LXX VI

!' XXXV.

Lopez hack in London ....

. 23:^

LXXI

XXXVL

The Jolly ULAcxniui)

. 241

LXX

xxxvn.

The IIouns

. 240

XXXVIII.

Siu Orlando ubtihes

. 251

XXXIX.

"Get hound him."

. 261

XL.

, 1

"Comb and tuy it."

. 26G

XLI.

The vali'e ov a thick skin

. 272

XLII.

Kktkiuution

. 277

1 XLIII.

Kauui Gum

. 289

\ XLIV.

Mr. Wharton intends to make a nbw will .

. 295

li XLV.

Mrs. Sexty Paukfr . . . • .

. 301

11 ^^^^'

"Hb wants to get uich too quick."

. 307

m xLvii.

As FOR love!

. 314

1 XLVIII.

"IIas KB ill-treated youP"

. 323 '"

XLIX.

Wherb 18 Guatemala? ....

. 328 i

^ ^^:

Mr. Slidb's revenoe

. 334

Coddling the Prime RIinister .

. 342

LI I.

"I CAN sleep here TO-NIOHT, I SUPPOSE."

. 360 '

LTII.

Mr. Hartlepod

. 367

■

LIV.

Li/zib

. 364 *

LV.

Mrs. Parker's borrows ....

. 372

f LVI.

What thb Duchess thought of hbr itusband

. 377 ;

' Lvn.

ThB BXPL.iNATION

. 384

LVIII.

" QCITB 8BTTLBD." . . . •

. 391 j

j LIX.

1- LX.

Thb first and the Liisr ....

. 398 1

The Tenway Junction ....

. 403 ■

■

LXI.

Thb widow and her friends

. 410 1

^ LXII.

Phineas Finn has a book to rbad .

. 417- >

LXIII.

Thb Duchess and hbr fribnd ...

. 424

■

Lxrv.

Thic new k.o

. 430

LXV.

There must be time

. 437

TiXVI.

The end of thb session ....

. 442

LXVIL

Mrs. Lopez irbparbs to moth ...

. 449

T-XVIIL

The Prime Minister's political creed .

. 455

LXIX.

Mrs. Parkbr's fatb

. 463

LXX.

At Wharton ......

. 468

CONTKNTB.

vii

I'AltR

■ riiAiTM

. 176

■ LXXI.

. 18G

■ LXXII.

. 190

■ LXXI II.

. 107

■ LXXIV.

. 204

■ LXXV.

. 210

■ LXXVl.

. 217

■ LXXVII.

. 222

■ lxxvih.

. 23;j

■ LXXIX.

. 241

■ LXXX.

. 24G

. 254

. 261

. 26C

. 272

■

. 277

. 289

riLL

. 295

. 301

■

. 307

. 314

. 323 i

■

. 328

. 334

. 342

. 350

. 357

■

. 364 i

. 372 1

^ND

• 377 I

. 384

. 391

■

. 308

■

. 403

. 410

. 417*

■

. 424

. 430

■

. 437

. 442

■

. 449

. 455

. 463

. 468 1

■

ThB LADIIR at LoNOHARNfl DOVIIT

" Hb thinks that OUIl DAYS ARE Nl'MHBHEl).

Only thb Dukb op Omnium

"I AM DISOHACIU AND SHAMKd" .

The orbat Wharton alliance .

Who will it be?

Tub Duchess in Manchehtkr Suiahb

Thb new Ministry ....

Thb Whakton weddino

The last meeting at Matching •

MOB

476
481
492
6U0
609
616
622
627
634
642

th:

It is certaii
Ifathurs aud
jbitiou tome
to be able t
somebodies i
I for those wb
Iwoiia; and
1 become lior
■theoretically
Imade magn
IforenHic ov t
[bpriug of tl
Bubjectof L
i^heii old, a
ibsolutely r<
ictaally woi
jnffection, of
>'i, with the
be altogethe:
be ushamed,
^luy rate to
uot less if :
riusic me
lo high socia
lining with
bring into il
f et it is so di
anyof ug
be generally
Jvon our bn
V n Tnnn ne^

THE PRIME MINISTER

CHAPTER I.

FERDINAND LOPEZ.

It is certainly of service to a man to know who were his gi'aud-
fathers and who were his gi aiidmothers if he eutertuia au am-
bition to move in the upper circlus of society, and altto of service
to be able to speak of tnem as of persons who were themselves
Homebodies in their timo. No doubt we all entertain gn^at respect
for those who by their own energies have raised themselves in the
iworld; and when we hear that the son of a washerwoman has
I become Tiord Chancellor or Arohbinhop of Canterbury wo do,
Itheoretically and abstractedly, feel a higher reverence for such self-
Imade magnate than for one who has been as it were born into
IforenKic uv ecclesiastical purple. But not the less must the off-
jbpriug of the washerwoman have had very much trouble on the
subject of his birth, unless he has been, when young as well as
fhen old, a very great man indeed. After the goal has been
ibyulutely reached, and the honour and the titles and the wealth
ictually won, a man may talk with some humour, even with some
|iiirection, of the maternal tub ; — but while the struggle is going
I, with the conviction strong upon the struggler that he cannot
36 altogether successful unless he be esteemed a gei;tleman, not to
)e ashamed, not to conceal the old family circumstances, not at
luy rate to be silent, is difficult. And the dilliculty is certainly
kiot less if fortunate circumstances rather than hard work and
Intriusic merit have raised above his natural place an aspirant
|to high social position. Can it be expected that such a one when
lining with a duchess shall speak of his father's small shop, or
)ring into the light of day his grandfather's cobbler's awl ? And
ret it is so difHcuit to be altogether silent ! It may not bo necessary
[or any of us to be always talking of our own parentage. We may
l>e generally reticent as to our uncles and au^cs, and may drop
bvon our brothers and sisters in our ordina-^ conversation. But
If fl TTinn never mentions his belongings c<mong those with whom

THE PRIME MINISTER.

ii^

he lives, he becomes mysterious, and almost open to suspicion. It
begins to br known that nobody knows anything of such a man,
and even triends become afraid. It is certainly convenient to be
able to alliido, if it be but once in a year, to some blood relation.

Ferdinand Lopez, who in other reHjJUcts had much in his circum-
stances on which to cungiatulate himself, sull'ered trouble in his
mind robptctmghis ancostora such us I hiive endeavoured to describe.
He did not know very much himself, but what little he did know
he kept altogether to himself. Ho hud no father or mother, no
uncle, aunt, brother or sister, no cousin oven whom ho could men-
tion in a cursory way to his dearest friend. lie suffered, no doubt ;
— but with Spartan consistency he so hid his trouble from the world
that no one knew that he sufltered. Those with whom he lived, •
and who speculated often and wondered much as to who he was,
never dreamed that the silent man's reticence was a burden to him-
self. At no special conjuncture of his life, at no period which could
be marked with the finder of the observer, did ho glaringly abstain
from any statement which at the moment might be natural. He
never tiesitated, blushed, or palpably laboured at concealment ; but
the fact remained that though a great many men and not a few
women Jtnew Ferdinand Lopez vary well, none of them knew
wDence he had come, or what was his family.

He was a man, however, naturally reticent, who never alluded to
lue own affairs unless in pursuit of some object the way to which
was clear before his eyes. Silence therefore on a matter wh:* ii is
common in the mouths of most men was less difficult to him tnan
to aiiother, and the result less embarrassing. Dear old Jones, who
teiis his friends at the club of every pound that he loses or wins at
tne races, wlio boasts of Mary's favours and mourns over Lucy's
coldness almost in public, who issues bulletins on the state of hid
purse, his stomach, his stable, and his debts, could not with any
amount of care keep from us the fact that his father was an attorney's
clerk, and made his first money by discounting small bills. Every-
body knows it, and Jones, who likes popularity, grieves at the
unfortunate publicity. But Jones is relieved from a burden which
would have broken his poor shoulders, and which oven Ferdinand
Lopez, who is a strong man, often finds it hard to bear without
wincing.

It was admitted on all sides that Feidinand Lopez was a ** gen-
tleman." Johnson says that any other derivation of this difficult
word than that which causes it to signify " a man of ancestry " is
whimsical. There are many, who in defining, the term for their
owe use, still adhere to Johnson's dictum; — but they adhere to it
with certain unexpressed allowances for possible exceptions. The
chances are very much m tavour of the well-born man, but excep-
tions may exist, it wag not generally believed that Ferdinand
Lopez was well bom ; — but he was a gentleman. And this most
precious rank was acceded to him although he was employed, — or
at least had been cmjiiuyed,— on business which does not of itself

FKRDINANI* LOI'F'.Z.

give such a warrant of position as is supposed to be afforded by the
bar and the church, by the mil^'^ary services and by physic. He
had been on the Stock Excha ^^e, and still in some manner, not
clearly understood by his friends, did business in the City.

At the time with wlxich we are now concerned Ferdinand Lopez
was tbirty-three years old, and as he had begun life early he had
been long before the world. It was known of him that he had
been at a good English private school, and it was reported, on the
solitary evidence of one who had there been his schoolfellow, that
a rumour was current in the school that his school bills were paid
by an old gentleman who was not related to him. Thence at the
age of seventeen he had been sent to a German University, and at
the age of twenty- one had appeared in London, in a stockbroker \?
office, where he was soon known as an accomplished linguist, and
as a very clever fellow, — precocious, not given to many pleasures,
apt for work, but hardly trustworthy by employers, not as being
dishonest, but as having a taste for being a master rather than a
servant. Indeed his period of servitude was very short. It was
not in his nature to be active on behalf of others. He was soon
active for himself, and at one time it was supposed that he was
making a fortune. Then it was known that he had left his regular
business, and it was supposed that he had lost all that he had ever
made or had ever possessed. But nobody, not even his own
bankers or his own lawyer, — not even the old woman who looked
after his linen, — over really knew the state of his affairs.

He was certainly a handsome man, — his beauty being of a sort
which men are apt to deny and women to admit lavishly. He was
nearly six feet tall, very dark, and very thin, with regular, well-
cut features indicating little to the physiognomist unless it be the
great gift of self-possession. His hair was cut short, and he wore
no beard beyond an absolutely black moustaclie. His teeth were
[perfect in form and whiteness, — a characteristic which, though it
[may be a valued item in a general catalogue of personal attraction,
[does not generally recommend a man to the unconscious judgment
of his acquaintance. But about the mouth and chin of thit> man
there was a something of softness, perhaps in the play of the lips^
perhaps in the dimple, which in some degree lessened the feeling
joi hardness which was produced by the square brow and bold,
lunfiinching, combative eyes. They who knew him and liked him
Iwero reconciled by the lower faco. The greater number who knew
Ihim and did not like him felt and resented, — even though in nine
icasea out of ten they might express no resentment even to them -
jselvos, — the pugnacity of his steady glance.

I For he was essentially one of those men who are always, in the
jmnei' workings of their mindt<, defending themselves and attacking
lothers. He could not give a penny to a woman at a crossing with-
[out a look which argued at full length her injustice in making her
jdeniiind, and his froedoni from aU liability lot him walk the cross-
ii'g as often as he nvght. llo couKl not seat himself in a railway

THE PRIME MINISTER.

carriage without a lesson to his opposite neighbour that in all the
mutual affairs of travelling, arrangement of foet, dispubitiou of
bags, and opening of windows, it would be that neighbour's duly
to submit and his to exact. It was, however, for tlie spiht rather
than for the thing itself that he combated. The woman with the
broom got her penny. The opposite gentleman when once by a
glance he had expressed submission was allowed his own wajr with
hifi legs and witn the window. I would not say that Ferdinand
Lopez was prone to do ill-natured things; but he was imperious,
and he had learned to carry his empire in his eye.

The reader must submit to be told one or two further and still
smaller details respecting the roan, and then the man shall be
allowed to make his own way. No one of those around him knew
}tow much care he took to dress himself well, or how careful he
was that no one should know it. His very tailor regarded him as
being simply extravagant in the number of his coats and trousers,
ind his friends looked upon him as one of those fortunate beings
to whose nature belongs a facility of being well dressed, or almost
an impossibility of being ill dressed. We all know the man, — a
little man generally who moves seldom and softly, — who looks
always as though he had just been sent home in a bandbox. Fer-
dinand Lopez was not a little man, and moved freely enough ; but
never, at arty moment, — going into the city or coming out of it, on
horseback or on foot, at home over his book or after the mazes of
the dance, — was he dressed otherwise than with perfect care.
Money and time did it, but folk thought that it grew with him, as
did his hair and his nails. And he always rode a horse which
charmed good judges of what a park nag should be ; — not a pranc-
ing, restless, giggling, side- way- going, useless garran, but an
animal well made, well bitted, with perfect paces, on whom a rider
if it pleased him could be as quiet as a statue on a monument. It
often did please Ferdinand Lupoz to be quiet on horseback ; and yet
he did not look like a statue, for it was acknowledged through
all Loudon that he was a good horseman. lie lived luxuriously
too, — though whether at his ease or not nobody knew, — for he
kept a brougham of his own, and during the hunting season he
had two horses down at Leighton. There had once been a belief
abroad that he was ruined, but they who interest themselves in
such matters had found out, — or at any rate believod that they had
f()UT>d out, — that he paid his tailor regularly : and now there pre-
vailed au opinion that Ferdinand Lopez was a moiiied man.

It was known to some few that he occupied rooms in a flat at
Westminster, — but to veiy few exactly where the rooms were
situate. Among all his friends no one was known to have entered
them. In a moderate way he was given to hospitality, — that is to
infrequent but, when the occasion came, to graceful hoispitulity.
Sonie club, however, or tavern, or perhaps, in the summer, some
river bank would be chopen as the sceiie of these festivities. 'Vo a
few, — if, as suggesled, amidst suumn'r flowers on the wu,ter'd e»J{i,o

FERDINAND LOPEZ.

to men and women mixed, — he would bo a courtly and efficient
host ; for he had the rare gift of doing such things wfJl.

Hunting was over, and the east wind was still blowing, and a
great portion of the London world was out of town taking its
Easter holiday, when, on an unpleasant morning, Feidinand Lopez
travellod into the city by the Metropolitan railway from Westmin-
ster Bridge. It was his custom to go thither when he did go, — not
daily like a man of business, but as chance might require, like a
capitalist or a man of pleasure^ — in his own brougham. But on
this occasion he walked down to the river side, and then walked
from the Mansion House into a dingy little court called Little
Tankard Yard, near the Dank of England, and going through a
narrow dark long passage got into a little olHce at the hack of a
building, in which there sat at a desk a greasy gentleman with a
new hat on one side of his head, who might perhaps be about forty
years old. The place was very dark, and the man was turning
over the leaves of a ledger. A stranger to city ways might pro-
bably have said that he was idle, but he was no doubt filling his
mind with that erudition which would enable him to earn his broad.
On the other side of the dor^k there was a little boy copying letters.
These were Mr. Sextus PHiker, — commonly called Sexty Parker. —
and his clerk. Mr. Parker was a gentleman very well known
and at the present moment favourably esteemed on the Stock
Exchange. *' What, Lopez!" said he. " Uncommon glad to see
you. What can I do for you ?"

" Just come inside, — will you ?" said Lopez. Now within Mr.
Parker's very small office there was a smaller office in which there
were a safe, a small rickeiy Pembroke table, two chairs, and an old
washing-stand with a tumbled towel. Lopez led the way into this
sanctum as though he knew the place well, and Sexty Parker
followed him.

" Beastly day, isn't it ?" said Sexty.

" Yes, — a nasty east wind."

" Cutting one in two, with a hot sun at the samo time. One
ought to hybernate at this time of the year."

*' Then why don't you hybernate ?" said Lopoz.

*' Business is too good. That's about it. A man has to stick to
it when it does come. Everybody can't do liLe you ; — give up
regular work, and make a better thing of an hour now and an hour
then, iust as it pleases you. I shouldn't dare go in for that kind
ofthiiig."

*' I (lon't suppose you or any one else know what I go in for,"
said liopez, with a look that indicatod off'ence.

" Nor don't care," said Sexty ; — " only hope it's something good
[for your sake." Soxty Parker had known Mr. Lopez well, now
I lor some years, and being an overbearing man himself, — somewhat
[even of a bully if the truth be spoken, — and by no means apt to
[give way unless hard pressed, had often tried his " hand" on his
friend, as he himself would ha\o said. But I doubt whether he

THK PRIME MINISTRH.

cuuld remember Any instance in which he could conpatulalr him-
self on fluccoss. lie was trying: his hand again now, bnt did it
with a faltering voice, having caught a glance of his friend's rye.

"I dare say not," said Lopez. Then he continued without
changing his voice or the nature of the glance of his eyo, " I'll
tell you what I want you to do now. I want your name to this
bill for throe months."

Sexty Parker opened his mouth and his eyes, and took the bit of
paper that was tendered to him. It was a promisscny note for £7.>0,
which, if signed by him, would at the end of the specified period
mase him liable for that sum were it not otherwise paid. His
friend Mr. Lopez was indeed applying to him foi the assistance of
his name in raising a loan to the amount of the sum named. This
was a kind of favour which a man should ack almost on his knees,
— and which, if so asked, M/. Sextus Parker would certainly refuse.
And here was Ferdinand Lopez asking it, — whom Sextus Parker
had latterly regarded as an opulent man, — and asking it not at all
on his knees, but, as one might say, at the muzzle of a pistol.
" Accommodation bill I " said Sexty. " Why, you ain't hard up ;
are you ?"

'* I'm not going just at present to tell you much about my aifairs,
and yet I expect you to do what I ask you. I don't suppose you
doubt my ability to raise £750."

** Oh, dear no," said Sexty, who had been looked at and who had
not borne the inspection well.

** And I don't suppose you would refuse me even if I were hard
up as you call it." There had been affairs before between the two
men in which Lopez had probably been the stronger, and the
memory of them, added to the inspection which was still going on,
was heavy upon poor Sexty.

" Oh, dear no ; — I wasn't thinking of refusing. I suppose a fel-
low may be a little surprised at such a thing."

"I don't know why you need bo surprised, as such things ore
verj"^ common. I happen to have taken a share in a loan a little
beyond my immediate means, and therefore want a few hundreds.
There is no one I can ask with a better grace than you. If you
ain't — afraid about it, just sign it."

" Oh, I ain't afi-aid," said Sexty, taking his pen and writing his
name across the bill. But even tefore the signature was finished,
when his eye was taken away from the face of his companion and
fixed upon the disagreeable piece of paper beneath his hand, he re-
pented of what he was doing. Ho almost arrested his signature
hulf-way. He did hesitate, but had not pluck enough to stop his

hand. " It does seem to be a d d odd transaction all the same,"

he said as he leaned back in his chair.

" It's the commonest thing in the world," said Lopez picking up
the bill in a leisurely way, folding it nnd putting it intohL pocket-
book. "Have om* names never been together on a bit of paper
before?"

EVERETT WHARTON. 7

•' When "we both had something to make by it."

" You've nothing to make and nothing to lose by this. Good
(lay and many thanks ; — though I don't think so much of the affair
.iH you seem to do." Then Ferdinand Lopez took his departure
and Sexty Parker was loft alone in his bowildennent.

"By George,— that's queer," he said to himself. " Who'd have
thought of Lopez being hard up for a fow hundred pounds ? But
it must be all right. ]lo wouldn't have come in that fashion, if it
hadn't been all right. I oughtn't to have done it though ? A man
ought never to do that kind of thing; — never, —never ! " And
Mr. Sextus Parker was much discontented with himself, so that
when he got home that evening to the "^ife of his bosom and his
little family at Ponders End, he by no means made himself agree-
able to them. For that sum of £750 sat upon his bosom as he
ate his supper, and lay upon his chest as he slept,— like a night-
mare.

CITAPTJ^R 11.

EVERETT WIIAHTON*

On that same day Lopez dined with his friend Everett Wharton at
a new club called the Progress, of which they were both members.
The Progress was certainly a new club, having as yet been open
hardly more than three years ; but still it was old enough to have
seen many of the hopes of its eaily youth become dim with age and
inaction. For the Progress had intended to do great things tor the
liberal party, — or rather for political liberality in general, — and
had in truth done little or nothing. It had been got up with con-
siderable enthusiasm, and for a while certain fiery politicians had
believed that through the instrumentality of this itistitution men
of genius, and spirit, and natural power, but without wealth, — ■
moaning always themselves, — would be supplied with sure seats in
parliament and a probable share in the Government. But no such
results had been achieved. There had been a want of something,
—some deficiency felt but not yot defined, — which had hitherto
been fatal. The young men said it was because no old stager who
knew the way of pulling the wires would come forward and put the
club in the proper groove. The old men said it was because the
young men were pretentious puppies. It was, however, not to be
doubted that the ]>arty of Progress had become shjck, and that the
liberal politicians of the countr}"^, although a special new club had
been opened for the furtherance of their views, were not at present
making much way. '* What wc want is organization," said one of
the leading y«)ung men. But the organization was not as yet forth-
coming.
The club, nevertheless, went on its way, like other clubs, and

THE PRIME MINISTKR.

men din^d and smoked and played billiards and pretendeti to read.
Some few energetic members still hoped that a good day would
come in which their grand ideas might be realised , — but as rejjrai dcd
the members generally, they were content to eat and drink and
play billiards. It was a fairly good club, — with a sprinkling of
liberal lordlings, a couple of dozen of members of Parliament who
had been made to believe that they would neglect their party dutit'.<
unless they paid their money, and the usual assortment of harrij-
ters, attorneys, city merchants and idle men. It was good enough
at any rate for Ferdinand Lopez, who was particular about his
dinner, and had an opinion of his own about wines. He had been
heard to assert that, for real quiet comfort, there was not a club in
London equal to it ; but his hearers were not aware that in past

days he had been black-balled at the T and the G — .

These were accidents which Lopez had a gift of keeping in the
back-ground. His present companion, Everett Wharton, had, us
well as himself, been an original member ;— and Wharton had been
one of those who had hoped to find in the club a stepping-stone to
high political life, and who now talked often with idle energy of the
need of organization.

** For myself," said Lopez, " I oan conceive no vainer objet't of
ambition than a seat in the British Parliament. What does any
man gain by it ? The few who are successful work very hard for
little pay and no thanks, — or nearly equally hard for no pay and as
little thanks. The many who fail sit idly for hours, undergoing
the weary task of listening to platitudes, aiul enjoy in return the
now absolutely valueless privilege of having M.P. written on their
letters."

" Somebody must make laws for the country."

** I don't see the necessity. I think the country would do un-
commonly well if it were to know that no old law would be altered
or new law made for the next twenty years."

•* You wouldn't have repealed the corn laws ? "

"There are no corn lawsto repeal now."

*' Nor modify the income tax ? "

" I would modify nothing. But at any rate, whether laws are
to be altered or to be left, it is a comfort to me that I need not put
mv finger into that pie. There is one benefit indeed in being in the
House. '

" You can't be arrested."

"Well; — that, as far as it goes; and one other. It assists s»
man in getting a seat as the director of certain Companies. People
are still such asses that they trust a Board of Directors made up of
members of Parliament, and therefore of course members are made
welcome. But if you want to get into the House why don't you
arrange it with your father, instead of waiting for what the club
may do for j'ou ? "

" My father wouldn't pay a shilling for such a purpose. He was
never in the House himself."

EVKUKTT WHAKTON.

86. He wad

•' And there foro dewpisea it."

" A little ot that, perhaps. No man over worked harder than
ho did, or, in his way, more successfully ; and having seen one
al'ior another of his juniors become members of Parliament, while
he stuck to the attorneys, there is perhaps a little jealousy
about it."

••From what I fco of the way you live at home, I should
think your father would do anything for you, — with proper
managnmont. There is no doubt, I suppose, that he could afFord it?"

♦' My fjithor never in his life said anything to mo about his own
money alfaiis, though he says a groat deal about mine. No man
ever was closer than ray father. But I believe that he could afford
almost anything."

" I wish I had such a father," said Ferdinand Lopez. *• I
think that I should succeed in ascertaining the extent of his capa-
bilitios, and in making some uso of them too."

Wharton nearly asked nis friond, — almost summoned courage to
ask him, — whether his father had done much for him. They were
very intimate; and on one subject, in which Lopez was much inte-
rested, their confidence had been very close. But the younger and
the weaker nnxn of the two could not quite bring himself to the
point of making an inquiry which he thought would be disagree-
able. Lopez had never before, in all their intercourse, hinted at
the possibiliiy of his havinj: or having had filial aspirations. He
had been as though he had been created pelf- sufficient, indepen-
dent of mother'^ milk or father's mon^3y. Now the question might
have been ask(;(l almost naturally. But it was not a^sked.

Everett Whiu'ton was a trouble to his father, — but not an agoniz-
ing trouble, as are some sons. His faults were not of a nature to
rob his father's cup of all its sweetness and to bring his grey hairs
with sorrow to tho grave. Old Wharton had never had to ask him-
self whether he should now, at length, let his son fall into the
lowest abysses, or whether he should yet again struggle to put him
on his legs, again forgive him, again pay his debts, again endea-
vour to forget dishonour, and place it all to the score of thought-
less youth. Had it been so, i think that, if not on the first or
second fall, certainly on the third, tho young man would have
gone into the abyss ; for Mr. Wharton was a stem man, and
capable of coming to a clear conclusion on things that were nearest
and even dearest to himself. But Everett Wharton had simply
shown himself to be inefficient to earn his own bread. He had
never declined even to do this, — but had simply been inefficient.
He had not declared either by words or actions that as his father
was a rich man, and as he was an only son, he would therefore do
nothing. But he had tiied his hand thrice, and in each case, after
but short trial, had assured his father and his friends that the
thing had not suited him. Leaving Oxford without a degree, —
fur the reading of the schools did not suit him, — he had gone"
iiito a banking-house, by no meajis as a mere clerk, but with au

TIIK ITJMK MTMSTKR.

cxpreHsofl ])V()j)osItion from hi.^ father, biiekod by tho assent of a
partner, that lie should work liis way up to weaUli and a fi^reat
commercial position. But six mouths taught him that banking
was " an abomination," a>id he at onco wont into a courao of read-
ing with a barrister. He lemained at this till he was called, — for
a man may be called witli very little continuous work. But after
ho was called the solitude of his chambers was too much for him,
and at twenty-five he found that the Stock Exchange was the
mnrt in tho world for such talents and energies us he possessed.
What was tho nature of his failure durin*^ the year that he went
into tho city, was known only to himsjilf and his father, — unless
Ferdinand Lopez knew somethin;^ of it also. But at six-and-
twenty the Stock Exchange was also abandoned ; and now, at
eight-and-twenty, Everett Wharton had discovered that a parlia-
mentarj'' career was that for which nature and his special genius
had intended him. lie had probably suggested this to his father,
and had met with some cold rebuff.

Everett Wharton was a good-looking, manly fellow, six feet
high, with broad shoulders, with light hair, wearing a large silky
bushy beard, which made him look older than his years, who
neither by his speech nor by his appearance would ever bo taken
for a fool, but who showed by the very actions of hiH body as well
as by the play of his face, that he lacked firmness of purpose. Ho
certainly was no fool. Ho had read much, and, though he gene-
rally forgot what he read, there were left with him from his read-
ings certain nebulous lights begotten by other men's thinking
which enabled him to talk on most subjects. It cannot bo said of
him that ho did much thinking for himself ; — but he thought that
ho thought. Ho believed of himself that he had gone rather deep
into politics, and that he was entitled to call aany statesmen asses
because they did not see tho things which he saw. He had the
great question of labour, and all that refers to unions, strikes,
and lock-outs, quite at his fingers' ends. He know how the Church
of England should be dipestablished and rccomposed. He was
quite clear on questions of finance, and saw to a ** t" how pro-
gress should be made towards communism, so that no violence
should disturb that progress, and that in the due course of cen-
turies all desire for personal property should be conquered and
annihilated by a philanthropy so general as hardly to be accounted
a virtue. In tho| meantime ho could never contrive to pay his
tailor's bill regularly out of the allowance of £400 a year which his
father made liim, and was always dreaming of the comforts of a
handsome income.

He was a popular man certainly, — very popular with women, to
whom he was always courteous, and generally liked by men, to
whom he was genial and good-natured. Though he was not him-
self aware of the fact, he was very dear to his father, who in his
own silent way almost admired and certainly liked the openness
and guileless freedom of a character which was very opposite to

his own.

the Hon,

than he

listen to

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take an :

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nitely'fii

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Indef-t

that som

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KVKRKTT WHARTOK.

his own. Tho fathor, th(iiiLi:h ho had never said a word to flatter
thi' Hon, ,li,l ill truth give his oirKpring credit for greater talent
than he possessed, and, even when upj)f>aring to scorn them, wouhl
listen to tlio youn«r man's diatribes almost with satisfaction. And
J'iVerett was verj' d-ar also to a sister, who was the only other
living nionibor of this branch of tho Wharton family. Much will
be said of iior in these pages, and it is hoped that the reader may
take an iiit((io8t in her fate But hero, in speaking of the brother,
it may suJIioo to say, that the sister, who was endowed with infi-
nitely fini-r jijifts than his, did give credit to the somewhat preten-
tious claims of her less noble brother.

Indeed it had been ^lerhftps a misfortune with Everett Wharton
that some peopjc had believed in him, — and a further misfortune
that some others had thought it worth their while to pretend to
believe in him. Among the latter might probably bo reckoned the
friend with whom he was now dining at the Progress. A man
may flatter another, as liopez occasionally did Hatter Wharton,
without preconcerted falsehood. It suits one man to be well with
another, and the one ?.ear.i.s gradually and perhaps unconsciously
the way to take advantage of the foibles of the other. Now it was
most material to Lopez that he should stand well with all the
members of the Wharton family, as ho aspired to the hand of the
daughter of the house. Of her regard he already thought himself
nearly sure. Of tho father's sanction to such a marriage he bed
reason to be almost more than doubtful. l>ut the brother was his
friend, — and in such circumstances a man is almost justified in
flattering a brother.

" I'll tell you what it is, Lopez," said Wharton, as they strolled
out of the club together, a little after ten o'clock, " the men of the
present day won't give themselves tho trotible to occupy their
minds with matters which have, or should have, renl interest.
Pope know all about it when he said that ' The proper study of
mankind is man.' But people don't read Pope now, or if they do
they don't take tho trouble to understand him."

" Men are too busy making money, my dear fellow."

** That's just it. Money's a very nice thing."

"Very nice," said Lopez.

**But tho search after it is debasing. If a man could make
money for four, or six, or even eight hours a day, and then wash
his mind of the pursuit, r^,s a clerk in an oflice washes the copies
and ledgers out of his mind, then "

'* He would never make money in that way, — and keep it."

" And therefore the whole thing is debasmg. A man ceases to
care for the great interests of the world, or even to bo aware of
their existence, when his whole soul is in Spanish bonds. They
wanted to make a banker of mo, but I found that it would kill

t would kill me, 1 think, if I Lad to confine luystlf to Spanish

boud

1;^

TIIR I'UIMK MtNISTKR.

" You know what I moan. You at any rutf* cnn undwrHtaiwl tno,
though I fear you are too far gone to abandon tho idea of niakini?
a fortune."

" I would abandon it to .w if t could come into a fortuuo

roadv made. A man miiat at any rate eat/'

•* Yes ;--he must eat. But I ara not quite suro," said Wharton
thoughtfully, *' that he need think iibuut what ho onff."

"Unless the beef is sent up without horse radish!" It had
liHpperied that when tho two men sat down to their dinner the
insufficient quantity of tliat vegetable Ruprtliod by the steward of
the club had been all consumed, and Wharton had complained of
the grievance.

"A man has a right to that for which he has paid," said
Wharton, with mock solemnity, "and if he papsos over lachoN of
that nature without observation he does an injury to humanity at
large. I'm not poing to be caught in a trap, you know, becauso
I like horse radish with my beef. Well, I can't go farther out
of my way, as I have a deal of ronding to do boforo I court my
Morpheus. If you'll take my advice you'll go slraight to tbe
governor. Whatever Emily may feel I don't think sho'll say much
to encourage you unless you go about it after that fashion. She
has prim notions of her own, which perhaps are not after all so
much amiss when a man wants to marry a girl."

** God forbid that I should think that anything about your
sister was amiss ! "

"I don't think there is much myself. Women are generally
superficial, — but some are honestly superficial and some dishotjestly.
Emily at any rate is honest."

*' Stop half a moment." Then they paunterod arm in arm down
the broad pavement leading from Pall Mall to the Duke of York's
column. " I wish I could make out your father more clearly.
He is always civil to me, but he has a cold way of looking at me
which makes me think I am not in his good books."

" He is like that to everybody."

"I never seem to get beyond the skin with him. You must
have heard him speak of me in my absence ?"

" Tie never says very much about any body."

' ' But a word would let me know how the land lies. You know
me well enough to be aware that I am the last man to be curious
as to what others think of me. Indeed I do not earn about it as
much .ls a man should do. I am utterly indifferent to the opinion
of the world at large, and would never object to the company of a
pleasant person because the pleasant person abused me behind my
back. What I value is the pleasantness of the man and no' his
liking or disliking for myself. But here the dearest aim of my
life is concerned, and I might be guided either this way or that, to
my groat advantage, by knowing whether I stand well or ill with
him."

" You have dined three timos within the last three months in

KVEHKTT WIIAKTON.

Manchester SqujiTO, aud I don't know any othor man, — cortninly
no otliui' young luuu, — who hu8 had Huch titrong proof of intimacy
from my fathor."

" Yeu, and I know my advautagos. But I have beun there as
your friend, not as his."

" He doesn't care twopence about my friends. I wanted to give
Charlie iSkute a dinner, but my father wouldn't have him at any
prico."

*' Charlie Skate is out at elbows, and beta at billiards. I am
respectable, — or at any rate your father thinks so. Your fither
is more anxious about you than you are aware of, and wishes to
make his house pleasant to you as long as he can do so to your
advantage. As far as you are concerned ho rather approves of me,
fancying that my turn for making money is stronger than my turn
tor spending it. Nevurtlieless, he looks upon me us a friend of
yours rall:>^r than his own. Though he has given me three
(liuuers in three months, — and I own the greatness of his honpi-
lality, — I don't suppose he ever i^aid a word in my favour. I wish
£ knew what he does say."

" He says he knows nothing about you."

"Oh; — that's itv is it? Then he can know no harm. When
next he says so ask him of how many of the men who dine at his
house he can nay as much. Good night ; — I won't keep you any
longer. But I can tell you this ; — if between us we can manage
to handle him rightly, you may get your seat in Parliament

aud I may get my wife; that is, of course, if she will have

me."

Then they parted, but Lopez remained in the pathway walking
up and down by the iside of the old military club, thinking of
things. He certainly knew his friend, tho younger Whai'ton, in-
tiniutely, appreciating the man's good qualities, and being fully
awure of the man's weakness. By his questions he had extracted
quite enough to assure himself that Ji^mily's father would be
itdvorse to his proposition. He had not felt much doubt before,
but now he was certain. " He doesn't know much about me," he
huij musing to himself. " Well, no; he doesn't; — and there isn't
very much that I can tell him. Of coiurse he's wise, — as wisdom.
gues. But then, wise men do do foolish things at intervals. The
Uiscreetest of city bankers are talked out of their money ; the most
scrupulous of matrons are talked out of their virtue ; the most
experienced of . tatesmun are talked out of their principles. And
who can really calculate chances 'i Me'i who lead forlorn hopes
generally push through without beiug wounded ; — and the fifth
or sixth heir comes to a title" So much he said, palpably,
though to himself, with his inner voice. Then,— impalpably, with
no even inner voice, — he asked himself what chance he might
have of prevailing with the girl herself ; and he almost ventured
lo tell himself that in that direction he need not despair.

Ill \eiy truth he loved tho girl and rovereiiCed her, believing

TMK I'UIMK MIMIHTKU.

her to bo better and higher und nobler th^ii other human beinpe,—
iiH a man doea when he it) in love ; and 80 bulioving, ho liad thutic
duubtH as to bid own uucoetis which Huch roveruuce produces.

«i»

CIIAI'TKU 111.

MH. AUEL WIIAUIOJ., Q.C.

liUrEZ was not a man to let granu grow undur hi8 feet when ho had
anything to do. Whunhe wastirudof walking backwardH und for-
wards ovur the same bit of pavement , subject all the while to a
cold east wind, ho went home and thought of the same matter
while ho lay in bed. Even were ho to got the girl's asnuranceu of
love, without the father's consent he might find himself farther
from his object than ever. Mr Wharton was a man of old
fashions, who would think himself ill-used and his daughter ill-
used, and who would think also that a general ofTouce would have
been committed against good social manners, if his daughter wore
to be asked for her hand without his previous consent. Should he
absolutely refuse, — why then the battle, though it would bo a
desperate battle, might perhaps bo fought with other strategy ;
but, giving to I he matter his best consideration, Lopez thought it
expedient to go at once to the father. In doing this ho would have
no silly tremors. Whatever ho might feel in speaking to the girl,
he had sufiicieut self-contidence to bo able to ask tho father, if not
with assurance at any rate without ti'opidation. It was, ho thouglit,
probable that the father, at tho first attack, would neither altogether
accede, or altogether refuse. The disposition of the man was averse
to the probability of an absolute reply at tho first moment. The
lover imagined that it might be possible for him to take advantage
of the period of doubt which would thus be created.

Mr. Wharton was and had for a great many years been a barris-
ter practising in tho Equity Courts, — or rather in one Equity Court,
for throughout a life's work now extending to nearly tifty years,
he had hardly ever gone out of the single Vice-Chancellor s Court
which was much better known by Mr. Wharton's name than by that
of tho less eminent judge who now sat there. Ilis had been a very
peculiar, a very toilsome, but yet probably a very satisfactory life.
He had begun his practice early, and had worked in a stuff gown
till he was nearly sixty. At that time he had amassed a large for-
tune, mainly from his profession, but partly also by the careful uso
of his own small patrimony and by his wife's money. Men knew that
ho was rich, but no one knew the extent of his wealth. When he
submitted to take a silk gown, ho declared among his friends that
he (lid so as a step preparatory to his retirement. The altered

MR. AIIKL WHARTON, Q.O.

iiuttUod of work would not suit him at hiH uce, nor, — aH ho Htiid, —
would it ho protitiihUv Ilo wouUl tuku hia Hilk tt^un honour lor IiIh
(hM^linin^ yuin-H, ho thut ho might become a bencher at his Inn.
Uut ho had now bo*)n working for the laut twelve or fourteon yoani
with hiH Hilk gown,— ulmoHt uh hard uh iu youugor <iuyH, aiul with
(Hicuniury roHults almottt aH aervit'oablo ; und thoui;li fioni month to
mouth he declared his intontion of taking no fresh briufu, iii.d thougli
he did now (■"lUMioiutlly refuse work, still he was thore with his
mind as clear us uvur, und with his body apparently us littlu ulioctuil
Ity tatigue.

Mr. Wharton had not married till he was fortv, and his wife had
now been two years dead. He had hud six chiUtr'ii, of whom but
two were now left to make a household for his old uge. lie had
been nearly fifty when his youngest daughter was boru, and was
therefore now an old father of a young child. But he was one ot
those men who, as in youth they are never very young, so in age
are they never very old. He could still ride his cob in tlie i)ark
jauntily ; and did so carefully every morning iu his life, after an
early cup of tea and before his breakfast. And he could walk
home from his chambers every da}^, and on Sundays couhi do the
round of the parks on foot. Twice a week, on Wednesdays and
Saturdavti, he dined at that old law club, the Eldon, and (ilayed
whist aner dinner till twelve o'clock. This was the great di^uipa-
tiou and, I think, the chief charm of his life. In the middle of
August he and his daughter usually went for a month to Whar-
ton Hall in Herefordshire, the seat of his cousin Sir Alured
Wharton ; — and this was the one duty of his life which was a
burthen to him. But he had been made to believe that it was
BHsential to his health, and to his wife's, and then to his girl's
health, that he should every summer leave town for a time, —and
where else was he to go P Sir Alured was a relation and a gentle-
man. Emily liked Wharton Hall. It was the proper thing. He
hated Wharton Hall, but then he did not know any place out of
London that he* would not hate worse. He had once beeu induced
to go up the Ehine, but had never repeated the experiment of
foreign travel. Emily sometimes went abroad with her cousins,
during which periods it was supposed that the old lawyer spent a
good deal of his time at the Eldon. He was a spare, thin, stronglv
made man, with spare light brown hair, hardly yet grizzled, with
small grey whiskers, clear eyes, bushy eyebrows, with a long ugly
iiuse, on which young barristers had been heard to declare that you
might hang a small kettle, and with considerable vehemence of
talk when he was opposed in argument. For, with all his well-
known ooolness of temper, Mr. Wharton could become very hot in an
argument, when the nature of the case in hand required heat. On
one subject all who knew him were agreed. He was a thorough
lawyer. Many doubted ^is eloquence, and some declared that he
bad known well the extent of his own powers in abstaining from
Beekiiig the higher honours of his profession : but no one doubted

THE; PRIME MINISTER.

his law. He had once written a book, — on the mortgage of stocks
iu trade ; but that had been in early lite, and he iiad never since
dabbled in literatuie. ^

He was certainly a man ot whom men were generally afraid.
At the whist-tabie no one would venture to scold him. in the
court no one ever contradictcU bim. in his own house, though he was
very quiet, tbe servants dreaded to oftend him, and were attentive
to his slightest behests. Vviien he condescended to ride with any
acquaintance m the park, it was always acknowledged that old
Wharton was to rogulato the pace, iiis name was Abel, and all his
bte he had been known as able Abe ; — a silent, I'ar-seeiug, close-
tistea, just old man, who was not, however, by any means deficient
in sympathy either with the sutferiugs or with the joys of humanity.

It was Easter time and the courts were not sittmg, but Jliu:.
Wharton was in his chamber as a matter ot course at ten o'clock,
lie knew no real homely comforts elsewhere, —unless at the whist-
table at tiue Eldon. ile ate and drantc and slept in his own house
in Manch(\sier iSquare, but he cuuld hardly be said to hve there,
it was not there that his mind was awake, and that the powers of
the man w(\re exerciHt;d. When he came up from the dining-room
to join his dviughter alter dinner he would get her to sing him a
song, and wc\ild then seat himself with a book. But he never read
in his own hoUkSe, invariably falling into a sweet and placid slum-
ber, Irom which he was never disturbed till his daughter kissed him
as she went to bed. Then he would walk about the room, and
look at his watch, and shuttle uneasily through half an hour till
his conscience allowed him to take himself to his chamber. Ue
was a man ot no pursuits in his own house. i5ut from ten iu the
morning till hve, or otten till six, in the evening, his mind was
active in some work, it was not now all law as it used to be. In
the drawer of the old piece ot turniture which stood just at the
right hand of his own arra-chair there were various books hidden
away, which he wan sometimes ashamed to have seen by his clients,
— poetry and novels and even fairy tales. Jb'or the're was nothing
Mr. Wharton cuuld not rnad in his chambers, though there was
nothing that he could resui m his own house. Ue had a large
pleasant room in Vvhion to sit, looking out from the ground iioor of
IStone Buildings onto the gardens belonging to the Inn, — and here,
m the centre ot the metropolis, but in perfect quiet as far as the
outside world was concerned, ho had lived and still lived his life.

At about noon on the day foUoMring that on which Lopez had
made his sudden swoop on Air. Parker and had then dined with
Everett Wharton he called at Stone Building's and was shown into
the lawyer's room. His quick eye at once discovered the book
which Mr. Wharton, halt hid away, and saw upon it Mr. Mudie's
suspicious ticket. Barristers certainly never get their law books
from Mudie, and Lopez at once knew that his hoped-for father-in-
law had been reading a novel. He had not suspected such weak-
ness, but argued well Iroiu it for the business he had in hand.

MR. AIlEli WlIARtOM, Q.C.

Tlioro iinist l»o a soft njidt to ho found about iho heart of an old
lawyer who spent his inorninga in such occupation. "How do
you do, sir r " said Mr. Wharton rising from his seat. "I hope I
see you well, sir." Though he had been rending a novel his tone
and inanner were very cold. Lopez had never been in Stone
Buildings before, and was not quite sure that he might not have
committed some offence in coming there. ' ' Take a seat, Mr. Lopez.
Is there anything I can do for you in my way ? "

There was a great deal that .could be done ** in his way" as
father ; — but how was it to be introduced and the case made clear ?
Lopez did not know whether the old man had as yet ever suspflcted
such a feeling as that which he now intended to declare. He had
been intimate at the house in Manchester Square, and had cer-
tainly ingratiated himself very closely with a certain Mrs. Eoby,
who had been Mrs. Wharton's sister and constant companion, who
lived in Berkeley Street, close round the corner from Manchester
Sciuare, and spent very much of her time with Emily \\rharton.
They were together daily, as though Mrs. Eoby had assumed the part
of a second mother, and Lopez was well aware that Mrs. Eoby knew
of his love. If there was real contidence between Mrs. Eoby and
the old lawyer, the old lawyer must know it also ; — but as to that
Lopez felt that he was in the dark.

The task of speaking to an old father is not unpleasant when the
lover knows that he has been smiled upon, and, in fact, approved
for the last six months. He is going to be patted on the back, and
made much of, and received into the family. He is to be told that
Ids Mary or his Augusta has been the best daughter in the world
and w'ill therefore certainly be the best wife, and he himself will
probably on that special occasion be spoken of with unqualified
])raise,— and all will be pleasant. But the subject is one very diffi-
cult to broach when no previous light has been thrown on it.
IVrdinand Lopez, however, was not the man to stand shivering on
the brink when a plunge was necessary,- -and therefore he made his
plunge. " Mr. Wharton, I have taken Ihe liberty to call upon you
here, because I want to speak to you about your daughter."

"About my daughter!" The old man's surprise was quite
ponuine. Of course when he had given Limself a moment to think
he knew what must be the nature of his visitor's communication,
liut up to that moment he had never inixod his daughter and
Ferdinand Lopez in his thoughts together. And now, the idea
having come upon him, he looked at the aspirant with severe and
unpleasant eyes. It was manifest to the aspirant that the first
(lash of the thing was painful to the father.

"Yes, sir. I know how groat is my pr(\sumption. But, yet,
having ventured, I will lionlly say to entertain a hope, but to have
M!ome to such a state that I can only be happy by hoping, I have
I thought it best to come to you at once."
" Does she know anything of this ? "
" Of my visit to you ? Nothing."

THE PRIME MINISTER.

" Of your intentions ; — of your suit generally 't

T sanction from her 't "

Am I to under-
stand that this has any
"None at all."
*' Haye you told her anything of it ? "

** Not a word. I come to ask you for your permission to address
her."

** You mean that she has no knowledge whatever of your, — your
preference for her."

" I cannot say that. It is hardly possible that I should have
learned to love her as I do without some consciousness on her part
that il is so."

• ' "What I mean is, without any beating about the bush, — have
you been making love to her ? "

*' Who ie to say in what making love consists, Mr. Wharton r "

'<D it, sir, a gentleman knows. A gentleman knows

whether he has been playing on a girl's feelings, and a gentleman
when he is asked as I have asked you will at any rate tell the truth.
1 don't want any definitions. Have you been making love to her ? "
'* I think, Mr. Wharton, that I have behaved like a gentleman ;
and that you will acknowledge at least so much when you come to
know exactly what I have done and what I have not done. I have
endeavoured to commend myself to your daughter, but I have never
spoken a word of love to her."
•♦ Does Everett know of all this ?"
"Yes."

** And has he encouraged it ?"

" He knows of it, because he is my most intimate friend. Who-
ever the lady might have been I should have told him. He is
attached to me, and would not I think, on his own account, object
to call me his brother. I spoke to him yesterday on the matter
very plainly, and he told me that I ought certainly to see you
first. I quite agreed with him, and therefore I am here. There
has certainly been nothing in his conduct to make you angry, and
I do not think that there has been anything in mine."

There was a dignity of demeanour and a quiet assured courage
which had its effect upon the old lawyer. He felt that he could
not storm and talk in ambiguous language of what a " gentle-
man " would or would not do. He might disapprove of this man
altogether as a son-in-law, — and at the present moment he thought
that he did, — but still the man was entitled to a civil answer.
How were lovers to approach the ladies of their love in any man-
ner more respectful than thisP '*Mr. Lopez," he said, "you
must forgive me if I say, that you are cojoaparatively a stranger
to us."

••That is an accident which would be easily cured if your ■\frill
in that direction were as good as mine."

•• But, perhaps, it isn't. One has to be explicit in these matters.
A daughter's happiness is a very serious consideration ;— nnd snmo
people, among whom I confess that I am one, consider tlvat like

MR. ABEL WHARTON, Q.C.

should many liko. I whould wish to seo luy diiughtor marry, —
not only in my own sphere, neither highor nor lower, — but with
•some one of my own class."

"I hiirdly know, Mr. Wharton, whether that is intended to
fexcludo me."

'Well,— to tell you the truth I know nothing about you. I
don't kno^ who your father was, — whether he was an English-
man, whether he was a Christian, whether he was a Protestant, —
not even whether lie was a gentleman. These are questions which
I should not dream ot asking under any other circumstances ; —
would be matters with which I should have no po-ssible concern, if
yon were simply an acquaintance, liut when you talk to a man
about his daughter I "

" I acknowledge freely your right of inquiiy."

"And I know nothing of your means; — nothing whatever. I
understand that you live as a man of fortune, but I presume that
you earn your bread. I know nothing of the way in which you
earn it, nothing of the certainty or amount of your means."

" Those things are of couise matters for inciuiry ; but may I
presume that you have no objection which satisfdctory answers to
such questions may not remove ?"

"I shall never willingly give my daughter to anyone who is
7iot the eon of an English gentleman. It may be a prejudice, but
that is my feeling."

"My father was certainly not an English gentleman. He was
a Portuguese." In admitting this, and m thus subjecting himself
at once to one clearly -stated ground of objection, — the objection
being one which though admitted carried with itsolf neither fault
nor disgrace, — Lopez felt that he had got a certain advantage,
lie could not got over the fact that he was the son of a Portuguese
parent, but by admitting that ononly he thought he might avoid
present discussion on matters which might, perhaps, be more dis-
agreeable, but to which he need not allude if tb(^ accident of his
bath woio to be taken by the father as settling the question.
" My uiutiior was an English lady," he added, " but my father
certainly was not an Englishman. I never had the common hap-
piness of knowing either of them. I was an orphan before I un-
derstood what it was to have a parent."

This was said with a pathos which, for the moment stopped the
expression of any further harsh criticism from the lawyer. Mr.
Wharton could not instantly repeat his objection to a parentage
which was matter for such melancholy reflections ; but he felt at
the same time that as he had luckily landed himself on a positive
and undeniable ground of objection to a match which whs dis-
tasteful to him, it would be unwise for him to go to other matters
in which he might be less successful.' By doing so, he would
8 !Hm to abandon the gi'ound which he had already made good,
yio thought it probable that tho man might have an adequate
income, and yet he did not wish to welcome him as a son- in-law.

tHE PRIME MINISTER.

He thought it possible tlmt tho Portuguese father might be a
Portuguese nobleman, and therefore one whom he would be driven
to admit to have been in some sort a gentleman ; — but yet this
man who was now in his presence and whom he continued to
scan with the closest observation, was not what he called a gentle-
man. The foreign blood was proved, and that would suflfice. As
he looked at Lopez he thought that he detected Jewish signs, but
he was afraid to make any allusion to religion, lest Lopez should
declare that his ancestors had been noted as Christian^ since St.
James first preached in the Peninsula.

" I was educated altogether in England," continued Lopez, '' till
I was sent to a German university in the idea that the languages
of the continent are not generally well learned in this country. I
can never be sufficiently thankful to my guardian for doing so."

" I dare say. I dare say. French and German are very useful.
1 have a prejudice of my own in favour of Greek and Latin."

** But I rather fancy I picked up more Greek and Latin at Bohn
than I should have got here, had I stuck to nothing else."

'* I dare say ; — I dare say. You may be an admirable Crichton
for what I know."

"I have not intended to make any boast, sir, but simply to
vindicate those who had the care of my education. If you have
no objection except that founded on my birth, which is an
accident — — "

" When one man is a peer and another a ploughman, that is an
accident. One doesn't find fault with the ploughman, but one
doesn't ask him to dinner."

"But my accident," said Lopez smiling, "is one which you
would hardly discover unless you were told. Had I called myself
Talbot you would not know but that I was as good an Englishman
as yourself."

•*A man of course maybe taken in by falsehoods," said the
lawyer.

"If you have no other objec'ion than that raised, I hope you
will allow me to visit in Manchoator Square."

" There may be ten thousand other objections, Mr. Lopez, but I
really think that the one is enough. Of course I know nothing of
my daughter's feelings. I should imagine that the matter is as
strange to her as it is to me. But I cannot give you anything like
encouragement. If I am ever to have a son-in-law I should wish
to have an English son-in-law. I do not even know what your
profession is."

" I am engaged in foreign loans."

" Very precarious I should think. A sort of gambling ; isn't it P "

"It is the business by which many of the greatest mercantile
houses in the city have been made."

" I dare say ; I dare say ; — and by which they como to ruin. I
have the greatest respect in the world for mercantile enterprise,
and have had as much to do as most men with mercantile ques-

MR. ABEL WHARTON, Q.C.

tions. But I ain't sure that I wish to marry my daughter in tho
city. Of course it's all prejudice. I won't deny that on general
ijubjects I can give as much latitude as any man ; but when one's
own hearth is attacked "

"Suroly such u proposition as mine, Mr. Wharton, is no
attack I"

" In my sense it is. When a man proposes to assault and invade
the very kernel of another man's heart, to share with him and
indeed to take from him the very dearest of his possessions, to
become part and parcel with him either for infinite good or infinite
evil, then a man has a right to guard even his prejudices as
precious bulwarks." Mr. Wharton as he said this was walking
about the room with his hands in his trowscrs pockets. • " I have
always been for absolute toleration in matters of religion, — have
always advocated admission of Bomau Catholics and Jews into
Parliament, and even to the Bench. In ordinary life I never
question a man's religion. It is nothing to me whetnor he believes
iu Mahomet, or has no beb'ef at all. But when a man comes to
me lor my daughter "

*' I have always belonged to the Church of England," said
rerdinand Lopez.

" Lopez is at any rate a bad name to go to a Protestant church
with, and I don't want my daughter to bear it. I am very frank
with you,^ as in such a matter men ought to understand each other.
Tersoually I have liked you well enough and have been glad to see
you at my house. Everett and you have seemed to be friends, and
I have had no objection to make. But marrying into a family is a
very serious thing indeed."

»"?No man feels that more strongly than I do, Mr. Wharton."

" There had better be an end of it."

•' Even though I should be happy enough to obtain her favour P"

" I can't think that she cares about you. I don't think it for a
moment. You say you haven't spoken to her, and I am sure she's
not a. girl to throw hertclf at a man's head. I don't approve it,
and I think it had better fall to the ground. It must fall to the
ground."

" I wish you would give me a reason."

" Because you are not English."

" But I am English. My father was a foreigner."

" It doesn't suit my ideas. I suppose I may have my own ideas
about my own family, Mr. Lopez ? I feel perfectly certain that my
child will do nothing to displease me, and this would displease me.
K we were to talk for an hour I could say nothing further."

" I hope that I may be able to present things to you in an as-
pect so altered," said Lopez as he prepared to take his Itave, " as
to make you change your mind."

" Possibly ;— possibly," said Wharton, "but I do not think it
probable. Good morning to you, sir. If I have said anything that
has seemed to be unkind put it down to my anxiety as a father and

THE PRIME MINISTi.U.

not to iny conduct us a man." Then the door was cloHed behind
his visitor, and Mr. Wharton was left walking up and down his
room alone. Ho was by no means satisfied with himself. He felt
that he had been rude and at the en mo time not decisive. He had
not explained to the man as he woultl wish to have done, that it
was monstrons and out of the question that a daughter of the
Whartons, one of the oldest families in England, should be given
to a friendless Portuguese, — a probable Jew, — about whom nobody
knew anything Then he rf raemberod that sooner or later his girl
would have at least £()0,0f.(), a fact of which no Innnan being but
him^eU was aware. Would it not be well that somebody should be
made aware of it, so that his girl might have the chance of suitor.^
preferable to this swarthy son of Judah ? He bfgan to bo afraid,
as he thought of it, that he was not managing his njattors well.
How would it be with him if he should find that the girl was really
in love with this swarthy son of Judah ? He had never inquired
about hie girl's heart, though there was one to whom he hoped
that hie girl's heart might some day be given. He almost made
up hie mind to go home at once, so anxious was he. But the
prospect of having to spend an entire afternoon in Manchester
Square was too much for him, and he remained in his chamber
till the usual hour.

Lopez as he returned from Lincoln's Inn, westward to his club,
was, on the whole, contented with the interview. He had expected
opposition. He had not thought that the cherry would fall easily
into his mouth. But the conversation generally had not taken
those turns which he had thought would be most detrimental to
him.

CHAPTER IV.

MRS. ROBY.

Mil. Wharton as he walked home remembered that Mrs. Roby
was to dine at his house on that evening. During the remainder
of the day,*'»after the departure of Lopez, he had been unable to take
his mind from the consideration of the proposition made to him.
lie had tried the novel, and he had tried Huggins v. the Trustees
of the Charity of St. Ambox, a case of undeniable importance in
which he was engaged on the part of Huggins, but neither was
sufficiently powerful to divert his thoughts. Throughout the morn-
ing he was imagining what he would say io Emily about this lover
of hers, — in what way he would commence the conversation, and
how he would express his own opinion should he find that she was
in any degree favourable to the man. Should she altogether ignore
the man's pretensions, there would be no difficulty. But if she
hesitated, — if, as was certainly possible, t<he should show nny pav^

MRS. IJOBY.

tiulitjr for tho man, thon there would bo akuot which would require
uutying. Hitherto the iiitorcourso botween the father and daugh-
ter had been simple and pleasant. He had given her everything
she asked for, and she had obeyed him in all the very few matters
as to which he had demanded obedience. Questions of discipline,
as far as there had been any discipline, had generally been left to
Mrs Roby. Mrs. Roby was to dine in Manchester Square to-day,
and perhaps it would be well that he should have a few words with
Mrs. Roby before ho spoke to his daughter.

Mrs. Roby had a husband, but Mr. Roby had not been asked to
dine in the Square on this occasion. Mrs. Roby dined in tho
square very often, but Mr. Roby very seldom, — not probably above
on" > a j'car on some special occasion. He and Mr. Wharton had
ma7iied sisters, but they were quite unlike in character and had
never become friends. Mrs. Wharton had been nearly twenty years
younger than her husband ; Mrs. Roby had been six or seven
years younger than her sister ; and Mr. Roby was a year or two
younger than his wife. The two men therefore belonged to diflfer-
ent periods of life, Mr. Roby at the present time being a florid
youth of forty. Ho had a moderate fortune, inherited from his
mother, of which he was sufficiently careful ; but he loved races,
and read sporting papers ; he was addicted to hunting and billiards ;
ho shot pigeons, and, — so Mr. Wharton had declared calumniously
more than once to an intimate friend, — had not an H in his voca-
bulary. The poor man did drop an aspirate row and again ; but
ho knew his defect and strove hard and, with fair average success,
to overcome it. But Mr. Wharton did not love him and they were
not friends. Perhaps neither did Mrs. Roby love him very ardently.
She was at any rate almost always willing to leava her own house
to come to the square, and on such occasions Mr. Roby was always
willing to dine at the Nimrod, the club which it delighted him to
frequent.

Mr. Wharton, on entering his own house, met his son on the
staircase. •* Do you dine at home to-day, Everett ? "

"Well, sir ; no, sir. I don't think I do. I think I half promised
to dine with a fellow at the club."

' ■ Don't you think you'd make things meet more easily about the
end of the year if you dined oftener here where you haj^e nothing
to pay, and less frequently at the club whore you pay for every-
thing ? "

"But what I should save, you would lose, sir. That's the way
I look at it."

" Then I advise you to look at it the other way and leave me to
take care of myself. Come in here, I want to speak to you."
Everett followed his father into a dingy back parlour which was
titted up with book shelves and was generally called the study, but
which was gloomy and comfortless because it was seldom used.
"I have had your friend Lope/ with me at my chambers to-day. I
4ou't like your friend Lopez."

tUE PRIME MINIHTEB.

•* I am sorry for that, sir."

" He is a man as to whom I should wish to havo a j^ood deal of
evidence before I would trust liim to bo what ho beeuis to be. I
dare say he's clever.'

'* I think he's more than clover."'

*• I dare say ; — and well instructed in some reHpects."

•'I believe him to be a thorough linguist, sir."

*• I dare say. I remember a waiter at an hotel in Holborn who
could speak seven languages. It's an accampli^hmcnt very neces-
sary for a Courier or a Queen's Messenger."

"You don't mean to say, sir, that you disregard foreign lan-
guages ? "

•' I have said nothing of the kind. But in my estimation they
don't stand in the place of principles, or a profession, or birth, or
country. I fancy there has been some conversation between you
about your sister."

'i Certainly there has."

*' A young man should be very chary how he speaks to another
man, to a stranger, about his sister. A sister's name should be
too sacred for club talk."

" Club talk ! Good heavens, sir ; you don't think that I have
spoken of Emily in that way P There isn't a man in London has
a higher respect for his sister than I have for mine. This man, by
no means in a light way but with all seriousness, has told me that
he was attached to Emily ; and I, believing him to be a gentleman
and well to do in the world, have referred him to you. Can that
have been wrong ?"

*' I don't kiiow hou he's ' to do,' as you call it. I haven't asked,
and I don't mean to a k. But I doubt his being a gentleman. $e
is not an English gentleman. What was his father ?*

•• I haven't the least idea."

•' Or his mother ?"

*• He has never mentioned her to me."

*• Nor his family; nor anything of their antecedents ? He is a
man fallen out of the moon. All that is nothing to us as passing
acquaintances. Between men such ignorance should I think bar
absolute intimacy ; — but that may be a matter of taste. Bat it
should be^held to be utterly antagonistic to any such alliance as
that of marriage. He seems to be a friend of yours. You had
better make him understand that it is quite out of the question.
I have told him so, and you had better repeat it." So saying, Mr.
Wharton went up-stairs to dress, and Everett, having received his
father's instructions, went away to the club.

Whon Mr. Wharton reached the drawing-room, he found Mrs.
Eoby alone, and he at once resolved to discuss the matter with her
before he spoke to his daughter. "Harriet," he said abruptly, "do
you know anything of one Mr. Lopez ?"

"Mr. Lopez I Oh yes, I know him."

" Po vou mean that he is an intimate friend ?"

MKS. UOUY.

*' As friends go in Loudon, he is. He comos to our house, and
J think that he hunts with Dick." Dick was Mr. Eoby,
"That's a recommendation."

"Well, Mr. Whaitou, I hardly know what you mean by that,"
B jid Mrd. Itoby, snnling. ** I don't think my husband will do Mr.
Lopez auy harm ; and I am suru Mr. Lopez won't do my husband
any."

"I dare say not. 13ut that's not the question. lioby can take
care of himself."
" Quite so."

*' And so I dare say can Mr. Lope/." At this moment Emily
entered the room. ''My dear," said her father, "I am speaking'
to your aunt. Would you mind going down-stairs and waiting
for us ? Tell them we snail be ready for dinner in ten minutes."
Then Emily passed out of the room, and Mrs. Boby assumed a
grave demeanour. '* The man we are speaking of has been to
uie and has made an offer for Emily." As he said this he looked
anxiously into his sister-in-law's face, in-order that he might
tell from that how far she favoured the idea of such a mar-
riage, — and lie thought that he perceived at once that she was not
averse to it. "You know it is quite out of the question," he
continued.

"I don't know why it should be out of the question. But of
course your opinion would have great weight with Emily."

•'Grejit weight! Well; — I should hope so. If not, I do not
know v/hose opinion is to have weight. In the first place the man
is a foreigner."

"Oh no; — he is English. But if he wore a foreigner, — many
English girls marry foreigners."

" My daughter shall not ; — ^not with my permission. You have
not encouraged him, I hope."

" I have not interfered at all," said Mrs. Eoby. But this was a
lie. Mrs. Boby had interfered. Mrs. Eoby, in discussing the
merits and character of the lover with the young lady had always
lout herself to the lover's aid, — and had condeacended to accept
Irom the lover various presents which she could hardly have taken
had she been hostile to him.

" And now tell me about herself. Has she seen him often ?"
" Why, Mr. Wharton, he has dined here, in the house, over and
over again. I thought that you were encouraging him."
" Heavens and earth ! '

"Of course she has seen him. When a man dines at a house he
is bound to call. Of course he has called, — I don't know how often.
And she has met him round the corner." — "Eound the corner,"
in Manchester Square, meant Mrs. Eoby's house in Berkeley Street.
— " Last Sunday they were at the Zoo together. Dick got them
tickets. I thought you knew all about it."

" Do you mean that m^ daughter went to the Zoological Gardens
alone with this man ?" the father asked in dismay.

TIIK PRIME MINI8TKU.

"])ick wuH with tliem. I should have goiio, only I hud u hoad-
achn. Did you not know she went ? "

" Yea ; — I heard about the Gardens. But I hoard nothing of the
man."

*' I thought, Mr. Wharton, you woro all in his favour."

*• I am not at all in his favour. I disliko him particularly. For
anything T know ho may have sold pencils about the stroots like
any othov Jew-boy."

*• lie goes to church just as you do, — that is, if he goes any-
where ; which I daro say ho does about as often as yourself, Mr.
Wharton." Now Mr. Wharton, though he was a thorough and
perhaps a bigoted moinber of the Church of England, was not fond
of going to cnurch.

'* Do you mean to toll me/' he said, pressing his hands together,
and looking very seriously into hi n sistor-iu-law's face; " do you
mean to tell me that she — likes him ? "

*• Yes ; — I think she does like him."

*' You don't mean to say — she's in love with him ?"

*• She has never told mo that she is. Y'oung ladies are shy of
making such aseortions as to their own feelings before the duo
timo fordoing so has come. I think she prefers him to anybody
else ; and that were he to propose to herself, she would givo him
her consent to go to you."

"He shall never enter this house again," said Mr. Wharton
passionately.

" You must arrange that with her. If you have so strong an
objection to him, I wonder that you should have had him hero
at all."

•'How was I to know? God bless my soul!— just because a
man was allowed to dine here once or twice ! Upon my word, it's
too bad ! "

"Papa, won't you and aunt come down to dinner?" said
Emily, opening the door gently. Then they went dowu to dinner,
and during the meal nothing was said about Mr. Lopez. But they
were not very merry together, and poor Emily felt sure that her
own affairs had been discussed in a troublesome manner.

CHAPTER V.

** NO ONE KNOWS ANYTHING ABOUT HIM.'*

Neither at dinner, on that evening at Manchester Square, nor
after dinner, as long as Mrs. Roby remained in the house, was a
word said about Lopez by Mr. Wharton. He remained longer
than usufil -vrith his bpttle of port-wine in tl^p dining-room ; and

NO ONK KNOWS ANYTHINO ABOUT HIM.

whoii ho wont up-stairB, ho tuit hiuiuelf down and foil unIoot),
ulmosf without a uigii- lie did uot ask fiu' a Huiig, iiur did Emily
otf'or to sing. But a.s aooii an Mrs. Iloby wasgouo, — and Mrs. ]l()l»y
wunt home, round the cornor, souiowhat oarliorthan usual, — thou
Mr. Wharton woke up instantly and made iii<iuiry of his daughter.

Thoro had, however, beon a fow wonls spoken on tho subject
botwoen Mrs. Roby and her niece which had served to prepare
Emily for what was coming. " Lopez has been to your tatber,"
said Mrs. Roby, in a voice not specially encouraging for such an
occasion. Then she paused a momout; but her niece suid nothing
and she continued, '* Yes, — and your father has been blaming me,
— as if I had done anything ! If he did not meau you to choose
for yourself, why didu't he keep a closer look-out !•"'

" I liaven't chosen any one. Aunt Ilaniot."

"Well; — to speak fairly, I thought you had; and I have
nothing to say against your choice. As young men go I think
Mr. Lopez in as good as the best of them. I don't know why you
shouldn't have him. Of course you'll have money, but then I
suppose ho makes a large income himself. As to Mr. Fletcher, you
don't care a bit about him."

"Not in that way, certainly."

"No doubt your pupa will have it out with you just now; bo
you had better make up your mind what you will Bay to him. If
you really like the man, 1 don't see why you shouldu t say so, and
stick to it. He has made a regular oflbr, and girls in these days
are not expected to be their father's slaves," Emily said nothing
furthor to her aunt on that occa^^ion, but finding that she must in
truth " have it out " with her father presently, gave herself up to
reflection. It might probably bo the case that the whole condition
of her future life would depend on the way in which she might
now " have it out " with her father.

I would not wish the reader to be prejudiced against Miss
Wharton by the not uni'.fitural feeling which may porhaps be felt
in regard to the aunt. Mrs. Roby was pleased with little intrigues,
was addicted to the amusement of fostering love affairs, was fond
of being thought to be useful in such matters, and was not averse
to having presents given to her. She had married a vulgar man ;
and, though sho had not become like the man, she had become
vulgar. She was uot an eligible companion for Mr. Wharton's
daughter, — a matter as to which the father had uot given himself
proj^er opportunities of learning the facts. An aunt in his close
neighbourhood was so groat a comfort to him, — so ready and so
natural an assistance to him in his difficulties ! But Emily Wharton
was not in the least like her aunt, nor had Mrs. Wharton been at
all like Mrs. Roby. No doubt the contact was dangerous. Injury
had perhaps already been done. It may be that some slightest
soil had already marred the pure white of the girl's natural ciia-
racter. But if so, the stain was as yet too impalpable to be visible
to ordinary evts,

THE PRIME MINIKTKB.

rather

grey eyes,
hc'ip^ht of womon.

Emily Wharton was a tall, fair girl, witli
oxciMMling th'» average proportionH as well as
ll«!i loiituK .s were rngular and handijome, and her form was perloct;
hut it wad by hoi manner and hur voice that shu coni|Uoroa rather
than by her beauty, — by those gifts and by a olearuetiH of intellect
joined with that feminine Hwoetnoss which has its luoHt frequent
foundation in Hol!-d"nial. Those who know her woll, and had
become attached to her, wore apt to endow her witli all virtues, and
to give hor credit for a loveliness which strangers did not find on
lier face, lint as we do not light up our houses with our brightest
lamps for all comers, so neither did she emit from hor eyes their
brigntest sparks till special- occasion for such shining had arisen.
To those who were allowod to love her no woman was more love-
able. There was innato in hor an appreciation of her own position
as a woman, and with it a principle of self-denial as a human
being, which it was beyond the power of any Mrs. Iloby to destroy
or even to defile bj*^ small stains.

Like othor girls she had been taught to presume that it was her
destiny to be married, and like other girls she had thought much
about her destiny. A young man generally regards it as his
dostiny either to succeed or to fail in the world, and he thinks
about that. To .lim marriage, when it comes, is an accident to
which ho has hardly as yet given a thought. But to the girl tht>
matrimony which is or is not to bo hor destiny contains within
itself the only success or failure which she anticipates. The young
man may become lord chancellor, or at any rate earn his bread
comfortably as a county court judge. Lut the girl can look
forward to little else than the chance of having a good man for
lier husband ; — a good man, or if her tastes lie in that direction, a
lich man. Emily Wharton had uoubtless thought about these
things, and she sincerely believed that she hud found the good
man in Ferdinand Lopez.

The man, certainly, was one strangely endowed with the power of
creating a belief. When going to Mr. Wharton at his chambers he
had not intended to cheat the lawyer into any erroneous idea about
his family, but he had resolved that he would so discuss the ques-
tions of his own condition, which would probably be raised, as to
leave upon tho old man's mind ati unlbunded conviction that in
regard to money and income he had no reason to fear question.
Not a word had uoen said about his money or his income. And Mr.
Wharton had felt himself bound to abstain from allusion to such
matters from an assured feeling that he could not in that direction
plant an enduring objection. In this way Lopez had carried his
point with Mr. Wharton. He had convinced Mrs. Eoby that
among all the girl's attractions the greatest attraction for him was
the fact that she was Mrs. B-oby's niece. He had made Emily
herself believe that the one strong pas^^ion of his life was his love
for her, and this he had done without ever having asked for her
lov^t And he had even taken the trouble to allure Pick, and had

'•no onk knows anything about him.'

liHtonod to and had talkod whole paj^es out of " BeWH Lifo." On his
own behalf it muHt l»> at^kiiowledgod that he did love the cirl, uh
well perhaps an he was capable of loving any one; — but ne hud
found out many particulars as to Mr. Wharton's money before he
hud allowed himself to love hor.

As soon as Mrs. Roby had gathered up her knitting, and declired,
ns she always did (m such occasions, that she could go round the
corner without ha\Tng any one to look after her, ilr. Whurton
began. *' Emily, my doar, come hero." Then she came and sat
on a footstool at his foot, and looked up into his face. '* l)o you
know what I am going to speak to you about, my darling P "

'* Yes, papa; I think I do. It is about — Mr. Lopez."

"Your aunt has told you, I suppose. Yes; it is about Mr.
Lopez. I havo been "very much astonished to-day by Mr. liOpez,
— a man of whom I have seen vury little and know loss. lie oame
to me to-day and asked for my permission — to address you." She
sat perfectly quiet, still looking at him, but shu did not say a
word. *' Of course I did not give him permission."

" Why of course, papa ?'

"Because he is a stranger and a foreigner. Would you have
wished me to tell him that ho might come ?"

" Yes, papa." He was sitting on asofu and shrank buck a little
from her as she made this free avowal. "In that cuho I could
have judged for myself. I suppose every girl would like to do
that.'*^

" But should you have accepted him ? "

" I think I should have consulted you before I did that. But I
should have wished to accept him. Papa, I do love him. I havo
never said so before to any one. I would Qot say so to you now,
if he had not — spoken to you as ho has done."

" Emily, it must not be."

" Why not, papa P If you say it shall not be so, it shall not. I
will do as you bid me." Then he put out his hand and caressed
her, stroking down hor hair. " But I think you ought to tell me
why it must not be, — as I do love him."

"He is a foreigner."

" But is he ? And why should not a foreigner be as good as an
Englishman ? His name is foreign, but he talks English and lives
as an Englishman."

" He has no relatives, no family, no belongings. He is what
we call an adventurer. Maniage, my dear, is a most serious
thing."

" Yes, papa, I know that."

" One is Dound to bo very careful. How can I give you to a
man I know nothing about,— an adventurer ? What would they
say in Herefordshire?"

" I don't know why they should say anything, but if they did I
shouldn't much care.

" i>8hoidd, my dear. I should care very muoh« One Ib bound

THL PRIME MINISTER.

to think of one's family. Suppose it should turnout afterwards
that he was — disreputable ! "

" You may say that of any man, papa."

" But when a man has connections, a father and mother, or
uncles and aunts, people that everybody knows about, then there
is some guarantee of security. Did you ever hear this man speak
of his father ? " ^

*' I don't know that I ever did." ^

** Or his mother, — or his family? Don't you think that is
suspicious?"

" I will ask him, papa, if you wish."

" No, I would have you ask him nothing. I would not wish
that there should be opportunity for such asking. If there liaa
been intimacy between you, such information should have come
naturally, — as a thing of course. You have made him no pro-
mise ? "

" Oh no, papa."

** Nor spoken to him — of your regard for him ? "

"Never; — not a word. Nov he to me, — except in such words
as one understands even though they say nothing."

" I wish he had never seen you."

*' Is he a bad man, papa ? "

" Who knows? I cannot tell. He may be ever so bad. How
is one to know whether a man be bad or good when one knows
nothing about him ? " At this point the father got up and walk* d
about the room. '* The long and the short of it is that you must
not see him any more."

•' Did you tell him so ?"

" Yes ; — ^well ; I don't know whether I said exactly that, but I
told him that the whole thing must come to an end. And it must.
Luckily it seems that nothing has been said ud either side."

" But, papa ; is there to be no reasoi; ?"

*' Haven't I given reasons ? I will not have my daughter
encourage an adventurer, — a man of whom nobody knows anything.
That is reason sufficient."

" Ho has a business, and he lives with gentlemen. He is
Everett's friend. He is well educated;— oh, so much better than
most men that one meets. And he is clover. Papa, I wish you
knew him hotter than you do."

*' I do not want to know him better."

** Is not that i)rejudice, papa ? "

** My dear Emily," said Mr. Wharton, striving to wax into
anger that he might be firm against her, " I don't think that it
becomes you to ask your father such a question as that. You
ought to believe ';hat it is the chief object of my life to do the best
I can for my children."

'* I am sure it is."

" And you ought to feel that as I have had a long experience in
the worlt' ray ju«lgment about a young man might be trusted."

** NO ONE KNOWS ANYTHING ABOUT HIM.'

That was a statomout which Miss Wharton was not prepared to
admit. She had already profes.-sed herself willing to submit to
her father's judgment, and did not now by any means contemphite
rebellion against parental authority. But she did feel that on a
matter so vital to her sho had a right to plead her cause before
judgment should be given, and she was not slow to assure herself,
even as this inter^ew went on, that her love for tlie man was
strong enough to entitle her to assure her father that lier hapj)i-
ness depended on his reversal of the sentence already pronounced.
"You know, papa, that I trust you," she said. "And I have
promised you that I will not disobey you. If you tell me that I
am never to see Mr. Lopez again, I will not see him."

•' You are a good girl. You were always a good girl."

" But I think that you ought to hear me." Then he stood still
with his hands in his trowsers pockets looking at her. Ho did not
want to hear a word, but he felt that he would be a tyrant if he
refused. ** If you tell me that I am not to see him, I shall not see
him. But I shall be very unhappy. I do lovo him, and I shall
never love any one else in the same way." •

" That is nonsense, Emily. There is Arthur Fletcher."

*' I am sure you will never nsk me to marry a man I do not
love, and I shall never love Arthur Fletcher. If this is to be as
you say, it will make me very, very wretched. It is right that
you should know the truth. If it is only because Mr. Lopez has
a foreign name "

" It isn't only that ; no one knows anything about him, or
where to inquire even."

" I think you should inquire, papa, and be quite certain before
you pronounce such a sentence against me. It will bo a crushiug
blow." He looked at her, and saw that there was a fixed purpose
in her ccmntenance of which ho had never before seen similar
signs. *' You claim a right to my obedience, and I acknowledge
it. I am sure you believe me when I promise not to soe him with-
out your penmission."

" I do believe you. Of course I believe you."

" But if I do that for you, papa, I think that you ought to bo
very sure, on my account, that 1 haven't to bear such unhappi ■
ness for nothing. You'll think about it, papa, — will you not,
before you quite decide ? " She leaned against him as she sjjoke,
and he kissed her. " Good night, now, papa. You will thiiik
about it ? "

"I will I will. Of course I will."

And he began the process of thinking about it immediately, — '»
before the door was closed behind her. But what was there to
think about ? Nothing that she had said altered in the leasf his
idea about the man. He was as convinced as ever that unles|tK
there was much to conceal there would not be so much conceal-
niont. But a feeling began to grow upon him already that his
daughter had a mode of plouding with him which he would not

THE PRIME MINISTER.

ultimately be able to resist. Ho had the power, he knew, of
putting an end to the thing altogether. He had only to sa^
resolutely and unchangeably that the thing shouldn't be, and it
wouldn't be. If he could steel his heart against his daughter's
sorrow for, say, a twelvemonth, the victory would be won. But
he already began to fear that he lacked the power to steel his heart
against his daughter.

CHAPTER VI.

AN OLD FRIEND GOES TO WINDSOR.

" And what are they going to make you now ?"

This Question was asked of her husband by a lady with whom
perhaps the readers of this volume may have already formed some
acquaintance. Chronicles of her early life have been written, at
any rate copious'y. The lady was the Duchess of Omnium, and
her husband was of course the Duke. In order that the nature of
the question asked by the duchess • may be explained, it must be
stated that just at this time the political affairs of the nation had
got themselves tied up into one of those truly desperate knots from
which even the wisdom and experience of septuagenarian states-
men can see no unravotment. The heads of parties were at a
stand -still. In the House of Commons there was, so to sr,y, no
majority on either side. The minds of members were so astray
that, according to the best calculation that could be made, there
would be a majority of about ten against an^ possible Cabinet.
There would certainly be a majt)rity against either of those well-
tried but, at this moment, little trusted Prime Ministers, Mr.
Gresham and Mr. Daubeny. There were certain men, nominally
belonging to this or to the other party, who would certainly within
a week of the jiomination of a Cabinet in the House, oppose the
Cabinet which they ought to support. Mr. Daubeny had been in
power, — nay, was in power though he had twice resigned. Mr.
Gresham had been twice sent for to "Windsor, and had on one
occasion undertaken and on another had refused to undertake to
form a Ministry. Mr. Daubeny had tried two or three combina-
tions, and had been at his wits' end. He was no doubt still in
power. — could appoint bishops, and make peers, and give away
ribbonH. Biii he couldn't pass a law, and certainly continued to
hold hJs present. uncomfortable position by no will of his own. But
a Prime Minister cannot escape till he has succeeded in finding a
successor; and though the successor be found and consents to
make an attempt, the old unfortunate cannot be allowed to go free
when that attempt is ahown to be a failure. He has not absolutely

AN OLD FRIEND GOES TO WINDSOR.

away
ued to
But
ding a
nts to
»o free
lately

given up the keys of his boxes, and no one will take them from
him. Even a sovereign can abdicate ; but the Prime Minister of a
constitutional government is in bonds. The reader may therefore
understand that the Duchess was asking her husband what place
among the political rulers of the country had been offered to him
by the last aspirant to the leadership of the Government.

But the reader should understand more than this, and may per-
haps do so, if he has ever seen those former chronicles to which
allusion has been made. The Duke, before he became a duke, had
held veryiiigh ofiBce, having been Chancellor of the Exchequer.
When he was transferred, perforce, to the House of Lords, he had,
— as is not uncommon in such cades, — accepted a lower political
station. This had displeased the Duchess, who was ambitious both
on her own behalf and that of her lord, — and who thought that a
Duke of Omnium should be nothing in the Government if not at
any rate near the top. But after that, with the simple and single
object of doing some special piece of work for the nation, — some-
thing which he fancied that nobody else would do if he didn't do it,
—his Grace, of his own motion, at his own solicitation, had encoun-
tered further official degradation, very much to the disgust of the
Duchess. And it was not the way with her Grace to hide such
Borrows in th^ depth of her bosom. When affronted she would
speak out, whether to her husband, or to another, — using irony
rather than argument to support her cause and to vindicate her
ways. J'he shafts of ridicule hurled by her against her husbaud in
regard to his voluntary abasement had been many and sharp.
Tbey stung him, but never for a moment influenced him. And
though they stung him, they did not even anger him. It was her
nature to say such things, — and he knew that they came rather
from her uncontrolled spirit than from any malice. She was his
wife too, and he had an idea that of little injuries of that Kort
there should be no end of bearing on the part of a husbaud. Some-
times he would endeavour to explain to her the motives which ac-
tuated him ; but he had come to fear that they were and must ever
be unintelligible to her. But he credited her with less than her real
inteUigence. She did understand the nature of his work and his
reasons for doing it ; and, after her own fashion, did what she con-
ceived to be her own work in endeavouring to create within his bosom
a desire for higher things. " Surely," she said to herself, '* if a man
of his rank is to be a minister he should be a great minister ; — at
&uy rate as great as his circumstances will make him. A man
ne^er can save his country by degrading himself." In this he
vrould probably have agreed ; out ms idea of degradation and hers
Wdly tallied.

VAien therefore she asked him what they were going to make
him, it was as though some sarcastic housekeeper in a groat esta-
tlishment should ask the butler,— some butler too prone to yield in
8uct laatters, — whether the master had appointed him lately to the
cleaning of shoes or the carrying of coala Since these, knots had

"^:h

THE PRIMB MINISTBll.

become so very tight, and aince thtf journeys to Windsor had become
so very fr« quent, hef Grace h%d>ai^ddr«Q(Vif'«u6h questions, and had
received but very in^iffefont repliea. T^fi Buke had somethi^es
declared that ti^-mattQr yras not ripe epoua^ to allow him to'mij^e
any answer. ."Of course," said tne Duchess, ."you should kisfip
the secret. The editors of the evening papers haven't known it!'{^r
above an houv." At another time he told hefv^that hVha4 VLfii^-
taken to give Mr. Gresham his assistance in any way in whi(^]|-it
might be asked. "Jpint Under-Secretary with Lord Fa^Rti^ I
should say," answered.the Duoh^^y^^hiBn he told her that he^-
lieved an attempt would be made al a mixed ministry, but that he
did not in the least know to whom the work. of <i^pg so wouid^>e
confided. " You will be about 1^^ Wt man wlli» Ktrill be teJDd,"
replied the Duchess. Now, at this moment, he had, as she kntfw,
come direct from the house of Mr. Gresham, and she asked her
question in her usual spirit. " And what are th^^c going to mi^e
you now ? " •' v •*•'-?• i » *

But he did not answer the question in his usual maptierf He
would customarily smile gently at her badinage, and perhaps sf^. a
word intended to show that he was not in the least moved by her
raillery. But in this instance he was very gTav0, and stood before
her a moment making no answer at fill, looJiLiig'' at,her in a sad and
almost solemn mannof. ^^''The(y have tqld. yQ\>t tkiit they .can do
without you," ^er. paid, broking Qut almost; iBJbo>ra* passion. " I
knew how it would be. Men ar6 always valued hf ethers as they
value themselves."

" I wish it were so," ho replied. "I should sleep easier to-
night."

"What is it, Flantagenet P " she exclaimed, jumping ,irp from
her chair. ./ . ■;

" I never cared for your ridictile ^therto, Cora ; but now I feel
that I want your sympathy."

" If you are gomg to do anything, — to do realli^ any thiug, . you
shEill have it. Oh, how you shall have it ! "

" I have received her Majesty's orders to go down to Windsor at
once. X must start within half-an-hour."

" Tou. are going to be Prime Minister ! " she exclaimed. As she
R/oke she threw her arms -up, and then rushed into his embrace.
Never since their first union had she been so demonstrative either
of love or admiration. " Oh, Plantfi^enet," she said, " if I can only
do anything t will slave for yOfXt" As he put his arm round her
waist he already felt the pleasantness of her altered way to him.
She had never worshipped him yet, and therefore her worship wh«n
it did come had all the delight to him which it ordinarily has to the
newly married hero.

" Stop a moment, Cora. I do not know how it may be yet. But
this I know, that if without cowardice I could avoid this task, I
would certaiiJy avoid it " .;

"Oh no I And there would be cowardice; of course there

AN OLD FRIEND GOES TO WINDSOR.

would," said the Duchess, not much caring what might be the
bonds which bound him to the task so loug as he should certainly
feel himself to be bound.

"He has told me that he thinks it my duty to make the
attempt." ."••

'•Who is he?"

*' Mr. Gresham. I do not know that I shoutcl haye felt myself
bound by him, but the Duke said so also."- .This duko was our
duke's old friend, the Duke of St. Bungay.

*' Was h^there? And who else?"

" No on<Q else. It is no case for exultatioQ, .Opra, for the chances
are that I shall fail. The Duke has. promised to help me, on . on-
dition that one or two he has named* are included, ahd'that one or
two whom he has als^ named are no^. lix eacH case I should my-
self have done exactly as he proposeis."

" And Mr. Gresham ? "

" He will retire. That is a matter of course. He will intend to
support us ; but all that is veiled in the obscurity which is always,
I ttunk, darker as to the future of politics than any other future.
Clouds arise, o^e knows not why or whence, and create darkness
when one expected light. But as yet, you must understand, nothing is
settled. I cannot eyen say what answer I may make to her Majesty,
till I know what commands her Majesty may lay upon me."

" You must keep a hold of it now, Plantagenet," said the Duchess
clenching her own fist.

" I wiU not eyen close a finger on it with any personal ambition,"
said the Duke. '^ ^' I could be reUeyed fi^om the burden this mo-
ment it would be an ease to my heart! I remember ^ ohce, he
said, — and as he spoke he again put liis arm around hei^ waist,
"when I was debarred from taking office by a (fomestic circum-
stance." '

"I remember that too," she said, speaking yery gently and
looking up at him.

" It was a grief to me at the time, though it turned out so well,
•—because the office then suggested to me was one which I thought
I could fill with credit to the country. I believed in myself then as
far as that work went. But for this attempt I have no belief ia
myself. I doubt whether I have any gift for governing men."* ' -'

••It will come."

•• It may be that I must try ; — and it may bn that I must break
my heart because I fail. But I shall make the t^^mpt if I am
directed to do so in any manner that shall seem feasible. I must
be off nov/. The Duke is to be here this evening. They had
better have dinner ready for me whenever I may be able to eat it."
Then he took his departure before she could say another word.

When the Duchess was alone she took to thinking of the whole
thin^ in k manner which they who best knew her would have
thought to be very unusual with her. She alread^r possessed all
that rank and wealth could give her, and together with those good

THE PRIME MINISTER.

things a peculiar position of her own, of which she was proud,
and which she had made her own not hy her wealth or rank, hut
hy a certain fearless energy and power of raillery which never
deserted her. ^any feared her and she was afraid of none, and
many also loved her, — whom she also loved, for her nature was affec-
tionate. She was happy with her children, happy with her friends,
in the enjoyment of perfect health, and capable of taking an
exaggerated interest in anything that mi^ht come uppermost for
the moment. One would have been inchned to say that politics
were altogether unnecessary to her, and that as Duchess of
Omnium, lately known as Lady Glencora Palliser, she had a
wider and a pleasanter influence than could belong to any woman
as wife of a Prime Minister. And she was essentially one of Hiose
women who are not contented to be known simply as the wives of
their husbands. She had a celebrity of her own, quite independent
of his position, tt.id which could not be enhanced by any glory or
any power added to him. Nevertheless when he left her to go
down to the Queen with he prospect of being called upon to act
as chief of the incoming ministry, her heart throbbed with excite-
ment. It had come at last, and he would be, to her thinking, the
leading man in the greatest kingdom in the world.

But she felt in regard to him somewhat as did Lady Macbeth
towards her lord.

" What thou would'st highly,
That would'st thou holily."

She knew him to be full of scruples, unable to bend when aught
was to be got by bending, unwilling to domineer when men might
be brought to subjection' only by domii ation. The first duty
never could be taught to him. To win support by smiles when
his heart was bitter within him would never oe within the power
of her husband. He could never be brought to buy an enemy by
political gifts, — would never be prone to silence his keenest oppo-
nent by making him his right nand supporter. But the other
lesson was easier and might she thought be learned. Power is so
pleasant that men quickly learn to be greedy in the enjoyment of
it, and to flatter themselves that patriotism requires tiiem to be
imperious. She would be constant with him day and night to
make him imderstand that his duty to his country required him to
be in very truth its chief ruler. And then with some knowledge
of things as they are, — and also with much ignorance, — she
reflected that he had at his command a means of obtaining popu-
larity and securing power, which had not belonged to his im-
mediate predecessors, and had perhaps never to the same extent
been at the command of any minister in England. His wealth as
Duke of Omnium had been great ; but hers, as available for
immediate purposes, had been greater even than his. After some
fashion, of which she was profoundly ignorant, her own property
was separated from his and reserved t-o herself and her children.

AN OLD FBIEND GOES TO WINDSOR.

Since her marriage she had never said a word to him about her
money, — unless it were to ask that something out of the common
coarse might be spent on some, generally absurd, object. But
now had come the time for squandering money. She was not only
rich but she had a popularity that was exclusively her own. The
new Prime Minister and the new Prime Minister's wife should
entertain after a fashion that had never yet been known even
among the nobility of England. Both in town and country those
great mansions should be kept open which were now rarely much
used because she had found them dull, cold, and comtortless.
In London there should not be a member of Parliament whom she
would not herself know and influence by her flattery and grace, —
or if there were men whom she could not iufluenco, they should
live as men tabooed and unfortunate. Money mattered nothing.
Their income was enormous, and for a series of years, — for half-a-
dozen years if the game could be kept up so long, — they could
spend treble what they called their income without real iujuiy to
their children. Visions passed through her brain of wondrous
things which might be done, — if only her husband would bo true
to his own greatness.

The Duke had left her at about two. She did not stir out of the
house that day, but in the course of the afternoon she wrote a line
to a friend who lived not very far from her. The Duchess dwelt
in Carlton Terrace, and her friend in Park Lane. The note was as
follows : — ,

"DearM.,
" Come to me at once.

I am too excited to go to you.

** Yours,

G."

This was addressed to one Mrs. Finn, a lady as to whom chro-
nicles also have been written, and who has been known to the
readers of such chronicles as a friend dearly loved by the Duchess.
As quickly as she could put on her carriage garments and get her-
self taken to Carlton Terrace Mrs. Finn was there. "Well, my
dear, how uo you think it's all settled at last P" said the Duchess.
It will probably b« felt that tlie new Prime Minister's wife was
indiscreet, and hardly worthy of the confidence placed in her by
her husband. But surely we all have some one friend to whom
we tell everything, and with thu Duchess Mrs. Finn was that one
friend.
•* Is the Duke to be Prime Minister ?"
'* How on oaith should you have guessed that ?"
"What else could make you so excited? Besides it is by no
means strange. I understand that they have gone on trying the
► two old stagers till it is useless to try them any longer ; and if
there is to be a fresh man no one would be more likely than the
Duke."

ill
I''-

p , ■I'

W .1' ■ :

THE PBIME BlINISTEB.

••Do you think so?"

"Certainly. Why not?"

" He has frittered away his political position by such iijo."»ning-
less concessions. And then he had never done anything 00 put
himself forward, — at any rate since he left the House of Commons.
Perhaps I haven't read things right, — but I was surprised, very
much surprised."

"And gratified?"

" Oh yes. lean tell you everything because you will neither
misunderstand me, nor tell tales of me. Yes, — I shall like him to
be Prime Minister, though I know that I shall have a bad time of
it myself."

"Why a bad time?"

"He is so hard to manage? Of course I don't mean about

rlitios. Of course it must be a mixed kind of thing at first, and
don't care a straw whether it run to Badicalism or Toryism.
The coimtry goes on its own way, either for better or for worse,
whichever of them are in. I don't think it makes any difference
as to what sort of laws are passed. But among ourseiyes, in our
set, it makes a deal of difference who get the garters, and the
counties, who are made barons and then earls, and whose name
stands at the head of everything."

" That is your way of looking at politics ?"

" I own it to you ; — and I must teach it to him."

'* You never will do that. Lady Glen."

" Never is a long word. I mean to try. For look back and tell
me of any Prime Minister who has become sick of his power.
They become sick of the want of powei; when it's falling away
from them, — and then they affect to disdain and put aside the
thing they can no longer enjoy. Love of power is a kind of
feeling wmch comes to a man as lie grows older."

" Politics with the Duke have been simple patriotism," said
Mrs. Finn.

"The patriotism may remain, my dear, but not the simplicity.
I don't want him to sell his country to Germany, or to turn it
into an American republic in order that he may be president. But
when he gets the reins in his hands, I want him to keep them there.
If he'ft so much honester than other people, of course he's the best
man for the place. We must make him believe that the very exist-
ence of the country depends on his firmness."

" To tell you tne taiith, Lady Glen, I don't think you'll ever
make the Duke believe anything. What he believes, he believes
either from very old habit, or from the working of his own mind."

" You're always singing his praises, Marie."

" I don't know that there is any special praise in what I say ;
but as far as I can see, it is the man's character."

*' Mr. Finn will come in, of course," said the Duchess.

" Mr. Finn will be like the Duke in one thing. He'll take his
own way as to being in or out quite independently of his wi^d."

ANOTHER OLD FRILND.

*' You'd like him to ha in office P"

" No, indeed ! Why should 1 ? lie would be more of^^^eti at the
Souse, and keep later hours, and be always awav all the morning
into the bargain. But I shall like him to do as he likes himself."

" Fancy thinking of all that. I'd sit up all night every night
of my life, — I'd listen to every debate in tiie House mvsolf, — to
have Flantagonet Prime Minister. I like to be busy. Well now,
if it does come off "

"It isn't settled then?"

" How can one hope that a single journey will settle it, when
those other men have oeen going backwards and forwards between
Windsor and London like buckets in a well for the last three
weeks P But if it is settled I mean to have a cabinet of my own,
and I mean that you shall do the foreign affairs."

" Tou'd better let me be at the exchequer. I'm very good at
accounts."

" I'll do that myself. The accounts that I intend to set agoing
would frighten any one less audacious. And I mean to be my own
home-secretary, and to keep my own conscience, — and to be my
own master of the ceremonies certainl^r. I think a small cabinet
gets on best. Do you know ; — I should like to put the Queen
down."

" What on earth do you mean ?"

*' No treason ; nothing of that kind. But I should like to make
Buckingham Palace second-rate; and I'm not quite sure but I
can. I dare say you don't quite uudert^tand me."

'♦ I don't think that I do. Lady Glen."

" Tou will some of these days. Come in to-morrow before
lunch. I suppose I shall know all about it then, and shall have
found that my basket of crockery has been kicked over and every
tiling smashed,"

CHAPTEE Vn.

ANOTHER OLD FRIEND. *

At about nine the Duke had returned, and was eating his very
Bimple dinner in the breakfast-room, — a beefsteak and a potato,
with a glass of shernr and Apollinaris water. No man more
easily satisfied as to what he eat and drank lived in London in
those days. As regarded the eating and drinking he dined alone,
but his wife sat with him and waited on him, having sont the ser-
vant out of the room. "I have told her Majesty that I would do
the best I could," said the Duke.

' Then you are Prime Minister."

Not at all. Mr. Daubeny is Prime Minister. I have under-

THE PRTBfFi MINISTER.

( '

takon to form a ministry, if I find it practicable, with tho assist-
aneo of such friends as I possess. I never felt before that I had
to lean so entirely on others as I do now."

•' Lean on yourself only. Be enough for yourself."

" Those are empty words, Cora; — words that are quite empty.
In one sense a man should always be enough for himself. He
should have enough of principle and enough of conscience to
restrain him from doin^ what he knows to be wrong. But can a
shipbuilder build his ship single-handed, or the watchmaker make
his watch without assistance P On former occasions such as this,
I could say, with little or no help from without, whether I would
or would not undertake the work that was proposed to me, because
I had only a bit of the ship to build, or a wneel of the watch to
make, my own efficacy for my present task depends entirely on
the co-operation of others, and unfortunately upon that of some
others with whom I have no sympathy, nor have they with me."

** Leave them out," said the Duchess boldly.

' ' But they are men who will not be left out, and whose services
the country has a right to expect."

"Then bring them in, and think no more about it. It is no
good crying for pain that cannot be cured."

*' Co-operation is difficult without community of feelir^jf. I find
myself to be too stubborn-hearted for the place. It wa'j nothing to
me to sit in the same Cabinet with a man I disliked when I had

not put him there myself. But now . As I have travelled up

I have almost felt that I could not do it ! I did not know before
how much I might dislike a man."

** Who is the one man ?"

** Nay ; — whoever he be, he will have to be a friend now, and
therefore I will not name him, even to you. But it is not one
only. If it were one, absolutely marked and recognised, I might
avoid him. But my friends, real friends, are so few ! Who is
there besides the Duke on whom I can lean with both confidence
and love ?"

" Lord Cantrip."

"Hardly so, Cora. But Lord Cantrip goes out with Mr. Qres-
ham. They will always cling together.

"You used to like Mr. Mildmay."

"Mr. Mildmay, — yes ! If there could be a Mr Mildmay in the
Cabinet, this trouble would not come upon my shoulders."

" Then I'm very glad that there can't be a Mr. Mildmay. Why
shouldn't there be as good fish in the sea as ever were caught out
of it?"

' ' When you've got a good fish you like to make as much of it
as you can."

"I suppose Mr. Monk will join you." .

" I think wo shall ask him. But I am not prepared to discuss
men's names as yet."

"You must discuss them with the Duke immediately."

(I
it

ANOTiI£R OLD FKIKND.

** Probably ; — but I had better discuss them with him betoni I
fix uiy own mind by naming thom even to you."

" You'll bring Mr. Finn in, Pliintagenet ? "

••Mr. Finn 1"

*• Yes; — Phineas Finn, — the man who was tried."

*• My dear Cora, we haven't come down to that yet. We need
not at any rp*'> trouble ourselves about Vxe small fishes till we are
sure that we can get big fishes to join us."

"I don't know why he should be a small fish. No man has
done better than he has ; and if you want a man to stick to
you "

'• I don't want a man to stick to me. I want a man to stick to
his country."

••You were talking about sympathy."

•• Well, yes ; — I was. But do not name any one else jubt at pre-
sent. The'^uke will bo here soon, and 1 would bealone till he comes."

*• Thert' is one thing I want to say, Plantagenet."

•♦What is it?"

•• One favour I want to ask."

•• Fray do not ask anything for anv man just at present."

•• T J is not anything ior any man.'

*• Nor for any woman."

*♦ It is for a woman, — but one whom I think you would wish to
obUge."

••Who is it ?" Then she curtseyed, smiling at him drolly, and
put her hand upon her breast. •• Something for you ! What on
earth can you want that I can do for you ? "

•• Will you do it, — if it be reasonable ? "

*• If I think it reasonable, I certainly will do it.**

Then her manner changed altogether and she became serious and
almost solemn. •' If, as I suppose all the great places about her
Majesty be changed, I should like to be Mistress of the Robes."

••You!" said he, almost startled out of his usual quiet de-
meanour.

" Why not I ? Is not my rank high enough ?"

"You burden yourself with the intricacies and subserviences,
with the tedium and pom Dosities of Court life ! Cora, you do not
know what you are talking about, or what you are proposing for
yourself."

•• If I am willing to try to undertake a duty why should I be
debarred from it any more than you ? "

•• Because I have put myself into a groov<», and ^ound myself
into a mould, and clipped and pared and piached myseit all round,
■—very inefifectually as I fear, — to fit m;; self for this thing. Yon
have lived as free as air. You have disdained, — and though I may
have grumbled I have still been prdud to see you disdain, — to wrap
yourself in the swaddling bandages of Court life. You have ridiculed
all those who have been near her Majesty as Court ladies."
- •• The individuals, Plantagenet ,perhaps ; but not the office. I

■-,^.--42

TRB PRIMS M1NI8TRR.

(il

am getting older now, and I do not nee why I Hhould not begin a
now life," 8bo had been sumuwhat quelled by his uutixpeuted
energy, and wau at the moment hardly able to answer him with her
usual spirit.

"Do not think of it, my dear. You asked whether your rank
was high enough. It must be so, as there is, as it happens, none
higher. But your position, should it come to pass that your hus-
band is the head oi the Government, will be too high. I may say
that in no condition should I wish my wife to be subject to other
restraint than that which is common to all married women. I
should not choose that she should have anv' duties unconnected
with our joint family and home. But as First Minister of the
Crown I would altogether object to her holding an office believed to
be at my disposal. She looked at him with her large eyes wide
open, and then left him without a word. She had no other way of
showing her displeasure, for she knew that when he spoke as he
had spoken now all argument was unavailing.

The Duke remained an hour alone before he was joined by the
other Duke, during which he did not for a moment apply his mind
to the subject which might be thought to be most prominent in his
thoughts, — the filling up namely of a list of his new government.
All mat he could do in that direction without further assistance
had been already dono very easily. There were four or five certain
names, — names that is of certain political friends, and three or four
almost equally certain of men who had been political enemies but
who would now clearly be asked to join the ministry. Sir Gregory
Grogram, the late Attorney-General, would of course be asked to
resume his place ; but Sir Timothy Beeswax, who was up to this
moment Solicitor-General fox the Conservatives, would omo be in-
vited to retain that which he held. Many details were known, not
only to the two dukes who were about to patch up the ministry
between them, but to the political world at large, — and were facts
upon which the newspapers were able to display their woi.derful
foresight and general omniscience with their usual coniidence. And
as to the points which were in doubt, — whethar or not for instance
that consistent old Tory Sir Orlando Drought should be asked to
put up with the Post-office or should be allowed to remain at the
Colonies, — the younger Duke did not care to trouble himself till
the elder should have come to his assistance. But his oTirn position
and his questionable capacity for filling it, — that occupied all his
mind. If nominally first he would be really first. Of so much it
seemed to him that his honour required him to assure himself. To
bo a faineant ruler was in direct antagonism both to his con,science
and his predilections. To call himself by a great name before the
world, and then to be something infinitely less than that name,
would be to him a degradation. But though he felt fixed as to
that, he was by no means assured as t.o that other point, which to
most men firm in their resolves as he was, and backed up as he had
been by the confidence of others, vould be cause of small hesitation.

ANOTfniiR OLD FRIKND.

He did doubt his ability to fill that place which it would now bnliis
duty to occupy. Ue moro than duubtod. He told himHelf again
and agaiu that there was wanting to him a certain noble capacity
for commanding support and homage from other men. With things
and facts he could aeal, but human beings had not opened them-
selves to him. But now it was too late ! and yet, — as he said to his
wife, — to fail would break his heart ! No ambition had prom])ted
him. He was sure of himself there. One only consideration hud
forced him into this great danger, and that had been the assurance of
others that it was his manifest duty to encounter it. And now
there was clearly no escape, — no escape compatible with that clean-
handed truth from which it was not possiole for him to swerve.
He might create difficulties in order that through them a way
might still be opened to him of restoring to the Queen the commifl-
sion which had oeen entrusted to him. He might insist on this or
that impossible concession. But the memory of escape such as that
would break his heart as surely as the failure.

When the Duke was announced he rose to greet his old friend
almost with fervour. *' It is a shame," he said, " to bring you out
so late. I ought to have gone to you."

"Not at all. It iS eJways the rule in these cases that the man
who has most to do shomd fix himself as well as he can where
others may be able to find him." The Duke of St. Bungay was an
old man, between seventy and eightrv, with hair nearly white, and
who on entering the room had to unfold himself out of various coats
and comforters. But he was in full possession not only of his in-
tellects but of his bodily power, showing, as many politicians do
show, that the cares of the nation may sit upo i a man's shoulders
for many years without breaking or even bending them. For the
Duke had oelonged to ministries nearly for the last half century.
As the chronicles have also dealt with mm no farther records of ms
past life shall now be given.

He had said someming about the Queen, expressing gracious
wishes for the comfort of her Majesty in all these matters, some-
thing of the inconvenience of these political journeys to and fro,
something also of the delicacy and difficulty of the operations on
hand which were enhanced by the necessity of bringing men
together as cordial allies who had hitherto acted with bitter ani-
mosity one to another, before the younger Duke said a word. " We
may as well," said the elder, "make out some small provisional
list, and you can ask those you name to be with you early to^
morrow. But perhaps you have already made a list."

" No indeed. I have not even had a pencil in my hand."

"We may as well begin then," said the elder facing the table
when he saw that his less-experienced companion made no attempt
at beginning.

" There is something horrible to me in the idea of writing down
men's names for such a work ms this, just as boys at school used to
draw out the elevens for a cricket match." The old stager turned

M,,

ilil

lii!

THK PBIME MINISTER.

„i.;

it ; ' "

round and stared at the younger politician. '* The thing itself is so
momentous that one ought to have aid from heaven."

Plautagenet Palliser was the last man from whom the Duke of
St. Bungay would have expected romance at any time, and, least of
all, at such a time as this. " Aid from heaven you may have," he
sair, '• by saying your pray ei's ; and I don't doubt you ask it for
thici an«l all ^her things generally. But an angel won't come to
tell you who ought to be Chancellor of the Exchequer."

* No an^el will, and therefore I wish that I could wash my hands
of it " His old friend still stared at him. " It is like sncrilege to
me, ittemptiiig this without feeling one's own fitness for the work. -
It uixmans me, — this necessity of doing that which I know I cannot
do with fitting judgment."

" Your mind has been a little too hard at work to-day."

** It hasn't been at work at all. I'^e had nothing to do, and
have been :mable really to think of wovk. *But I feel that chance
circumstances have pnt me into a position for which I am unfit, and
which 76 1 1 have been unable to avoid. How much better would it
be that you should do this alone, — you yourself."

"Utterly out of the question. I do know and think that I
always have known my own powers. Neither has my aptitude in
debate nor my capacity for work justified me in lookmg to the
premiership. But that, forgive me, is now not worthy of consi-
deration. It is because you do work and can work, and because
you have fitted yourself for that continued course of lucid explana-
tion which we now call debate, that men on both sides have called
upon you as th«) bef t man to come forward in this difficulty. Ex-
cuse me, my fr'.end, again if I say that I expect to find your man-
liness equal to your capacity. "

" If I could only escape from it ! "

" Psha ;— nonsense ! " said the old Duke, getting up. ** There
is such a thing as a conscience with so fine an edge that it will allow
a man to do nothing. You've got to serve your country. On such
assistance as I can give you you know that you may depend with
absolute assurance. Now let us get to work. I suppose you
would wish that I should take the chair at the Council."

'• Certainly ; — of course," said the Duke of Omnium, turning to
the table. The one practical suggestion had fixed him, and from
that moment h^^ gave himseK to the work in hand with all his
energies. It was not very difficult nor did it take them a very long
time. If the future Prime Minister had not his names at his
fingers' ends, the future President of the Council had them. Eight
men were soon named whom it was thought well that the Duke of
Omnium should consult early in the morning as to their willing-
ness to lill certain places. " Each one of them may hoRre some other
one or some two whom he may insist on bringing with him," said
the elder Duke ; " and though of course you cannot yield to the
pressure in every such case, it will be wise to allow yourself scope
for some amount of concession. You 11 find they'll shake down after

the usuJ
leave yd
beny orl
will givl
think tc|
LordBi
coachmj
as he ss
ceeded
have b^
make m

THE BEGINNING OF A NEW CAREER.

the usual amount of reBistance and compliance. No ;— don't you
leave your house to-morrow to see anybody unless it be Mr. Daa-
beny or her Majesty. I'll come to you at two, and if her Grace
will give me luncheon I'll lunch with her. Good night, and don't
think too much of the bigness of the thing. I remember dear old
Lord Brock telling me how much more difficult it was to find a good
coachman than a good Secretary of State.*' The Duke of Omnium,
as he sat thinking of things for the next hour in his chair, suc-
ceeded only in proving to himself that Lord Brock never ought to
have been Prime Minister of England after having ventured to
make so poor a joke on so solemn a subject.

CHAPTER vrn.

THE BEGINNING OF A NEW CAREER.

By the time that the Easter holidays were over, — holidays which
had been msed so conveniently for the making of a new govern-
ment, — the work of getting a team together had been accomplished
by the iinited energy of the two dukes and other Mends. The
filling up of the great places had been by no means so difficult or
eo tedious, — nor indeed the cause of half so many heartburns, — as
the completion of the list of the subordinates. Noblesse oblige.
The Secretaries of State, and the Chancellors, and the First Lords,
selected from this or the other party, felt that the eyes of mankind
were upon them, and that it behoved them to assume a virtue if
they had it not. They were habitually indifferent to self-exalta-
tion, and allowed themselves to be thrust into this or that unfitting
hole, professing that the Queen's Government and the good of the
country were their only considerations. Lord Thrift made way for
Sir Orlando Drought at the Admiralty, because it was telt on all
sides that Sir Orlando could not join the new composite party with-
out high place. And the same grace was shown m regard to Lord
Drummond, who remained at the Colonies, keeping the office to
which he had been lately transferred under Mr. Daubeny And
Sir Gregory Grogram said not a word, whatever he may have thought,
when he was told that Mr. Daubeiiy's Lord Chancellor, Lord
Eamsden, was to keep the seals. Sir Gregory did, no doubt, think
very much about it ; for legal offices have a signification differing
much from that which attaches itself to places simply political. A
Lord Chancellor becomes a peer, and on going out of office enjoys
a large pension. When the woolsack has been reached there comes
an end of doubt, and a beginning of ease. Sir Gregory was not a
young man, and this was a ten ible blow. But he bore it manfully,
saying not a word when the Duke spoke to him ; but he became

;!■:■?

THi: PBIME MINISTER.

li .11

:||!S

convinced from that moment that no more inefficient lawyer ever eat
upon the English bench, or a more presumptuous politician in the
British Parliament, than Lord Ramsden. •

The real struggle, however, lay in the appropriate distribution of
the Battlers and the Bobys, the Fitzgibbcns and the Macphersons
among the subordinate offices of State. Mr. Macpherson and Mr.
Boby, with a host of others who had belong 3d to Mr. Daubeny,
were prepared, as they declared from the first, to lend tlieir assist-
ance to the Duke. They had consulted Mr. Daubeny on the sub-
ject, and Mr. Daubeny told them that their duty lay in that direc-
tion. At the first blush of the matter the arrangement took the
form of a gracious tender from themselves to a statesman called
upon to act in very difficult circumstances, — and they were thanked
accordingly by the Duke with something of real cordial gratitude.
But when the actual adjustment of things was in hand, the Duke,
having but little power of assuming a soft ^untenance and using
soft words while his heart was bitter, felt on more than one occa-
sion inclined to withdraw his thanks. He was astounded not so
much by the pretensions as by the unblushing assertion of these
pretensions in reference to places which he had been innocent
enough to think were always oestowed at any rate without direct
appliciition. He had measured himself rightly when h^ told the
olaer duke in one cf those anxious conversations which had been held
before the attempt was made, that long as he had been in office
himself he did not know what was the way of bestowing office.
** Two gentlemen have been here this morning," he said one day to
the Duke of St. Bungay, " one on the heels of the other, each
assuring me not only that the whole stability of the enterprise
depends on my giving a certain office to him, — ^but actually telhng
me to my face that I had promised it to him ! " The old statesman
laughed. ** To be told wimin the same half-hour by two men that I
had made promises to each of them inconsistent with each other ! "

'* Who were the two men ? "

" Mr. Battler and Mr. Boby."

"I am assured that they are inseparable since ihe work was
begun. They always had a leaning to each other, and now I hear
they pass their time between the steps of the Carlton and Beform
Clubs."

** But what am I to do ? One nmst be Patronage Secretary, no
doubt."

♦' They're both good men in their way, you know."

" But why do they come to me with their mouths open, like dogs
craving a bone ? It used not to be so. Of course men were always
anxious for office as they are now."

♦* Well ; yes. We've heard of that before to-day, I think."

** But I don't think any man ever ventured to ask Mr. Mildmay."

"Time had done much for him in consolidating his authority,
and perhaps the present world is less reticent in its eagerness than
it was in his younger days. I doubt, however, whether it is more

iMM

wamtm

THE BEQINNINO OF A NEW OARBER.

dishonest, and whether struggles were not made quite as disgraoe-
ful to the si Higglers as anything that is done now. You can't
alter the men, and you must use them." The younger Duke sat
down and sighed over the degenerate patriotism of the age.

But at last even the Battlers and Bobys were fixed, if not satis-
fied, and a complete list of the ministry appeared in all the news-
papers. Though the thing had been long a doing, still it had
come suddenly, — so that at the first proposition to form a coalition
ministry, the newspapers had hardly luiown whether to assist or
to oppose the scheme. There was no doubt, in the minds of all
these editors and contributors, the teaching of a tradition that co-
alitions of this kind have been generally feeble, sometimes dis-
astrous, and on occasions even disgraceful. When a man, perhaps
through a long political life, has bound himself to a certain code
of opinions, how can he change that code at a moment P And
when at the same moment, together with the change, he secures
power, patronage, and pay, how shall the public voice absolve
him P But then again men, who have by the work of their lives
grown into a certain position in the country and have uncon-
sciously but not therefore less actually made themselves indis-
pensable either to this side in politics or to that, cannot free
themselves altogether from the responsibility of managing them
when a period comes such as that now reached. This ^so the
newspapers perceived ; and having, since the commencement of
the session, been very loud in exposing the disgraceful collapse of
government affairs, could hardly refuse their support to any
attempt at a feadble arrangement. When it was first known that
the Duke of Omnium had consented to make the attempt, they
had both on one side and the other been loud in his praise, going
f far as to say that he was the only man in England who could
do the work. It was probably this encouragement which had
enabled the new Premier to go on with an unddrtaking which was
personally distasteful to him, and for which from day to day he
believed himself to be less and less fit. But when the newspapers
told him that he was the only man for the occasion, how could he
be justified in crediting himself in preference to them ?

The work in Parliament began under the new auspices with

froat tranquillity. That there would soon come causes of hot
lood, — the Engush Church, the county suffrage, the income tax,
and further education questions, — all men knew who knew any-
thing. But for the moment, for the month even, perhaps for the
session, there was to be poace, with full latitude for the perform-
ance of routine duties. There was so to say no opposition, and at
first it seemed that one special bench in the House of Commons
would remain unoccupied. But after a day or two, — on one of
which Mr. Daubeny had been seen sitting just below the gangway,
—that gentleman returned to the place usually held by the Piime
Minister's rival, saying with a smile that it might be for the con-
>9Qienc9 of the ^ous9 that the seat should be utilised. Mr.

THE PRIME MINISTER.

iili

! I

Oresham at this time had, with declared purpose, asked and ob-
tained the Speaker's leave of absence and was abroad. Who
should lead the House ? That had been a great question, cauoed
by the fact that the Prime Minister was in the House of Lords ; —
and what office should the leader hold ? Mr. Monk had consented
to take the Exchequer, but the right to sit opposite to the Treasury
Box and to consider himself for the time the principal spirit in
that chamber was at last assigned to Sir Orlando Drought. "It
will never do," said Mr. Eattler to Mr. Robv. " I don*t mean to
say anything against Drought, who has alv . ys been a very useful
man to your p«ity ; —but he lacks something of the position."

*'The fact is," said Roby, "that we've trusted to two men so
long that we don't know how to suppose any one else big enough
to fill their places. Monk wouldn't have done. The House
doesn't care about Monk."

" I always thought it should be Wilson, and so I told tLj Duke.
He had an idea that it should be one of your men."

"I think he's righi. there," said Eoby. "There ought to be
something like a fair division. Individuals might be content, but
the pnxty would be dissatisfied. For myself, I'd nave sooner steyed
out as an indej)endent member, but Daubeny said that he thought
I was bound to make myself useful."

"I told the Duke from the beginning," said Eattler, "that I
didn't think that I could be of any service to him. Of course I
would support him, but I had been too thoroughly a party man for
a new movement of this kind. But he said just the same ; — that
he considered I was bound to join him. I asked Gresham, and
when Gresham said so too, of course I had no help for it."

Neither of these excellent public servants had told a lie in this.
Some such conversations as those reported had passed ;— but a
man doesn't lie when he exaggerates an emphasis, or even when
he gives by a tone a meaning to a man's words exactly opposite to
that which another tone would convey- Or, if he does lie in doing
so, he does not know that he lies. Mr. Battler had gone back to
his old office at the Treasury and Mr. Boby had been forced to
content himself with the Secretaryship at the Admiralty. But, as
the old Duke had said, they were close friends, and prepared to
fight together any battle wluch might keep them in their present
position.

Many of the cares of office the Prime Minister did succeed in
shuffling off altogether on to the shoulders of his elder friend.
He would not concern himself with the appointment of ladies,
about whom he said he knew nothing, and as to whosQ fitness and
claims he professed himself to be as ignorant as the office mes-
senger. The offers were of course made in the usual form, as
though coming direct from the Queen, through the Prime Minister;
— but the selections were in truth effected by the old Duke in

council with an illustrious periionage. The matter affected

our Duke, — only in so far that he could not get out of his mind

THE BEGINNING OP A NEW CAREER.

and ob-
d. Who
1, cauoed
Lords ; —
onsentod
Treasury

spirit in
ht. "It
mean to
ry useful
n."

men so

enough
) House

i Duke.

d to be
ent, but
r stayed
thought

" that I
course I
man for
;— that
im, and

in this.
— but a
n when
osite to
n doing
back to
reed to
But, as
ared to
present

)eed in
friend,
ladies,

>6S and

that strange application from hip. own wife. " That she should
have even dreamed of it ! " he would say to himself, not yet having
acquired sufficient experience of his fellow creatures to be aware
how wonderfully temptations will affect even those who appear to
be least subject to them. The town horse, used to gaudy trap-
pings, no doubt despises the work of his country brother ; but
yet, now and again, there comes upon him a sudden desire to
plough. The desire for ploughing had come upon the Duchess,
but tBB Duke could not understand it.

He perceived, however, in spite of the multiplicity of his official
work, that his refusal sat ^'^avily on his wife s breast, and that,
though she spoke no further word, she brooded oyer her injury.
And his heart was sad ^ithin him when he thought that he had
vexed her, — Gloving her as he did with aU his heart, but with a
heart that was never demonstrative. When she was unhappy he
was miserable, though he wou^d hardly know tiie cause of his
misery. Her ridicule and raillery he could bear, though they
stung him; but her sorrow, if ever she were sorrowful, or her
suUenness, if ever she were sullen, upset him altogether. He was
in truth so soft of heart that he could not bear the discomfort of
the one person in the world who seemed to him to be near to him.
He had expressly asked her for hoi' sympathy in the business he
had on hand, — thereby going much beyond his usual coldness
of- manner. She, with an eagerness which might have been
expected from her, had promised that she would slave for him, if
slavery were necessary. Then she had made her request, had

been refused, and was now moody. " The Duchess of is to

be Mistress of the Bobds," he said to her one day. He had gone
to her, up to her own room, before he dressed for dinner, having
devoted much more time than as Prime Minister he ought to have
done to a resolution that he would make things straight with her,
and to the best way of doing it.
" So I am told. She ought to know her v^ay about the place, as

I remember she was at the same work when I was a girl of
eleven."
" That's not so very long ago, Cora."
" Silverbridge is qlder now than I was then, and I think that

makes it a very long time ago." Lord Silvorhridge was the Duke's

eldest soil.
*' But what does it matter ? If she began her career in the time

of George the Fourth what is it to yoxi ?'
" Nothing on earth, — only that she did in truth begin her oaree

in the time of Creorge the Third. I'm RUie she's nearer sixty than

fifty."
" I'm glad to see you remember your dates so well."
"It's a jpity she should not remember hers in the way she

dresses," said the Duchess.
This was marvellous to him, — that his wife who as Lady

Olencora Falliser had been so conspicuous for a wild disregard of

THE PBIMB MINISTEB.

'' 'I

>;■ h

S ?,

Pi'

social rules as to be looked upon by mauv as an enemy of her own
class, should be so depressed by not being allowed to be the
Queen's head servant as to descend to personal invective ! " I'm
afraid," said he, attempting to smile, " that it won't como within
the compass of my office to effect or even to propose any radical
change m her Grace's apparel. But don't you think that you and
I can afford to i(*nore all that P"

" I can certainly. She may be an antiquated Eve for me."

"I hope, Cora, jou are not still disappointed because I did not
agree with you when you spoke about the place for yourself."

" Not because you did not agree with me, — but because you did
not think me fit to be trusted with any judgment of my own. I
don't know why I'm always to be looked, upon as different from
other women, — as though I were half a savage."

" You are what you have made yourself, and I have always
rejoiced that you are as you are, fresh, untrammelled, without
many prejudices which afflict other ladies, and free from bonds by
which they are cramped aiid confined. Of course such a t; ru of
character is subject to certain dangers of its own."

" There is no doubt about the dangers. The chances are that
when I see her Grace I shall tell her what I think about her."

'• You will I am sure say nothing unkind to a lady who is sup-
posed to be in the place she now fills by my authority. But do
not let us quarrel about an old woman."

" I won't quarrel with you even about a young one."

" I cannot be at ease within myself while I. think you are
resenting my refusal. You do not know how constantly I cany
you about with me."

•♦ You carry a very unnecessary burden then," she said. But
he could tell at once fro^n the altered tone of her voice, and from
the light of her eye as he glanced into her face, that her anger
about "The Eobes" was appeased.

" I have done as you asked about a friend of yours," he said.
This occurred just before the final and perfected list of the new
men had appeared in all the newspapers.

*• What Mend ? "

** Mr. Finn is to go to Ireland."

** Go to Ireland ! — How do you mean ? "

•* It is looked upon as being very great promotion. Indeed I
am told iiat he is considered to be the luckiest man in all the
scramble."

•• You don't mean as Chief Secretary ?"

*• Yes, I do. He certainly couldn't go as Lord Lieutenant."

*' But they said that Barrington Erie was going to Ireland."

"Well; yes. I don't know that you'd be interested by all
the ins and outs of it. But Mr. Erie declined. It seems that
Mr. Erie is after all the one man in Parliament modest enough
not to consider himself to be fit for any place that can be offered
to him."

" Poor Barrington I He does not like the idea of crossing the

THE BEGINNING OP A NEW CAREER.

F her own
bo be the
a! "I'm
no within
ly radical
t you and

me.

I did not
self."
18 you did
J own. I
rent from

re always

, without

bonds by

a t; ru of

s are that
her."
b.o is sup-
, But do

aid. But
and from
ler anger

' he said,
the new

Indeed I
n all the

Poor Phineas ! I hope
of that kind. They do

Channel so often. I quite pympathiso with him. And so Pbiuoas
is to be Secretary for Ireland ! Not in the Cabinet r"'

" No ; — not in the Cabinet. It is not by any means usual that
he should be."

" That i^ promotion, and I am glad !
they won't murder him, or anything
murder people, you know, sometimes."
'* He's an Irishman himself."
•* That's just the reason why they should. He must put up with
that of course. I wonder whether she'll like going. They'll be
able to spend money, which they always like, over there. He
comes backwards and forwards every week, — doesn't he ?"
*• Not quite that, I believe."

" I shall miss her, if she has to stay away long. I know you
don't like her."

" I do like her. She has always behaved well, both to me and to
my uncle."

" She was an angel to him, — and to you too if you only knew it.
I dare say you're sending him to Ireland so as to get her away
from me." This she said with a smile, as though not meaning it
altogether, but yet half meaning it.

"I have asked him to undertake the oflBce," said the Duke

solemnly, " because I am told that he is fit for it. But I did have

some pleasure in proposing it to him because I thought that it

would please you."

"It does please me, and I won't be cross any more, and the

Duchess of may wear her clothes just as she pleases, or go

without them. And as for Mrs. Finn, I don't se ) why she should
be with him always when he goes. Tou can quite understand how
necessary she is to me. But she is in truth the only woman in
London, to whom I can say what I think. And it is a comfort, you
know, to have some one."

In this way the domestic peace of the Prime TSiIinister was
readjusted, and that sympathy and co-operation for which he had
first asked was accorded to him. It may be a questior whether on
the whole the Duchess did not work harder than he did. She did
not at first dare to expound to him those grand ideas which
''lie had conceived in regard to magnificence and hospitality. She
said nothing of any extraordinary expenditure of money. But she.
set herself to work after her own fashion, making to him sugges-
tions as to dinners and evening receptions, to which he objected
only on the score of time. " xou must eat your dinner some-
where," she said, "and you need only come in just before we sit
down, and go into your own room if you please without coming
up-8tairs at all. I can at any rate do that part of it for you." And
sne did do that part of it with marvellous energy all flirough the
month of May, — so that by the end of the month, within six weeks
of the time ;\t which she first heard of the Ooalilion Ministry all
the world had beg:an to IxJk of the Prime Minister's dinners, and
of the reoeptiotts giyw by the Prime Minister's wift<

THE PRIME MINISTER.

«S

i I

CHAPTER IX.

MRS. dick's dinner PARTY.— NO. 1.

Otjr readers must not forget the troubles of poor Emily Wharton
amidst the gorgeous festivities of the new Prime Minister.
Throughout April and May she did not once see Ferdinand Lopez.
It may be remembered that on the night when the matter was
discussed between her and her father, she promised him that she
would not do so without his permission, — saying, however, at the
same time very openly that hor happiness depended on such per-
mission being given to her. For two or three weeks not a word
further was said between her and her father on the subject, and
he had endeavoured to banish the subject from his mind, — feeling
no doubt that if nothing further were ever said it would be so
much the better. But then his daughter referred to the matter, —
very plainly, with a simple question, and without disguise of her
ow'j feeling, but still in a manner which he could not bring
himself to rebuke. ** Aunt Harriet has asked me once or twice to
go there of an evening, when you have been out. I have declined
because I thought Mr. Lopez would be there. Must I tell her that
I am not to meet Mr. Lopez, papa P "

** If she has him there on purpose to throw him in your way, I
shall think very badly of her.

" But he has been in the habit of being there, papa. Of course if
you are decided about this, it is better that I should not see him."

•* Did I not tell you that I was decided ? "

'* You said you would make some further inquiry and speak to
me again." Now Mr. Wharton had made inquiry, but had learned
nothing to reassure himself; — neither had he been able to learn any
fact, putting his iinger on which he could point out to his daughter
clearly that the marriage would be unsuitable for her. Of the
man's ability and position, as certainly also of his manners, the
world at large seemed to speak well. He had been black-balled at
two clubs, but apparently without any defined reason. He lived
as though he possessed a handsome income, and yet was in no
degree fast or flashy. He was supposed to be an intimate friend of
Mr. Mills Happerton, one of the partners in the world-famous
commercial house of Hunky and Sons, which dealt in millions.
Indeed there had been at one time a rumour that he was going to
be taken into the house of Hunky and Sons as a junior partner.
It was evident that many people had been favourably impressed
by his outward demeanour, by his mode of talk, and by his way of
living. But no one knew anything about him. With regard to
his materia? position Mr. Wnarton could of course ask direct
questions if he pleased, and require evidence as to alleged pro-
perty. But he felt that by doing ao he would abandon his ri^ht to
Vbject to the man as being a Portuguese stranger, and he did not

MRS. dick's dinner PARTY.-tNO. I.

wish to haye Ferdina id . Lopez as h son-in-law, even though he
should be a partner in Hunky and Sous, and able to maintain a
gorgeous palace at South Kensington.

•' I have made inquiry."

"Well, papa?"

" I don't know anything about him. Nobody knows anything
about him."

** Could you not ask himself anything you want to know ? If I
might see him I would ask him."

" That would not do at all."

** It comes to this, papa, that I am to sever myself from a man
to whom I am attached, and whom you must admit that I have
been allowed to meet from day to day with no caution that his
intimacy was unpleasant to you, because he is called — Lopez."

" It isn't that at all. There are English people of that name ;
but he isn't an Englishman."

*• Of course if you say so, papa, it must be so. I have told Aut-t
Harriet that I consider myself to be prohibited from meeting Mr.
Lopez by what you haye said ; but I think, papa, you are a little
— cruel to me."

•' Cruel to you ! " said Mr. Wharton, almost bursting into tears.

*' I am as ready to obey as a child; — but, not being a child, I
think I ought to have a reason." To this Mr. Wharton made no
further immediate answer, but pulled his hair, and shuffled his feet
about, and then escaped out of the room.

A few days afterwards his sister-in-law attacked him. ** Are
we to understand, Mr. Wharton, that Emily is not to meet Mr.
Lopez again P It makes it very unpleasant, because he had been
intimate at our house."

" I never said a word about her not meeting him. Of course I
do not wish that any meeting should be contrived between them."

" As it stands now it is prejudicial to her. Of course it cannot
but be obser^ lA, and it is so odd that a young lady should be for-
bidden to meet a certain man. It looks so unpleasant for her, — as
though she had misbehaved herself."

" I have never thought so for a moment."

" Of course you haye not. How could you have thought so,
Mr. Wharton?^'

" I say that I never did."

" What must he think when he knows, — as of course he does
know, — that she has been forbidden to meet him ? It must make
him fancy that he is very much made of. All that is so very bad
for a girl! Indeed it is, Mr. Wharton." Of course there was
absolute dishonesty in all this on the part of Mrs. Eoby. She was
true enough to Emily's lover, — too true to him ; but she was false to
Emily's father. If Emily would have yielded to her she would have
arranged meetings at her own houaiB between the lov«n-.s altogether
ill opposition to the father. Nevertheless there was a show of
reason about what she said which Mr. Wharton wa« unable to over-

THE PRIME MINISTER.

m.^"^

come. And at the same time there was a reality ahout his girl's
sorrow which overcame him. He had never hitherto consulted any
one about anything iu his family, having always found his own in-
formation and intellect sufficient for his own affairs. But now he
felt grievously in want of some pillar, — some female pillar on which
he could lean. He did not know all Mrs. Hoby's miquities ; but
still he felt that she was not the pillar of which he was in need.
There was no such pillar for his use, and he was driven to acknow-
ledge to himself that in this distressing position he must be guided
by nis own strength, and his ov^ n lights. He thought it all out as
well as he could in his own ch ember, allowing his book or his brief
to lie idle beside him for many a half-hour. But he was much
puzzled both as to the extent of his own authority and the manner
in which it should be used. He certainly had not desired his
daughter not to meet the man. He could understand that unless
some affront had been offered such an edict enforced a^ to the con-
duct of a youn^ lady would induce all her acquaintance io buppose
that she was either very much in love or else very prone to mis-
behave herself. He feared, indeed, that she was very much in
love, but it would not be prudent to tell her secret to all the world.
Perhaps it would be better that she should meet him, — always with
the understanding that she was not to accept from him any
peculiar attention. If she would be obedient in one particular,
she would probably be so in the other; — and, indeed, he did not at
all doubt her obedience. She would obey, but would take care to
show him that she was made miserable by obeying. He began to
foresee that he had a bad time before him.

And then as he still sat idle, thinking of it all, his mind wan-
dered off to another view of the subject. Could he be happy, or
even comfortable, if she were unhappy ? Of course he endeavoured
to convince himself that if he were bold, determined, and dicta-
torial with her, it would only be in order that her future happiness
might be secured. A parent is often bound to disregard the
immediate comfort of a child. But then was he sure that he was
right ? He of course had his own way of looking at life, but was
it reasonable that he should force his girl to look at things with his
eyes F The man was distasteful to him as being unlike his idea of
an English gentleman, and as being without those far-reaching
fibres and roots by which he thought that the solidity and stability
of a human tree should be assured. But the world was changing
around him everj'^ day. Royalty was marrying out of its degree.
Peers' sons were looking only for money. And, more than that,
peers' daughters were bestowing themselves on Jews and shop-
keepers. Had he not better make the usual inquiry about the
man's means, and, if satisfied on that head, let the girl do as she
would ? Added to all this there was growing on him a feeling that
ultimately youth would as usual triumph over age, and that he
would be beaten. If that were so, why worry himself, or why
worry her ?

On
lady,
him.
as to
her t<
avoid

MBS. DIOK^. DINNEB PARTY. — MO. 1.

On the day after Mrs. Roby's attack upon him he again saw that
lady, haying on this occasion sent round to ask hor to come to
him. " I want you to understtjjid that I put no embargo on Emily
as to meeting Mr. Lopez. I can trust nor fully. I do not wish
her to encourage his attentions, but I by no means wish her to
avoid him."

** Am I to tell Emily what you say P"

" I will tell her myself. I think it better to say as nmch to you,
as you seemed to be embarrassed b^ the fear thai; they might
happen to see each other in your drawing-room."

" It was rather awkward ; — wasn't it r"

" I have spoken now because you seemed to think so." His
manner to her was not very pleasant, but Mrs. Boby had known
him for many years, and did not care very much for his manner.
She had an object to gain, and could put up with a good deal for
the sake of her object.

** Very well. Tnen I shall know how to act. But, Mr. Wharton,
I must say this, you know Emily has a will of her own, and you
must not hold me responsible for anything that may occur." As
soon as he heard this he almost resolved to withdraw the concession
he had made ; — but he did not do so.

Very soon after this there came a special invitation from Mr.
and ^s. Boby, asking the Whartons, father and daughter, to dine
with them round the corner. It was quite a special invitation,
because it came in the form of a card, — which was unusual be-
tween the two families. But the dinner was too, in some degree,
a special dinner, — as Emily was enabled to expluin to her father,
the whole speciality having been fully detailed to herself by her
aunt. Mr. Boby, whose belongings were not generally aristo-
cratic, had one great connection with whom, after many years of
quarrelling, he nad lately come into amity. This was his half-
brother, considerably older than himself, and was no other than
that Mr. Boby who was now Secretary to the Admiralty, and who
in the last Conservative government had been one of the Secretaries
to the Treasury. The old Mr. Boby of all, now long since gathered
to his fathers, had had two wives and two sons. The elder son
had not been left as well off as friends, or perhaps as he himself,
could have wished. But he had risen in the world by his wits,
had made his way into Parliament, and had become, as all readers
of these chronicles know, a staff of great strength to his party.
But he had always been a poor man. His peiiods of office had
been much shorter than those of his friend Battler, and his other
sources of income had not been certain. His younger half-brother,
who, as far as the great world was concerned, had none of his
elder brother's advantages, had been endowed with some fortune
from his mother, and,— m an evil hour for both of them, — had lent
the politician money. As one consequence of this transaction, they
had not spoken to each other for years. On this quarrel Mrs.
Roby was always harping with her own husband, — not taking his

THE PRIME MINISTER.

Sart. Her Roby, her Dick, had indeed the moans of supporting
er with fair comfort, but had, of his own, no power of introducing
her to that sort of society for which her soul craved. But Mr.
Thomas Roby was a great man, — though unfortunately poor, —
and moved in high circles. Because they had lent their money, —
which no doubt was lost for ever, — why should they also lose the
advantages of such a connection ? Would it not be wiser rather to
take the debt as a b'usis whereon to found a claim for special
fraternal observation and kindred social intercourse Y Dick, who
wan fond of his money, would not for a long time look at the
matter in this light, but harassed his brother from time to time by
applications which were auito uselo^H, and which by the acerbity
of their language altogether shut Mrs. Roby out from the good
things which might have accrued to her from so distinguished a
brother-in-law. Bin when it came to pass that Thomas Koby was
confirmed in office by the coalition which has been mentioned,
Mrs. Dick became very energetic. She went herself to the ofiicial
hero and told him how desirous sho was of peace. Nothing more
should be said about the money, — at any rate for the present. Let
brothers be brothers. And so it came to pass that the Secretary to
the Admiralty vnth his wife were to dine in Berkeley Street, and
that Mr. Wharton was asked to meet them.

" I don't particularly want to meet Mr. Thomas Roby," the old
barrister said.

'• They want you to come," said Emily, ** because there has been
some family reconciliation. You usually do go once or twice a year."

" I suppose it may as well be done," said Mr. Wharton.

" I thmk, papa, that they mean to ask Mr. Lopez," said Emily
demurely.

' ' I told you before that I don't want to have you banished from
your aunt's home by any man," said the father. So the matter
was settled, and the invitation was accepted. This was just at
the end of May, at which time people were beginning to say that
the coalition was a success, and some wise men to predict that at
last fortuitous parliamentary atoms had so come together by acci-
dental connection, that a ministry had been formed which might
endure for a dozen years. Indeed there was no reason why there
should be any end to a ministry built on such a foundation. Of
course this was very comfortable to such men as Mr. Roby, so
that the Admiralty Secretary when he entered his sister-in-law's
drawing-room was sufiPused with that rosy hue of human blip*!
which a feeling of triumph bestows. *• Yes," said he, in answer to
some would-be facetious remark from his brother, " 1 think we
have weathered that storm pretty well. It does seem rather odd,
my sitting cheek by jowl with Mr. Monk and gentlemen of that
kidney ; but they don't bite. I've got one of our own set at the
head of our ovni office, and he leads the House. I think upon the
whole we've got a little the best of it." This was listened to by
Mr. Wharton with great disgust, — tor Mi-. Wharton was a Tory of

the ol(
the ol
than

Mr.
the la
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much

MRH. 1>ICK 8 DINNER PARTY. NU. I.

the old school, who hated compromises, and abhorred in hiM heart
the class of politicians to whom politics were a professiuu rather
than a creed.

Mr. Boby Senior, having escaped from the House, was of course
the last, and had indeed kept all the other guo^ts wailing halt an
hour, — IB becomes a parliamentarv magnate in the heat of the
session. Mr. Wharton, who had been early, saw all the other
guests arrive, and among them Mr. Ferdinand Lope/. There was
alHO Mr. Mills Happerton, — partner in Hunky and Sons,— with *
his wife, respecting whom Mr. Wharton at once concluded that
ho was there as oeing the friend of Ferdinand Lopez. If so,
how much influence must Ferdinand Lopez have in that house I
Nevertheless, Mr. Mills Happerton was in his way a great man,
and a credit to Mrs. Boby. And there were Sir Damask and Ladj
Monogram, who were people moving quite in the tirst circles. Sir
Damask shot pigeons, and so did also Dick Boby, — whence had
perhaps arisen an intimacy. But Lady Monogram was not at
all a person to dine with Mrs. Dick Boby without other cause than
this. But a great official among one's acquaintance can do so
much for one I It wm probable that Lady Monogiam's presence
was among the first fruits of the happy family reconciliation that
had taken place. Then there was Mrs. Leslie, a pretty widow,
rather poor, who was glad to receive civilities from Mxa. Iloby, and
was Emily Wharton's pet aversion. Mrs. Leslie had said imper-
tinent things to her about Ferdinand Lopez, and she bad snubbed
Mrs. Leslie. But Mrs. Leslie was serviceable to Mrs. Boby, and
had now been asked to her great dinner party.

But the two most illustriouE guests have not yet been mentioned.
Mrs. Boby had secured a lord, — an absolute peer of Parliamout !
This was no less a man than Lord Mongrober, whose father had
been a great judge in the early part of the century, and had been
made a peer. The Mongrober estates were not supposed to be
large, nor was the Mongrober influence at this time extensive.
But this nobleman was seen about a good deal in society when the
dinners given were supposed to be worth eating. He was a fat,
silent, r^-faced, elderly gentleman, who said very little, and who
when he did speak seemed always to be in an ill-humour. He
would now and then make ill-natured remarks about his friends'
wines, as suggesting '68 when a man would boast of his '48 claret;
and when costly dainties were supplied for his use, would remark
that such and such a dish was very well at some other time of the
year. So that ladies attentive to their tables and hosts proud of
their cellars would almost shake in their shoes before Lord Mon-
grober. And it may also be said that Lord Mongrober never gave
any chance of retaliation by return dinners. There lived not the
man or woman who had dined with Lord Mongrober. But yet the
Robys of London were glad to entertain him ; and the Mrs. Robys,
when he was coming, would urge their cooks to superhuiaau
energies by the mention of his name.

THE PBItfE MINISTER.

And there was Lady Eustace ! Of Lady Eustace it was impos-
sible to say whether her beauty, her wit, her wealth, or the
remarkable history of her past life, most recommended her to such
hosts and hostesses as Mr. and Mrs. Boby. As her history may be
already known to some, no details of it shall be repeated here.
At this moment she was free from all marital persecution, and was
very much run after by a certain set in society. There were others
again who declared that no decent man or woman ought to meet
* her. On the score of lovers there was really little or nothing to
be said against her ; but she had implicated herself in an unfor-
tunate second marriage, and then there was that old story about
the jewels ! But there was no doubt about her money and her
good loo!. 3, and some considered her to be clever. These com-
pleted the list of Mrs. Eoby's great dinner party.

Mr. Wharton, who had arrived early, could not but take notice
that Lopez, who soon followed him into the room, had at once fallen
into conversation with Emily, as though there had never been any
difficulty in the matter. The father, standing on the rug and pre-
tending to answer the remarks made to him by Dick Boby, could
see that Emily said but little. The man, however, was so much at
his ease that there was no necessity for her to exert herself. Mr.
Wharton hated him for being at his ease. Had he appeared to
have been rebu£Eed by the circumstances of his position the preju-
dices of the old man would have been lessened. By degrees the
guests came. Lord Mongrober stood also on the rug, dumb, with a
look of intense impatience for his food, hardly ever condescending
to answer the little attempts at conversation made by Mrs. Dick.
Lady Eustace gushed into the room, kissing Mrs. Dick and after-
wards kissing her great friend of the moment, Mrs. Leslie, who fol-
lowed. She then looked as though she meant to kiss Lord Mon-
Ecober, whom she playfully and almost familiarly addressed. But
ord Mongrober only grunted. Then came Sir Damask and Lady
Monogram, and Dick at once began about his pigeons. Sir Damask,
who was the most good-natured man in the world, interested him-
self at once and became energetic, but \jady Monogram looked
round the room carefully, and seeing Ludy Eustace turned up her
nose, nor did she care much for meeting Lord Mongrober. If she
had been taken in as to the Admiralty Bcbys, then would she let
the junior Bobys know v hat she thought about it. Mills Happer-
ton with his wife caus'^J the frown on Lady Monogram's brow to
loosen itself a little, for, so great was the wealth and power of the
house of Hunky and Sons, that Mr. Mills Happerton was no doubt
a feature at any dinner party. Then came the Admiralty Secretary
with his wife, and the order for dinner was given,

^ ^,

MRS, DICK S DINNER PARTY. NO. II.

CHAFIEB X.

MRS. dick's dinner PARTY.— NO. U.

Dick walked down- stairs with Lady Monogram. There had been
some doubt whether of right he should not have taken Lady
Eustace, but it was held by Mrs. Dick that her ladyship had some-
what impaired her rights by the eccentricities of her career, and
also that she would amiably pardon any little wrong against her of
that kind, — whereas Lady Monogram was a person to be much
considered. Then followed Sir Damask with Lady Eustace. They
seemed to bo paired so well together that there could be no doubt
about them. The ministerial Eoby , who was really the hero of the
night, took Mrs. Happerton, and our friend Mr. miarton took the
Secretary's wife. .Ail that had been easy, — so easy that fate had
good-naturedly arranged things which are sometimes difficult of
management. But then there came an embarrassment. Of course it
would in a usual way be right that a married man as was Mr.
Happerton should be assigned to the widow Mrs. Leslie, and that
the only two *' young " people,— in the usual sense of the word, —
should go down to dinner together. But Mrs. Eoby was at first
afraid of Mr. Wharton, and planned it otherwise. When, however,
the last moment came she plucked up coiu'age, ^ave Mrs. Leslie to
the great commercial man, and with a brave smile asked Lopez to
give his arm to the lady he loved. It is sometimes so hard to
manage these " little things," said she to Lord Mougrober as she
put her hand upon his arm. His lordship had been kept standing
in that odious drawing-room for more than half an hour waiting
for a man whom he regarded as a poor Treasury hack, and was by no
means in a good humour. Dick Eoby's wine was no doubt good,
but he was not prepared to purchase it at such a price as this.
"Things always get confused when you have waited au hour for
any one," — he said. " What can one do, you know, when the
House is sitting ? " said the lady apologetically. ** Of course you
lords can get away, but then you have nothing to do." LordlS^n-
grober grunted, meaning to imply by his grunt that any one would
be very much mistaken who supposed that he had any work to do
because he was a peer of Parliament.

Lopez and Emily were seated next to each other, and immediately
opposite to them was Mr. Wharton. Certainly nothing fraudulent
had been intended on this occasion, — or it would have been arranged
that the father should sit on the same side of the table with the
lover, so that he should see nothing of what was going on. But it
seemed to Mr. Wharton as though he had been positively swindled
by his sister-in-law. There they sat opposite to him, talking to
each other apparently with thoroughly mutual confidence, the very
two persons whom ho most especially desired to keep apart. He
had not a word to say to either of the ladies near him. He endea-

THE PRIME MINISTER.

voured to keep his eyes away from his daughter as much as possible,
and to divert his ears from their conversation ; — but he could not
bn*^^ look and he could not but listen. Not that he really heard a
sentence. Emily's voice hardly reached him, and Lopez under-
stood the game he was playing much too well to allow nis voice to
travel. And he looked as though his position were the most com-
monplace in the world, and as though he had nothing of more than
ordinary interest to say to his neighbour. Mr. Wharton, as he sat
there, almost made up liis mind that he would leave his practice^ give
up his chambers, abandon even his club, and take his daughter at once
to, — to ; — it did not matter where, so that the place should be very
distant from Manchester Square. There could be no other remedy
for this evil.

Lopez, though he talked throughout the whole of dinner, — turn-
ing sometimes indeed to Mrs. Leslie who sat at his left hand, — said
very little that all the world might not have heard. But he did sav
one such word. " It has been so dreary to me, the last month ! '
Emily of course had no answer to make to this. She could not tell
him that her desolation had been infinitely worse than his, and that
she had sometimes felt as though her very heart would break. " I
wonder whether it must always be like this with me," he said, — and
then he went back to the theatres, and other ordinary conversation.

** I suppose you've got to the bottom of that champagne you used
to have," said Lord Mongrober roaring across the table to his
host, holding his glass in his hand, and with strong marks of dis-
approbation on his face.

* ' The very same wine as we were drinking when your lordship
last did me the honour of dining here," said Dick. Lord Mongrober
raised his eyebrows, shook his head and .put down the glass.

" Shall we try another bottle ? " asked Mrs. Dick with solicitude.

'* Oh no ; — it'd be all the same, I know. I'll just tat.e a little
dry sherry if you have it." The man came with the decanter.
"No, dry sherry ; — dry sherry," said his lordship. The man was
confounded, Mrs. Dick was at her wits' ends, and everything was
in confusion. Lord Mongrober was not the man to be kept waiting
by «a government subordinate without exacting some penalty for
such ill-treatment.

"'Is lordship is a little out of sorts," whispered Dick to Lady
Monogram.

" Very much out of sorts it seems."

" And the worst of it is there isn't a better glass of wine in Lon-
don, and 'is lordship knows it."

" I suppose that's what he comes for," said Lady Monogram,
being quite as uncivil in her way as the nobleman.

" 'E's like a good many others. He knows where he can get a
good dinner. After all there's no attraction like that. Of course a
'ansome woman won't admit that, Lady Monogram."

" I will not admit it at any rate, Mr. R(tby."

•' T'lit I don't doubt Monogram is as careful as any one else to

MBS. dice's dinner PARTY. NO. II.

get the best cook he can, and takes a good deal of trouble about his
wine too. Mongrober is very unfair about that champagne. It
came out of Madame Cliquot's cellars before the war, and I gave
Sprott and Burlinghammer 110s. for it."

" Indeed ! "

" I don't think there are a dozen men in London can give you
such a glass of wine as that. What do you say about that cham-
pagne, Monogram ? "

** Very tidy wine," said Sir Damask.

** I should think it is. I gave 110«. for it before the war. 'Is
lordship's got a fit of the gout coming, I suppose."

But Sir Damask was engaged with his neighbour Lady Eustace.
"Of all things I should so like to see a pigeon match," said Lady
Eustace. "I have heard about them all my life. Only I suppose
it isn't quite proper for a lady."

"Oh, dear, yes."

" The darling little pigeons ! They do sometimes escape, don't
they ? I hope they escape sometimes. I'll go any 'i:>.y you'll make
up a party, — if Lady Monogram, will join us." Sir Damask said
that he would arrange it, making up his mind, however, at the same
time that this last stipuUtion, if insisted on, would make the thing
impracticable.

Eoby the ministerialist, sitting at the end of the table between
his sister-in-law and Mrs. Happerton, was very confidential re-
specting the Government and parliamentary affairs in general.
" Yes, indeed ; — of course it's a coalition, but I don't see why we
shouldn't go on very well. As to the Duke, I've always had the
greatest possible respect for him. The truth is there s nothing
special to be done at the present moment, and there's no reason
why we shouldn't agree and divide the good things between us.
The Duke has got «ome craze of his own about decimal coinage.
He'll amuse himself with that ; but it won't come to anything, and
it won't hurt us."

"Isn't the Duchess giving a great many parties ? " asked Mrs.
Happerton.

" Well ; — yes. That kind of thing used to be done in old Lady
Brock's time, and the Duchess is repeating it. There's no end to
their money, you know. But it's rather a bore for the persons who
have tx) go." The ministerial Eoby knew well how he would make
his sister-in-law's mouth water hj such an allusion as this to the
great privilege of entering the Prime Minister's mansion in Carlton
Terrace.

" I suppose you in the Government are always asked."

** We are expected to go too, and are watched pretty close. Lady
Glen, as we used to call ner, has the eyes of Argus. And of course
we who used to be on the other side are especially bound to pay her
observance."

" Don't you like the Duchess ? " asked Mrs. Happerton.

" Oh, yes ; — I like her very well. She's mad, you know, — mad

'if r;

THE PRIME MINISTER.

P. f

I ;

as a hatter, — and no one can ever guess whatfroak may come next.
One always feels that shell do something sooner or later that will
startle all the world."

"There was a queer story once, — wasn't there P" asked Mrs.
Dick.

*' I never quite believed that," said Roby. " It was something
about some lover she had before she was married. She went off to
Switzerland. But the Duke, — he was Mr. Palliser then, — followed •
her very soon and it all came right."

" When ladies are going to be duchesses, things do come right ;
don't they ? " said Mrs. Happerton.

On the other side of Mra. Happerton was Mr. Wharton, quite
unable to talk to his right-hand neighbour, the Secretary's wife.
The elder Mrs. Roby had not, indeed, much to say for herself, and
he during the whole dinner was in misery. He had resolved that
there should be no intimacy of any kind oetween his daughter and
Ferdinand Lopez, — nothing more than the merest acquaintance ;
and there they were,* talking together before his very eyes, with
more evident signs of understanding each otl >er than were exhibited
by any other two persons at the table. And yet he had no just ground
of complaint against either of them. If people dine together at the
sane house, it may of course happen that they shall sit next to
each other. And if people sit next to each other at dinner it is
expected that they shall talk. Nobody could accuse Emily of flirt-
ing ; but then she was a girl who undet no circumstances would
condescend to flirt. But she had declared boldly to her father that
she loved this man, and there she was in close conversation with
him ! Would it not be better for him to give up any further trouble,
and let her marry the man P She would certainly do so sooner or
later.

When the ladies went up-stairs that misery was over for a time,
but Mr. Wharton was still not happy. Dick came round and took
his wife's chair, so that he sat between the lord and his brother.
Lopez and Happerton fell into city conversation, and Sir Damask
tried to amuse himself with Mr. Wharton. But the task was hope-
less, — as it always is when the elements of a party have baen ill-
mixed. Mr. Wharton had not even heard of the new Aldershot
coach which Sir DsTiask had just started with Colonel Buskin and
Sir Alfonso Blackbird. And when Sir Damask declared that he
drove the coach up and down twice a week himself, Mr. Wharton
at any rate affected to believe that such a thing was impossible.
Then when Sir Damask gave him his opinion as to the cause of the
failure of a certain horse at Northampton, Mr. Wharton gave hnn
no encouragement whatever. " I never was at a race-course in my
life," said the barrister. After that Sir Damask drank his wine in
silence.

" You remember that claret, my lord ? " said Dick, thinking that
some little compensation was due to him for wh%t had been said
about the champagne.

fire-

((

«i

put I

MBS. DICK 9 DINNER PARTY. NO. II.

But Lord Mongrober's dinror had not yet had the effect of molli-
fying the man sufficiently for Dick's purposes. **0h, yes, 1
• remember the wine. You call it '57, don't you r* "

"And it is '57 ;--'57, Leoville."

*' Very likely, — very likely. If it hadn't been heated before the
fire "

" It hasn't been near the fire," said Dick.

" Or put into a hot decanter "

"Nothing of the kind."

" Or treated after some other damnable Lyhion, it would be very
good wine, I dare say."

"You are hard to please, my lord, to-day," said Dick, who was
put beyond his bearing.

" What is a man to say r If you will talk about your wine I can
only tell you what I think. Any man may get good wine, — that
is if he can afford to pay the piice, — but it isn't one out often who
knows how to put it on the table." Dick felt this to be very hard.
When a man pays 110s. a dozen for his champagne, and then gives
it to guests hke Lord Montgrober who are not even expected to
latum the favour, then that man ought to be allowed to talk
about his wine without fear of rebuke. One doesn't have an agree-
ment to that effect written down on parchment and sealed ; but it
is as well understood and ought to be as faithfully kept as any
legal contract. Dick, who could on occasions be awakened to a
touch of manliness, gave the bottle a shove and threw himself
back in his chair. "If you ask me, I can only tell you," repeated
Lord Mongiober.

" I don*t believe you ever had a bottle of wine put before you
in better order in all your life," said Dick. His lordship's face
became very square and very red as he looked round at his host.
" And as for talking about my wine, of course I talk to a man
about what he understands, i talk to Monogram about pigeons,
to Tom there about politics, to 'Apperton and Lopez about the
price of consols, and to you about wine. If I asked you what you
thought of the last new book, your lordship would be a little sur-
prised." Lord Mongrober grunted and looked redder and squarer
than ever; but he made no atte'ipt at reply, and the victory
was evidently left with Dick, — very much to the general exalta-
tion of his character. And he was proud of himself. " We bad
a little tiff, me and Mongrober," he said to his wife that night.
"'E's a very good fellow, and of course he's a lord and all that.
But he has to be put down occasionally, and, by George, I did it
to-night. You ask Lopez."

There were two drawing-rooms up-stairs, opening into each other,
but still distinct. Emily had escaped into the back room, avoiding
the gushing sentiments and equivocal morals of Lady Eustace and
Mrs. Leslie, — and here sho was followe*! by Ferdinand Lopez.
Mr. Wharton was in the fr ^nt room, and though on entering it he
did look round fflrtively for his daughter, he was ashamed to

THE PRIME MINISTER.

hi-

'«

wander about in order that he might watch her. And there were
others in tho back room, — Dick and Monogram standing on the
rug, and the elder Mrs. Eoby seated in a corner ; — so that there'
was nothing peculiar in the position of the two lovers.

" Must I understand," said he, " that I am banished from Man-
chester Sqtiare ?"

" Has papa banished you P"

•' That's what I want you to tell me."

" I know you had an mterview with him, Mr. Lopez."

♦'Yes. I'had."

•* And you must know best what he told you."

♦* He would explain himself better to you than he did to me."

'* I doubi that very much. Papa, when he has anything to say
generally says it plainly. However, I do think that he did intend
to banish you. I do not know why I should not tell you the truth."

*' I do not know either."

" I think he did — intend to banish you."

"And you?"

" I shall be guided by him in all thingb, — as far as I can."

** Then I am banished by you also ?"

*' I did not say so. But if papa says that you are not to come
there, of course I cannot ask you to do so."

** But I may see you here ?"

" Mr. Lopez, I will not be asked some questions. I will not
indeed."

*♦ You know why I ask them. You know that to me you are
more than all the world." She stood still for a moment after
hearing this, and then without any reply walked away into the
other room. She felt half ashamed of herself in that she had not
rebuked him for speaking to her in that fashion after his interview
with her father, and yet his words had filled her heart with delight.
He had never before plainly declared his love to her, — though she
had been driven by her father's questions to declare her own love
to herself. She was quite sure of herself, — that the man was and
would always be to her the one being whom she would prefer to
all thers. Her fate was in her father's hands. If he chose to
make her wretched he must do so. But on one point she had quite
made up her mind. She would make no concealment. To the
world at large she had nothing to say on the matter. But with
her father there should be no attempt on her part to keep back the
truth. Were he to question her on the subject she would tell him,
as far as her memory would serve her, the very words which Lopez
had spoken to. her this evening. She would ask nothing from
him. He had already told her that the man was to be rejected,
and had refused to give any other reason than his dislike to the
absence of any English connection. She would not again ask even
for a reason. But she would make her father undeifitand that
though she obeyed him she regarded the exercise of his authority
as tyrannical and irrational. *

MR. DICK S DINNER t»ARTY. NO. II.

are were
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They left the house before any of the other guestH aiid walked
round the corner together into the Square. '• What a veiy vulgar
set of people !" said Mr. Whtirton as soon as they were down the
steps.

" Some of them wore," said Emily, making a mental reservation
of her own.

♦' Upon my word I don't know where to make the exception.
Why on earth any one should want to know such a person as
Lord Mongrober I can't understand. What does he bring into
society?"

" A title."

" But what does that do of itself? He is an insolent, bloated
brute."

" Papa, vou are using strong language to-night."

"And that Lady Eustace ! Heaven and eartli ! Am I to be
told that that creature is a lady ?"

They had now come to their own door, and while that was being
opened and as they went up into their own drawing-ruom nothing
was said, but then Emily began again. "I wonder why you go
to Aunt Harriet's at all. You don't like the people ?"

*' I didn't like any of them to-day."

" Why do you go there ? You don't like Aunt Harriot hers< If.
You don't like Uncle Dick. You don't like Mr. Lopez."

" Certainly I do not."

*' I don't know who it is you do like."

•♦ I like Mr. Fletcher."

" It's no use saying that to me, papa."

"You ask me a question, and I choose to answer it. I like
Arthur Fletcher, because he is a gentleman, — because he is a gen-
tleman of the class to which I belong myself; because he works ;
because I know all about him so that I can be sure of him ;
because he had a decent father and mother ; because I am safe
with him, being quite sure that he will say to me neither awkward
things nor impertinent things. He will not talk to me about
driving a mail coach like that foolish baronet, nor tell me the price
of all nis wines like your uncle." Nor would Ferdinand Lopez
do so, thought Emily to herself. " But in all such matters, my
dear, the great thing is like to like. I have spoken of a young
person, merely because I wish you to understand that I can sym-
pathise with others besides those of my own age. But to-night
there was no one there at all like myself, — or, as I hope, like you.
That man Boby is a chattering ass. How such a man can be
useful to any government I can't conceive. Happerton was tho
best, but what had he to say for himself? I've always thougiit
that there was very little wit wanted to make a fortune in the
city." In this frame of mind Mr. Wharton went oflP to bed, but
not a word more was spoken aboat Ferdinand Lopez.

THE PRIME MINISTER.

,r«;;,

■li.i

ip3

'ihi

CHAPTER XI.

CARLTON TERRACE.

Certainly the thing was done very well by Lady Glen,— as many
in the political world persisted in calling her even in these days.
She had not as yet qinte carried out her plan, — the doing of which
would ha " repair 9d her to reconcile her husband to some excessive
abnormal * an-liture, and to have obtained from him a deliberate
sanction fV.. lyr^ j- iation and probable sale of property. She never
could find ti. . prop/"*" moment for doing this, having, with all her
courage, — low down ?:i some comer of her heart, — a wholesome
fear of a certain quiet power which her husband possessed. She
could not brine herself to make her proposition ;— out she almost
acted as though it had been made and approved. Her house was
always gorgeous with flowers. Of course there would be the bill ;
— and he, when he saw the exotics, and the whole place turned
into a bower of ever fresh blooming floral glories, must know that
there would le tide bill. And when he found that there was an
avchduf'?.! dinner-party every week, and an almost imperial recep-
tion twioe a week ; that at theee receptions a banquet was always
provided ; when he was asked whether she might buy a magnificent
pair of bay carriage-horses, as to which she assured him that
nothing so lovely had ever as yet been seen stepping in the streets
of London, — of course he must know that the bills would come.
It was better, perhaps, to do it in this way, than to make any
direct proposition. And then, earlv in June, she spoke to him as
to the guests to be invited to Gatherum Castle in August. " Do
you want to go to Gatherum in August P " he asked in sui-prise.
For she hated the place, and had hardly been content to spend ten
days there every year at Christmas.

" I think it should be done," she said solemnly. *' One cannot
quite consider just now what one likes oneself."

♦•Why not?"

" You would hardly go to a small place like Matehing in your
present position. There are so many people whom you should en-
tertain ! You would probably have two or three of the foreign
ministers down for a time."

*' We always used to find plenty of room at Matehing."

" But you did not always use to be Prime Minister. It is only
for tuch a time as this that such a house as Gbitherum is servi^ce-
able.'*

He was silent for a moment, thinking about it, and then gave
way without another word. She was probably right. There was the
huge pile of magnificent buildings ; and somebody, at any rate, had
thought that it behoved a Duke of Omnium to live in such a palace,
if it ought to be done at any time, it ought to be done now. In
that his wife had been right. *• Very well. Then let us go there."

own

CARLTON TERKACE.

'•I'll manage it all," said the Duchess, — "I and Locock."
Locock was the houwo-stoward.

" I remember once,' said the Duke, and he smiled as he spoke
with a peculiarly sweet expression, which would at times come
across his gouerally inexpressive face, — " I remember once that
some First Minister of the Crown gave evidence as to the amount
of his salary, saying that his place entailed upon him expenses
higher than his stipend would defray. I begin to think that my
experience will be the same."

" Does that fret you ?"

•• No, Cora ; — it certainly does not fret me, or I should not allow
it. But I think thore should be a limit. No man is ever rich
enough to squander."

Though they were to squander her fortune, the money which
she had brought,— for the next ten yearo at m ih greater rate
than she contemplated, they might do so witJuo' touching the
Palliser propertv. Of that she was quite sOi .\ And the s<^uan-
dering was to be all for his glory, — so that ha might retain his
position as a popular Prime Minister. For an instant it occurred
to her that she would tell him all this. But bne checked herself,
and the idea of what she had been about i say brought the blood
into her face. Never yet had she in talking to him tdluded to her
own wealth. " Of course we are spending mone5r," she said. " If
you give me a hint to hold my hand, I will hold it."

He had looked at her, and read it all in her face. "God
knows," he said, " you've a right to do it if it pleases you."

" For your sake ! " Then he stooped down and kissed her twice,
and left ner to arrange her parties as she pleased. After that she
congratulated herself that she had not made the direct proposition,
knowing that she might now do pretty much what she pleased.

Then there were solemn cabinets held, at which she presided, and
Mrs. Finn and Locock assisted. At other cabinets it is supposed
that, let a leader be ever so autocratic by disposition and superior by
intelligence, still he must not unfrequently yield to the opinion of
his colleagues. But in this cabinet the Duchess always had her
own way, though she was very persistent in asking for counsel.
Locock was frightened about the money. Hitherto money had
come without a word, out of the common, spoken to the Duke.
The Duke had always signed certain cheques, but they had been
normal cheques ; and the money in its natural course had iiown in
to meet them; — but now he must be asked to sign abnormal
cheques. That, indeed, had already been done , but still the
money had been there. A large balance, such as had always
stood to his credit, would stand a bigger racket than had yet been
made. But Locock was quite sure that the balance ought not to be
much farther reduced, — and that steps must be taken. Something
must be sold ! The idea of selling anything; was dreadful to the
mind of Locock ! Or else money must be Dorrowed 1 Now the
aoAuagement of ^ke Palliser Property had always been conducted oa

«8

THE PRIMR MINISTER.

principles antagonistic, to borrowing. " lint his Grace has nover
spent nis income," said the Duchows. That was true. But the money,
as it showed a tendency to heap itseli up, had been used for the
purchase ot other bit«i oi property, oi lor the amelioration of the
estates generally. ** You don't mean to say that we can't get money
il wo want it ! ' Locock was profuse in his assurances that any
amount of money could be obtained, — only that somethmg must
be done. " Then let something be done, " said the Duchess, going
on with hei general plans. " Many people are rich," said the
Duchess afterwards to her friend, " and some people are very rich
indeed ; but nobody seems to be rich enough to have ready money
to do just what be wishes, it all goes iiito a grand sum total,
which is never to be touched without a feeling ot sacrifice. I
suppose you have always enough for everything." it was well
known that the present Mrs. i^'inn, as Madame Goesler, had been
L wealthy woman.

♦' indeed, no ; — very far from that. I haven't a shilling."

"What has happened?" asked the Duchess, pretending to be
frightened.

'• You forget that I've got a husband of my own, and that he
ha J be consulted."

" That must be nonsense. But don't you think women are fools
to marry when they've got anything or their own, and could be
their own mistresses ? i couldn't nave been. 1 was made to
marry before I was old enough to assert myself."

** And how well they did for you P "

" Pas si mal. — He's Prime Minister, which is a great thing, and
I begin to find myself filled to the full with political ambition. I
feel myself to be a Lady Macbeth, prepared for the murder of any
Duncan or any Daubeny who may stand in my lord's way. In the
meantime, like Lady Macbeth herself, we must attend to the
banqueting. Her lord appeared and misbehaved himself; my lord
won t show himself at all, — which I think is worse."

Our old friend Phineas Finn, who had now reached a higher place
in politics than even his political dreams had assigned to him, though
he was a Member of Parliament, was much away from London in
these days. New brooms sweep clean ; and official new brooms, I
think, sweep cleaner than any other. Who has not watched at
the commencement of a Ministry some Secretary, some Lord, or
some Commissioner, who intends- bv fresh Herculean labours to
cleanse the Augean stables just committed to his care ? Who does
not know the gentleman at the Home Office, who means to reform
the police and put an end to malefactors ; or the new Minister at
the Board of Works, who is to make London beautiful as by a
magician's stroke, — or, above all, the new First Lord, who is
resolved that he will really build us a fleet, pui"ge the dockyards, and
save us half a million a year at the same time ? Phineas Finn was
bent on unriddling the Irish sphinx. Surely something might be
done t,o prove to his susceptible countrymen that at the present

mome

havin

that

thoroi

him

las never
»e money,
d for the
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IS by a
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:'ds, and
nn was
ight be
present

GAKLTUN TERRACE.

moment no curse could be laid upon them so heavy as that of
having to rule themselves apart from England ; and he thought
that this might be the easier, as he became from day to day more
thoroughly convinced that those Home Rulers who were all around
him in the House were altogether of the same opinion. Had some
inscrutable decree of fate ordained and made it certain, — with a
certainty not to be disturbed, — that no candida'.e could be returned
to Parliament who would not assert the earth to be triangular, there
would rise immediately a clamorous assertion of triangularity
among political aspirants. The test would be innocent. Candi-
dates have swallowed, and daily do swallow, many a worse one.
As might be this doctrine of a great triangle, so is the doctrine of
Home Rule. Why is a gentleman of property to be kept out in
the cold by some O'Mullins because he will not mutter an un-
meaning shibboleth? "Triangular? Yes, — or lozenge -shaped
if you please; but, gentlemen, I am the man for Tipperary."
Phmeas Finn having seen, or thought that he had seen, all this,
began, from the very first moment of his appointment, to consider
painfully within himself whether the genuine services of an honest
and patriotic man might not compass some remedy for the present
ill- boding ferment of the country. What was it that the Irisii
really did want ; — what that they wanted, and had not got, and
which might with propriety be conceded to them ? What was it
that the English really would refuse to sanction, even though it
might not be wanted ? He found himself beating about among rocks
as to Catholic education and Papal interference, the passage among
which might be made clearer to him in Irish atmosphere than in
that of Westminster. Therefore he was away a good deal in these
days, travelling backwards and forwards as he might be wanted
for any debate. But as his wife did not accompany him on these
fitful journeys, she was able to give her time very much to the
Duchess.

The Duchess was on the whole very successful with her parties.
There were people who complained that she had everybody ; that
there was no selection whatever as to politics, principles, rank,
morals, — or even manners. But in such a work as the Duchess
had now taken in hand, it was impossible that she should escape
censure. They who really knew what was being done were aware
that nobody was asked to that house without an idea that his or
her presence might be desirable, — in however remote a degree.
Paragraphs in newspapers go for much, and therefore the writers
and editors of such paragraphs were there, — sometimes with their
wives. Mr. Broune, of the " Breakfast Table," was to be seen there
constantly, with his wife Lady Carbury, and poor old Booker of
the "Literary Chronicle." City men can make a budget popular (
the reverse, and therefore the Mills Happertons of the day were
welcome. Rising barristers might be wanted to become Solicitors-
<l<'iieral. The pet Orphnu^ of the hour, the young tragic actor
wlio was thought to have a real Hamlet within him, the old painter

(

■ ( »

J^l

;ii

\t.^.

1 I 1-

THE PRIME MINIBTER.

who wae growing rich on hie reputation, and the young painter
whc was stil. strong with hope, even the little trilling poet though
he trilled nevei sc faintly, and the somewhat wooden novelist, oil
had tonguee of theii own, and certain modes of ezpresHion, which
might assist or injure the Palliser Coalition, — ae* the Duke's
Ministry was now called.

" Who is that man t I've seen him here before. The Duchess was
talking to him ever so long just now." The ouoRtion was asked by
Mi. lUttler of Mr. Boby. About half an hour before this time
Mi. Rattler had essayed to get a few words with the Duchess, begin-
ning with the communication of some small political secret. But the
Duchess did not care much for the iiattlers attached to hei husband's
U-overnment. They were men whose services could be had for a
certain payment,— and when paid foi were, the Duchess thought,
at the Premier's command without further trouble. Of course
they came to the receptions, and were entitled to a smile apiece as
they entered. But they wer& entitled to nothing more, and on this
occasion Battler had felt himself to be snubbed. It did not occur
to him to abuse the Duchess. The Duchess was too necessary for
abuse,— just at present. But any friend of the Duchess, — any
iavourite for the moment, — was, of course, open to remark.

'*He is a man named Lopez," said Roby, "a friend of Hap-
perton ;— a very clever fellow they say."

•* Did you ever see him anywhere else 't "

•• Well, yes ; — I have met him at dinner."

•*He was never in the House. What does he do?" Battler
was distressed to think that any drone should have m^e its way
into the hive of working bees.

'' Oh ; — money, I fancy."

•• He's not a partner in Hunky's, is he ?"

" I fancy not. I think I should have known if he was."

" She ought to remember that people make a use of coining
here," said Rattler. She was, of course, the Duchess. " It's not
like a private house. And whatever influence outsiders get by
eoming, so much she loses. Somebody ought 1^ ernlain mat to
her."

'* 1 don't think you or I could do that," replied Mr ]^by.

*• I'll tell the Duke in a minute," said Rattler. Perhaps -he
thought he could tell the Duke, but we may be allowed to doubt
whether his prowess would not have fallen below the necessary
pitch when he met the Duke's eye.

Lopez was there for the third time, about the middle of June,
and had certainly contrived to make himself personally known to
the Duchess. There had been a deputation from the City to the
Prime Minister a.»king for a subsidised UKdl, via San Francisco, to
Japan, and Lopez, though he had no interest in Japan, had con-
trived to be one of the number. He had contrived also, as the
deputation was departing, to say a word on hi.s own account to
the Minister, and had ingratiated himBolt. The Duko had re-

OABLTON TKltUAi^U.

ng painter
et thuugh
ovelist, all
ion, which
DuJse's

ichess was
8 asked by
this time
>S8, begin-
t. But the
husband's
had for a
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> apiece as
nd on this
not occur
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rk.
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" Battler
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" It's not

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n that to

l)y.

9rhap8 - he
I to doubt
necessary

I of June,
known to
ity to the
uciaco, to
had con-
3o, as the
7count to
had re-

membored him, and had suggested that ho should haye a card.
And now hn wau among the tlowors and greatness, the beauty, tho
politics, and the fashion of the Duchess's gatherings for the third
time. "It is very well done, — very well, indeed," said Mr. Boffin
to him. Lopez had been dining with Mr. and Mrs. Bottin, atid had
now again encountered his late nost and hostess. Mr. BotUn was a
gentleman who had belonged to the late Ministry, but had somewhat
out-Heroded Herod in his Conservatism, so as to have been consi-
dered to be unfit for the Coalition. Of course he was proud of his own
staunchness, and a little inclined to criticise the lax principles of
men who, for the sake of carrying on her Majesty's Government,
could be Conservatives one day and Liberals the next. He was a
laborious, honest man, — but hardly of calibre Hufficieut not to regret
his own honesty in such an emergency as the present. It is easy for
most of us to keep our hands from picking and stealing when pick-
ing and stealing plainly lead to prison diet and prison garments.
But when silks and satins come of it, and with the silks and satins
general respect, the net result of honesty does not seem to be so
secure. Whence will come the reward, and when P On whom
the punishment, and where P A man will not, surely, be damned
for belonging to a Coalition Bilinistry ! Bottiu was a little puzzled
as he thought on all this, but in the meantime was very proud of
his own consistency.

" I think it is so lovely I " said Mrs. Boffin. " You look down
through an Elysium of rhododendrons into a Paradise of mirrors.
I don't think there was ever anything like it in London before."

" I don't know that we ever had anybody at the same time rich
enough to do this kind of thing as it is done now," said Boffin,
" and powerful enough to get such people together. If the country
can be ruled by flowers and looking-glasses, of course it is very
well."

** Flowers and looking-glasses won't prevent the country being
ruled well," said Lopez.

"I'm not so sure of that," continued Boffin. "We all know
what bread and the games came to in Home. "

" What did they come to P " asked Mrs. Buffin.

" To a man burning Rome, my dear, for his amusement, dress*jd
in a satin petticoat and a wreath of roses."

" I don't think the Duke will dress himself like that," said Mrs.
Boffin.

"And I don't think," said Lopez, " that thef graceful expendi-
ture of wealth in a rich man's house has any tendency to demorulizu
the people."

" The attempt here," said Boffin severely, " is to dem( alize the
rulers of the people. I am glad to have come once to k how the
thing is done; but as an independent member of tho iouse of
Commons I should not wish to be known to frequent the saloon of
the Duchesa." Then Mr. Boffin took away Mrs. Boffin, much to
that lady's regret.

vji. amms .1- maa..;

il:

. .r..i"

THE PRIME MINISTER.

^^,

** This is fairy land," said Lopez to tho Duchess, as he left the
room.

"Come and be a fairy then,*' she answered, veiy ,2:raciously.
" We are always on the wing about this hour on Wednesday
night." The words contained a general invitation for the season,
and were esteemed by Lopez as an indication of great favour. It
must be acknowledged of the Duchess that she was prone to make
favourites, perhaps without adequate cause; though it must be
conceded to her that she rarely altogether threw off from her any
one whom she had once taken to her good graces. lie must also be
confessed that when she had allowed herself to hate either a man or
a woman, she generally hated on to the end. No Paradise could
be too charming for hor friends ; no Pandemonium too frightful
for her enemies. In reference to Mr. Lopez she would have said,
if intovrogaled, that she had taken the man up in obedience to her
husband. But in truth she had liked the look and the voice of the
man. Her husband before now had recommended men to her
notice and kindness, whom at the first trial she had rejected from
her good-will, and whom she had continued to reject ever after-
wards, let her husband's urgency be what it might.

Another old friend, of whom former chronicles were not silent,
was at the Duchess's that night, and there came across Mrs. Finn.
This was Barrington Erie, a politician of long standing, who was
still looked upon by many as a young man, because he had always
f>f3n known as a young man, and because ho had never done any-
thing to compromise his position in that respect. He had not
married, or settled himself down in a house of his own, or become
subject to gout, or given up being careful about the fitting of his
clothes. No doubt the grey hairs were getting the better of the
black hairs, both on his head and face, and marks of coming crows'
feet were to be seen if you looked close at him, and he had become
careful about his great-coat and umbrella. He was in truth much
nearer fifty than forty ; — nevertheless he was felt in the House and
among Caoinet Ministers, and among tho wives of members and
Cabinet Ministers, to be a young man still. And when he was
invited to become Secretary for Ireland it was generally felt that he
was too young for the place. He declined it, however ; and whon
ho went to the Post-office, the gentlemen there all felt that they
had had a boy put over them. Phineas Finn, who had become
Secretary for Ireland, was in truth ten years his junior. But Phi •
neas Finn had Defln twice married, and had gone through other
phases of He, such as make a man old. ** How does Phineas like
it?" Erie asked. Phineas Finn and Barrington Erie had gone
througi:* some political struggles together, and had been very
intimate.

*' I hope not very much," said the lady.

" Why so P Bocauao he's away so much ?"

" No ; not that. I ^^hould not grudgo his ftbpGnce if the work
satisfied bim. Bui I know him so well. The more he takes to it

CARLTON TERRACE.

now, — the more sanguine he is as to some special thing to be done,
— tho more bitter will be the disappointment when he is disap-
pointed. For there never really is anything special to be done ; —
18 there, Mr. Erie?"

•• I think there is always a little too much zeal about Finn."

" Of course there ia. And then with zeal there always goes a
thin skin, — and unjustifiable expectations, and biting despair, and
contempt of others, and all the elements of unhappiness."

'* That is a sad programme for your husband."

'• He has recuperative faculties which bring him round at last ; —
but I really doubt whether he was made for a politician in this
country. You remember Lord Brock ?"

* ' Dear old Brock ; — of course I do. How should I not, if you
remember him ? "

' ' Young men are boys at college, rowing in boats, when women
have been ever so long out in the world. He was the very model
of an English statesman. He loved his country dearly, and wisfied
her to be, as he believed her to be, Urst among nations. But he
had no belief in perpetuating her greatness by any grand improve-
ments. Let things take their way naturally, — with a slight direc-
tion hither or thither as things might require. That was his
method of ruling. He believed in men rather than measures. As
long as he had loyalty around him, he could be personally happy,
and quite confident as to the country. He never broke his heart
because he could not carry this or that reform. What would have
hurt him would have been to be worsted in personal conflict. But
he could always hoid his own, and he was always happy. Your man
with a thin skin, a vehement ambition, a scrupulous conscience,
and a sanguine desire for rapid improvement, is never a happy,
and seldom a fortunate politician."

** Mrs. Finn, you understand it all better than any one else that
I ever knew."

*• I have been watching it a long time, and of course very closely
since I have been married."

"But you have an eye trained to see it all. What a useful
member you would have been in a government ! "

•' But I should never have had patience to sit all night upon that
bench in the House of Commons. How men can do it ! They
mustn't read. They can't think because of the speaking. It
doeyn't do for them to talk. 1 don't believe they ever listen. It
isn't in human nature to listen hour after hour to such platitudes.
I believe they fall into a habit of half wukeful sleeping which
carrias them through the hours ; buc even that can't be pleasant.
I look upon the Treasury Bench in July as a sort of casual-ward
which we know to be necessary, but is almost too horrid to be con-
templated."

" Men do get bread and skilly thoro certainly ; but, Mrs. Finn,
Wi» t'liu go into the library urd smokiufj^-rooin."
"Oh, yes;- and a clerk in an ollice can read the newspapers

TUK PKIME MINISTER.

w..

i' ^''i.i

:'':'■ .(.

' :'

■I,"

instead of doing his duty. But there is a certain surveilla/ice
exercised, and a certain quantity of work exacted. I have met
Lords of the Treasury out at dinner on Mondays and Thursdays,
but we all regard them as boys who have shirked out of school. I
think upon the whole, Mr. Erie, we women have the best of it."

*' I don't suppose you will go in for your ' rights.' "

" Not by Act of Parliament, or by platform meeting. I have a
great idea of a woman's rights ; but that is the way, I think, to
throw them away. What do you think of the Duchess s evenings ? "

"Lady Glen is in her way as great a woman as you are; —
perhaps greater, because nothing ever wtops her.'*

*' Whereas I have scruples."

** Her Grace has none. She has feelings and convictions which
keep her straight, but no scruples. Look at her now talking to
Sir Orlando Drought, a man whom she both hates and despises.
I am sure she is looking forward to some happy time in which the
Duke may pitch Sir Orlando overboard, and rule supreme, with
me or some other subordinate leading the House of Commons
simply as lieutenant. Such a time will never come, but that is her
idea. But she is talking to Sir Orlando now as if she were pouring
her full confidence into his ear, and Sir Orlando is believing her.
Sir Orlando is in a seventh heaven, and she is measuring his
credulity inch by inch."

" She makes tne place very bright."

** And is spending an enormous deal of money," said Barrington
Erie.

"What does it matter?"

" Well, no ; — if the Duke likes it. I had an idea that the Duke
would not like the display of the thing. There he is. Do you r^^e
him in the corner with his brother duke. He doesn't look as if he
were happy ; does he ? No one would think he was the master of
everything here. He has got himself hidden almost behind the
screen. I'm sure he doesn't like it."

•' He tries to like whatever she likes," said Mrs. Finn.

As her husband was away in Ireland, Mrs. Finn was staying in
the house in Carlton Garden?. The Duchess at present required
so much of her time that this was found to be convenient. When,
therefore, the guests on the present occasion had all gone the
Duchess and Mrs. Finn were left together. ' ' Did you ever see
anything so hopeless as he is ?" said the Duchess.

' ' Who is hopeless ?'^

' * Heavens and earth ! Plantagenet ; — who else ? Is there another
man in the world would come into his own house, among his. own
guests, and speak only to >' .e person? And, then, think of it!
Popularity is the staff on waich alone Ministers can lean in this
country with security."

" Political but '>ot social popularity."

"You know as well as I do thnt the two go toj2;other. We've
seen enough of that even in our day. What br()kt> up Mr. Ore-

THK GATHERING OF CLOUDS.

sham's Jlinistry? If he had stayed away people might have
thought that he was reading blue-books, or calculating coinage, or
preparing a speech. That would have been much better, liut he
comes in and sits for half an hour whispering to another duke ! I
hate dukes."

" He talks to the Duke of St. Bungay because there is no one
he trusts so much. A few years ago it would have been Mr.
Mildmay."

" My dear," said the Duchess angrily, '* you treat me as though
I were a child. Of course 1 know why he chooses that old man out
of all the crowd. I don't suppose he does it from any stupid
pride of rank. I know very well what set of ideas govern him.
But that isn't the point. He has to reflect what others think oi
it, and to endeavour to do what will please them. There was I
telling tarradiddles by the yard to that old oaf, Sir Orlando
Drought, when a confidential word from Plantagenet would have
had ten times more effect. And why can't he speak a word to the
people's wives ? They wouldn't bite him. He has got to say a
few words to you sometimes, — to whom it doesn't signify, my
dear "

" I don't know about that."

** But he never speaks to another woman. He was here this
evening for exactly forty minutes, and he didn't open his lips to a
female creature. I watched him. How on earth am I to pull him
through if he goes on in that way ? Tes, Looock, I'll go to bed,
and I don't think I'll get up for a week."

CHAPTER XII.

THE QATHEKING OF CLOUDS.

Throughout June and the first week of July the aflPairs of tbio
Ministry went on successfully, in spite of the social sins of the
Duke and the occasional despair of the Duchess. There had been
many politicians who had thouglit, or had, at any rate, predicted,
that the Coalition Ministry would not live a month. There had
been men, such as Lord Fawn on one side and Mr. Boffin on the
other, who Iiad found themselves stranded disagreeably, — with no
certain position, — unwilling to sit immediately behind a Treasury
bench from which they were excluded, and too shy to place them-
selves immediately opposite. Seats beneath the gangway were, of
course, open to such of then as were members of the Lower House,
and those seats had to ba uMd ; but they were uf»t accustomed to
sit beneiith the gangway. Those g»Mitlomeu hud exp«u;itid that the
seeds of weakness, of which they had perceived the scattering,

fm^

■V"

(>• ' •}■*

If ' 1

TEE PRIME RHNISTER.

If> V*

li.|
1

would grow at once into an enormous crop of blunders, diflFi-
culties, and complications ; but, for a while, the Ministry wero
sjivfid from these dangers either by the energy of the Prime
Minister, or the popularity; of his wife, or perhaps by the saga ;ity
of the elder Duke : — so that there grew up an idea that the Coali-
tion was really the proper thing. In one respect it certain! , was
successful. The Home Eulers, or Irish party generally, weie left
without an inch of standing ground. Their support was not
needed, and therefore thev were not courted. For the moment
there was not even a necessity to pretend that Home Eule was
anything but an absurdity from beginning to end ; — so much so
that one or two leading Home Rulers, men who had taken up the
cause not only that they might become Members of Parliament,
but with some further ideas of speech-making and popularity,
declared that the Coalition had been formed merely with a view of
putting down Ireland. This capability of dispensing mth a gene-
rally untracta ble element of support was felt to be a greet comfort.
Then, too, there was a set in the House, — at that mojiicnt not a
very numerous set, — who had been troublesome friendfc; to the old
Liberal party, and which the Coalition was able, if not to ignore,
at any rate to disregard. These were the staanch ecoaomists, and
argumentative philosophical Radicals, — men of standing and
repute, who are always in doubtful times individually flattered by
Ministers, who have great privileges accorded to their of speaking
and dividing, and who are not unfrequently even thanked for their
rods by the very owners of the backs which bear the scourges.
These men could not be quite set aside by the Coalition as were the
Home Eulers. It was not evp-^ vet, perhaps, wise to count them
out, or to leave th ah to talk t ei.3 ches absolutely empty ; — but the
tone of flattery with which ^h.y had been addressed became
gradually less warm ; and when the scourges were wielded, minis-
terial backs took themselves out of the way. There grew up un-
consciously a feeling of security against attack which was dis-
tasteful to these gentlemen, and was in itself perhaps a little dan-
gerous. Gentlemen bound to support the Uovernment, when they
perceived that there was comparatively but little to do, and that
that little might be easily done, became careless, and, perhaps, a
little contemptuous. So that the great popular orator, Mr.
TurnbuU, found himself compelled to rise in his seat, and ask
whether the noble Duke at the head of the Government thought
himself strong enough to rule without attention to Parliamentary
dv,u'ls. The question was asked with an air of inexorable severity,
and was intended to have deep signification. Mr. Turnbull had
disliked the Coali^ ion from the beginning ; but then Mr. Turnbull
i^ways disliked overything. He had so accustomed himself to
mild ihe constitutional cat-of-nino-tails, that heaven will hardly
be happy to iiim unl:*ss ho bo allowed to ilog the cherubim.
Tb inf.>,l) the pjirty with which he was pronumod to act hiui gnuo-
'ally been in power aaico ho had been in the House, hv had never

«'^'

THE GATHv.KINO JF CLOUDS.

allowed hinifjelf to agroe with a Minister on any point. And us ho
had never been satistied with a liberal Government, it was not
probable tnat he should endure a Coalition in silence. At the eQ(^
ot a rather lengthy speech, he repeated his question, and then sal
down, taking his place with all that constitutional indignation
which becomes the parliamentary flagellator of the day. The little
jokes with which Sir OrJando answered him were very well in their
way. Mr. Turn bull did not care much whether he were answered
or not. Perhaps the jauntiness of Sir Orlando, which implied that
the Coalition was too strong to regard attack, somewhat irritated
outsiders. But there certainly grew up from that moment a
feeling among such men as Erie and Rattler that care was neces-
sary, that the House, taken as a whole, was not in a condition to
be manipulated with easy freedom, and that Sir Orlando muHt be
made to understand that he was not strong enough to depend upon
jauntiness. The jaunty statesman must bo very sure of his personal
following. There was a general opinion that Sir Orlando had not
brought the Coalition well out of the first real attack which had
been made upon it.

" "Well, Phineas ; how do you like the Phoenix ? " Phineas Finn
tiad flown back to London at the instigation probably of Mr. Rattler,
and was now standing at the window of Brooks's club with Barring-
ton Erie. It was near nine one Thursday evening, and they were
both about to return to the House.

" 1 don't like the Castle, if you mean that."

'^Tyrone isn't troublesome surely ? " The Marquis of Tyi'one
was the Lord Lieutenant of the day, and had in his timt >^on a
very strong Conservative.

*' He finds me troublesome, I fear."

'* I don't wonder at that, Phineas."

"How should it. be otherwise? What can he and I k^ve in
sympathy with one another ? He has been brought up with aiil an
Orangeman's hatred for a Papist. Now that he is in hi^'L offn- .
he can abandon the display of the feelinj. —perhaps the f' jling
itself as regards the country at large. He knows that it doebn't
become a Lord Lieutenant to be Orange. But how can he put
himself into a boat with me ? "

" All that kind of thing vanishes when a man is in office."

"Yes, as a rule; because men go together into office with the
same general predilections. Is it too hot to walk down ? "

*' I'll walk a little way, — till you make me hot by arguing."

*' I haven't an argument left in me," said Phineas. " Of course
everything over there seems easy enough now,— so easy that Lord
Tyrone evidently imagines that the good times are coming back in
which governors may govern and not be governed."

" You are pretty quiet in Ireland now I suppose ; — no martiai
law, suspension of the habeas corpus, o; anything of that kind,
just at present ?"

" No ; thank goodness ! " said Phineas.

-Awi»7(.-'-,!jrrn--'

«>. ■

THE PRIME MINISTER,

!!'..

" I'm not quite surewhothor a general siisponsion of the hahoHS
corpus would not upon the whole be the most comfortable state of
things for Irishmen themselves. But whether good or bad, you've
nothing of that kind of thing now. You've no great measure that
you wish to pass ? "

" But they've a great measure that they wish to pass."

"They know better than that. They don't want to kill their
golden goose."

"The people, who are infinitely ignorant of alJ political work,
do want it. There are counties in which, if you were to poll the
people. Home Rule would carry nearly every voter,— except the
members themselves."

" You wouldn't give it them ? "

"Certainly not; — any more than I would allow a son. to ruin
himself because he asked me. But I would endeavour to teach
them that they can get nothing by Home Eule, — that theii* taxes
would bo heavier, their property less secure, their lives less safe,
their general position more debased, and their chances of national
success more remote than ever."

"You can never teach them, except by the slow lesson of
habit. The Heptarchy didn't mould itself into a nation in a
day."

" Men were governed then, and could be and were moulded. I
feel sure that even in Ireland t> ire is a stratum of men, above the
workirj^'' peasants, who would understand, and make those below
them understand, the position of the country, if they could oiS^ be
got to give up lighting about religion. Even now Home Rule is
regarded by the multitude as a weapon to be used against Protes-
tantism on behalf of the Pope."

* I suppose the Pope is the great sinner P "

" They got over the Pope in France, — even in early days, before
religion had become a farce in the country. They have done so in
It^ly."

" Yea -- -they've got over the Pope in Italy certainly."

" And yet," ^aid Phineas, " the bulk of the people are staunch
Catholics. Cf course the same attempt to maintain a temporal
luHuence, with the hope of recovering temporal power, is made in
other coan^.fes. But while we see the attempt failing elsewhere,
— so thi.t w^; know that the power of the Church is going to the
wall, — vf ■ in /reland it is infinitely stronger now than it was fifty,
or even twoji: ^' years ago."

" Bucauae we have been removing restraints on Papal aggression,
while other nations have been imposing restraints. There are
Lhose at Rome who believe all England to be Romish at heart,
because here in England a Roman Catholic can say what he will,
and print what he will."

"And yet." said Phineas, " all England does not return one
Catholic to the House, while we have Jews in plenty. You have
a Jew among your English judges, bat at present not a single

11 a

THE GATHERING OF CLOUDS.

90U of
in a

Romau ('atholic. What do you siipposo aro tne comparative
numbers of the population here in England 't "

"And you are going to cure all this; — while Tyrone thinks it
ought to be left as it is ? I rather agree with Tyrone."

"No," said Phineas wearily; "I doubt whether I shall ever
cure anything, or even make any real attempt. My patriotism
just goes far enough to make me unhappy, and Lord Tyrone thinks
that while Dublin ladies dance at the Castle, and the list of
agrarian murders is kept low, the country is admirably managed.
I don't nuite agree with him ; — that's all."

Then there arose a legal difficulty, which caused much trouble
to the. Coalition Ministry. There fell vacant a certain seat on the
bench of judges, — a seat of considerable dignity and importance,
but not quite of the highest rank. Sir Gregory Orogram, who
was a rich, energetic man, determined to have a peerage, and
convinced that, should the Coalition fall to pieces, the liberal
element would be in the ascendant, — so that the woolsack would
then be opened to him, — decUned to occupy the place. Sir Timothy
Beeswax, the Solicitor-General, saw that it was exactly suited for
him, and had no hesitation in expressing his opinion to that effect.
But the place was not given to Sir Timothy. It was explained to
Sir Timothy that the old rule, — or rather custom, — of offering
certain high positions to the law officers of the Crown had been
abrogated. Some Prime Minister, or, more probably, some col-
lection of Cabinet Ministers, had asserted the custom to be a bad
one, — and, as far as right went, Sir Timothy was declared not to
have a leg to stand upon. He was informed that his services in
tile House were too valuable to be so lost. Some people said that
his temper was against him. Others were of opinion that he had
risen from the ranks too quickly, and that Ijord Eamsden, who had
come from the same party, thought that Sir Timothy had not yet
won his spurs. The Solicitor- General resigned in a huff, and then
withdrew his resignation. Sir Gregory thought the withdrawal
should not be accepted, having found Sir Timothy to be an un-
sympathetic colleague. Our Duke consulted the old Duke, among
whose theories of official life forbearance to all colleagues and
subordinates was conspicuous. The withdrawal was, therefore,
allowed, — but the Coalition could not after Jiat be said to be
strong in regard to its Law Officers.

But the first concerted attack against the Ministry was made in
reference to the budget. Mi*. Monk, who had consented to under-
take the duties of Chancellor of the Exchequer under the urgent
entreaties of the two dukes, was of course late with his budget.
It was April before the Coalition had been formed. The budget
when produced had been very popular. Budgets, like babies,
are always little loves when first born. But as their infancy
passes away, they also become subject to many stripes. The details
are less pleasing than was the whole in the hands of the nurse.
There was a certain " interest," very influential both by general

f*v

THK PRIME MINISTER.

v.i

II!

■ii r

wealth and by the proHouce of many members in the House, which
thought that Mr. Monk had diHregarded ita just claime. Mr.
Monk had refused to relieve the Brewers from their licences. Now
the Brewers had for some years been agitating about their licences,
— and it is acknowledged in politics that any measure is to be
carried, or to be left out in the cold uncarried and neglected,
according to the number of deputations which may be got to press
a Minister on the subject. Now the Brewers had had deputation
after deputation to many Chancellors of the Exchequer ; and these
deputations had been most respectable, — we may almost say impe-
rative. It was quite usual for a deputation to have four or five
County members among its body, all Bre>7er8; and the average
wealth of a deputation of Brewers would buy up half London. All
the Brewers in the House had been among the supporters of the
Coalition, the number of liberal and conservative brewers having
been about equal. But now there was a fear that the " interest"
might put itself into opposition. Mr. Monk had been firm.
More than one of the Ministry had wished to yield ; — but he had
discussed the matter with his Chief, and they were both very firm.
The Duke had never doubted. Mr. Monk had never doubted.
From day to day certain organs of the Press expressed an opinion,
gradually increasing in strength, that however strong might be
the Coalition as a body, it was weak as to finance. Ihis was hard,
because not very many years ago the Duke himself had been known
as a particularly strong Minister of linance. An amendment was
moved in Committee as to the Brewers' Licences, and there was
almost a general opinion that the Coalition would be broken up.
Mr. Monk would certainly not remain in office if the Brewers were
to be relieved from their licences.

Then it was that Phineas Finn was recalled from Ireland in red-
hot haste. The measure was debated for a couple of nights, and
Mr. Monk carried his point. The Brewers' Licences were allowed
to remain, as one great gentleman from Burton declared, a " dis-
grace to the fiscal sagacity of the country." The Coalition was so
far victorious ; — but there arose a general feeling that its strength
had been impaired.

■' i

CHAPTER XTII.

Mil. WHARTON COMPLAINS.

"I THINK you have betrayed me." This accusation was brought
by Mr. "Wharton against Mrs. Eoby in that lady's drawing-room,
and was occasioned by a report that had been made to the old
lawyer by his daughter. He was very angry and almost violent ;

MR. VVFJAUTON 0OMIM,AINS.

ne, which
ne. Mr.
les. Now
licences,
is to be
eglected,
b to press
ipiitat ion
md these
ay impa-
ir or five
I average
don. All
irs of the
;'s hayiTiff
interest"
Bn firm.
t he had
ery firm,
doubted,
opinion,
night be
^as hard,
in known
nent was
here was
aken up.
rers were

d in red-
hts, and

) allowed
a " dis-

n was so
strength

brought

ig-room,

the old

violent j

— so much bo tluit by his manner hu guvo a considerable advantage
to the lady v^hom he was accusing

Mrs. lloby uudoubtedly had betrayed her brother-iu-law. She
had been false to the trust reposed in her. Ho had explained his
wishes to her in regard to hia daughter, to whom she had in some
sort assumed to stand in pluoe of a mother, and she, while pretend-
ing to act in accordance with his wishes, had directly opposed
them. But it was not likely that ho would be able to prove hor
treachery thoug:h he might be sure of it. He had desired that his
girl should see as little as possible of Ferdinand Lopez, but had
hesitated to give a positive order that she should not meet him.
Uo had indeed himself taken hor to a dinner party at which he
knew that she would meot him. But Mrs. Roby had betrayed him.
Since the dinner party she had arranged a meeting at nor own
Viniisie on bolialf of the lover, — as t ; which arrangement Emily
Wharton had herself been altogether innocent. Emily had met
the man in her aunt's house, not expecting to meet him, and the
lover had had an opportunity of speaking his mind freely. She also
had spoken hers freely. She would not engage herself to him with-
out her father's consent. With that consejit she would do so, — oh,
HO willingly ! She did not coy her love. He might be certain
that she would give herself to no one else. Her heart was entirely
his. But she had pledged herself to her father, and on no con-
sideration would she break that pledge. She went on to say that
after what had passed she thought that they had better not meet.
In such meetings there could be no satisfaction, and must be much
pain. But he had her full permission to use any arguments that
he could use with her father. On the evening of that day she told
her father all that had passed, — omitting no detail either of what
she had said or of whai. had been said to her, — adding a positive
assurance of obedience, but doing so with a severe solemnity and
apparent consciousness of ill-usage which almost broke her father's
heart. " Your aunt must have had him there on purpose," Mr.
Wharton had said. But Emily would neither accuse nor defend
her aunt. " I at least knew nothing of it," she said. "I know
that," Mr. Wharton had ejaculated. ' ' I know that. I don't accuse
you of anything, my dear, — except of thinking that you understand
the world better than I do." Then Emily had retired and Mr.
Wharton had been left to pass half the night in a peri)loxod reverie,
feeling that he would be forced ultimately to give way, and yet
eertain that by doing so he would endanger his child's liappi-
ness. .

He was very angry with his sister-in-law, and on the next day,
larly in the morning, he attacked her. ' ' 1 think you have betrayed
me," he said.

" What do you moan by that, Mr.

' ' You have had this man hero on

lov>' f^o Emily,

Wharton?"
purpose that he might make

i have done no such thing. You told me youi'self that they

TliU PRIME MINISTER.

were not to be kept apart. He comes here, and it would bo very
odd indeed if 1 were to tell the servants that he is not to be adiiiitted.
If you want to quarrel with me, of course you can. I have always
endeavoured to be a good friend to Emily."

"It is not being a good friend to her, bringing her and this
adventurer together."

" I don't know why yon call him an adventurer. But you are so
very odd in your ideas ! Ho is received everywhere, and is always
at the Duchess of Omnium's.

'* I don't care a fig about the Duchess."

*' I dare say not. Only the Duke happens to be Prime Minister,
and his house is considered to have the very best society that
England, or indeed Europe, oan give. And I think it is some-
thing in a young man's favour when it is known that he associates
with such persons as the Duke of Omnium. I believe that most
fathers would have a regard to the company which a man keeps
when they think of their daughter's marrying."

*• I ain t thinking of her marrying. I don't want her to marry ;
— not this man at least. And I fancy the Duchess of Omnium is
just as likely to have scamps in her drawing-room as any other
lady in London."

" And do such men as Mr. Happerton associate with scamps ?"

'* I don't know anything about Mr. Happerton, — and I don't care
anything about him."

" He has £20,000 a year out of his business. And does Everett
associate with scamps ?"

"VeryUkely."

"I never knew any one so much prejudiced as you are, Mr.
Wharton. When you have a point to carry there's nothing you
won't say. I suppose it comes from being in the courts."

" The long and the short of it is this," said the lawyer ; *' if I
find that Emily is brought here to meet Mr. Lopez, I must forbid
her to come at all."

"You must do as you please about that. !But to tell you the
truth, Mr. Wharton, I think the mischief is <ione. Such a girl as
Emily, when she has taken it into her head to ^ove a man, is not
likely to give him up."

** She has promised to have nothing to say to him without my
sanction."

" We all know what that means. You'll have to give way.
You'll find that it will be so. The stern parent who dooms "his
daughter to perpetual seclusion because she won't marry the man
he likes, doesn't belong to this age."

•• Who talks about seclusion ?'

" Do you suppose that she'll give up the man she loves because
you don't like him ? Is that the way girls live now-a-days ? She
won't run away with him, because she's not one of that sort ; but
unless you're harder-hearted than I take you to be, she'll make
your life a burden to you. And as for betraying you, that's uon-

MR. WHAUTON rOMPI.AINH.

bo very
dmitted.
) alwayn

and this

u are ho
3 always

finister,
)ty that
8 Home-
SBociatos
at most
n keeps

marry;
mium is
ay other

raps?"
)n't care

Everett

ire, Mr.
ing you

"if I
it forbid

you the
i girl as
1, is not

.out my

re way.
}m8 liis
he man

Heihsn. You've no ripfht to say it. I'm not ^oing to (luarrel with
you whatever you may say, but you've no right to say it."

Mr. Wharton, as ho went away to Lincohi's Inn, bewailed himself
because he knew that he was not hard-hearted. What his sister-
in-law hud said to him in that respect wan true enough. If he
could only rid liimself of a certain internal ague which made him
feel that hi.s life was, indeed, a burden to him while his daughter was
unhappy, ho need only remain passive and simply not give the per-
mission without whicn his daughter would not ever engage herself
to this man. But the ague troubled everj' hour of his present life.
That sister-in-law of his was a silly, vulgar, worldly, and most un-
trustworthy woman ; — but she had understood what she was saying.

And there had boen something in that argument about the
DachesH of Omnium's parties, and Mr. Happerton, which had its
effect. If the man did live with the ^reat and wealthy, it must be
because they thought well of him and of his position. The fact of
his being a "nasty fornigner," and probably of Jewish descent,
rnmained. To him, Wharton, the man must always be distasteful.
But he could hardly maintain his opposition to one of whom the
choice spirits of the world thought well. And he tried to be fair on
the subject. It might bo that it was a prejudice. Others probably
did not find a man to be odious because he was of foreign extraction
and known by a foreign name. Others would not suspect a man
of being of Jewish blood because he was swarthy, or even object to
him it he wore a Jew by descent. But it was wonderful to him
that his girl should like such a man, — should like such a man well
enough to choose him as the one companion of her life. She had
boon brought up to prefer English men, and English thinking, and
English ways, — and English ways, too, somewhat of a past time.
He thought as did Brabantio, that it could not be that without
magic his daughter who had shunned —

" The wealthy curled darlings of our nation,
Would ever have, to incur a general mock,
Run from her guardage to the Hooty bosom
Of such a thing as " —

this distasteful Portuguese.

That evening he said nothing further to his daughter, but aat
with her, silent and disconsolate. Later in the evening, after she
had gone to her room, Everett came in while the old man was still
walking up and down the drawing-room. " Where have you
been," asked the father, — not caring a straw as to any reply when
he asked the question, but roused almost to anger by the answer
when it came.

" I have been dining with Lopez at the club."

" I believe you live with that man."

"Is there any reason, sir, why I should not?"

" You know that there is good reason why there should be no
peculiar iiitimacy. But I don't suppose that my wishes, or your
sister's widl'aro, will interest you."

IMAGE EVALUATION
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125

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! 1^ 120

1*^ 1 '-^ u.

■^

Hiotographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WIST MAIN STRUT

WEBSTIR.N.Y. 14SS0

(716) •72-4503

^j^

THE FBIME MINISTEB.

" That is severe, sir."

" I am not such a fool as to suppose that you are to quarrel with
a man because I don't approve his addressing jour sister ; but I do
think that while this is goius on, and while he perseveres in
opposition to my distinct refusal, you need not associate with him
in any special manner."

** I don't understand your objection to him, sir."

' ' I dare say not. There are a great many things you don't
understand. But I do object."

*'He's a very rising man. Mr. Boby was saying to me just
now "

" Who cares a straw what a fool like Eoby says ? "

'* I don't mean Uncle Dick, but his brother, — who, I suppose, is
somebody in the world. He was saying to me just now that he
wondered why Lopez does not go into the House ; — that he would
be sure to get a seat if he chose, and safe to make a mark when he
got there."

« I dare say he could get into the House. I don't know any
well-to-do blackguard of whom you might not predict as much.
A seat in the House of Commons doesn't make a man a gentleman
as far as I can see."

"I think every one allows that Ferdinand Lopez is a gentle-
man."

" Who was his father P "

<< I didn't happen to know him, sir."

"And who was his mother? I don't suppose you will credit
anything because I say it, but as far as my experience goes, a man
doesn't often become a gentleman in the first generation. A man
may be very worthy, very clever, very rich, — very well worth
knowing if you will ; — but when one talks of admitting a man into
close family communion by marriage, one wc aid, I fancy, wish to
know something of his father and mother." Then Everett escaped,
and Mr. Whanon was again left to his own meditations. Oh,
what a peril, what a trouble, what a lab3rrintii of difficulties was a
daughter! He must either be known as a stem, hard-hearted
parent, utterly indifferent to his child's feelings, using with
tyranny the power over her which came to him only from her
sense of filial duty, — or else he must give up his own judgment,
and yield to her in a matter as to which he believed that such
yielding would be most pernicious to her own interests.

Hitherto he really knew nothing of the man's meaus ; — nor, if
he could have his own way, did he want such information. But,
as things were going now, he be^n to feel that if he could hear
anything averse to the man he might thus strengthen his hands
against him. On the following day he went into tihe city, and
called on an old friend,* a banker, — one whom he had known for
nearly half a century, and of whom, therefore, he was not afraid
to ask a qjtiostion. For Mr. Wharton was a man not prone, in the
ordinary intercourse of life, either to ask or to answer questions.

rrel with
but I do
iveres in
nrith him

ou don't
me just

ppose, 18
7 that he
le would
when he

now any
Eis much,
mtleman

gentle-

ill credit
le, a man
A man
lU worth
man into
, wish to
escaped,
ns. Oh,
es was a
[-hearted
ng with
from her
Ldgment,
liat such

— nor, if
n. But,
uld hear
is hands
sity, and
nown for
ot afraid
e, in the
uestious.

MR. WHAPTON COMPLAINfl.

** You don't know anything, do you, of a man named Ferdinand
Lopez ? "

** I have heard of him. But why do you ask P "

" Well ; I have a reason for asking. I don't know that I quite
wish to say what my reason is."

" I Imye heard of him as connected with Hunky's house,'* said
the banker, — *' or rather with one of the partners in the house."

" Is he a man of means P "

" I ima^ne him to be so ; — but I know nothing. He has rather
large dealmgs, I take it, in foreign stocks. Is he after my old
friend. Miss Wharton P "

'* Well;— yes."

"You haa better get more information than I can give you.
But, of course, before anything of that kind was done you would
see that money was settled." This was all he heard in the city,
and this was not satisfactory. He had not liked to tell his friend
that he wished to hear that the foreigner was a needy adventurer,
— altogether untrustworthy ; but that had really been his desire.
Then he thought of the £60,000 which he himself destined for his
girl. If the man were to his liking there would be money enough.
Though he had been careful to save money, he was not a greedy
man, even for his children. Should his daughter insist on marr3ring
this man he could take care that she should never want a sufficient
income.

As a first step, — a thing to be done almost at once, — ^he must
take her away from London. It was now July, and the custom of the
family was that the house in Manchester Square should be left for
two months, and that the flitting should take place about the middle
of August. Mr. Wharton usuully liked to postpone the flitting, as
he also liked to hasten the return. But now it was a question
whether he had not better start at once,— rstart somewhither, and
robably for a much longer period than the usual vacation. Sliould
e take the bull by the horns, and declare his purpose of living

for the next twelvemonth at ; well, it did not much matter

where ; Dresden, he thought, was a long way off, and would do as
well as any place. Then it occurred to him that his cousin. Sir
Alured, was in town, and that he had better see his cousin before
he came to any decision. They were, as usual, expected at WTiar-
ton Hall this autunm, and that arrangement could not be aban-
doned without explanation.

Sir Alured Wharton was a baronet, with a handsome old family
place on the Wye in Herefordshire, whose forefathers had been
baronets since baronets were flrst created, and whose earlier fore-
fathers had lived at Wharton Hall much before that time. It may
be imagined therefore that Sir Alured was proud of his name, of
his estate, and of his rank. But there were drawbacks to his
happiness. As regarded his name, it was to descend to a nephew
whom he specially disliked, — and with good cause. As to his
Bstate, delightful as it was in many respects, it was hardly suffi-

THE PRIME MINISTER.

cient to maintain his position with that plentiful hospitality which
he would have loved ; — and other property he had none. And as
to his rank he had almost become ashamed of it, since,' — as he was
wont to declare was now the case, — every . prosperous tallow-
chandler throughout the country was made a baronet as a matter
of course. So he lived at home through the year with his wife
and daughters, not pretending to the luxury of a season in London
for which his modest three or four thousand a year did not suffice ;
— and so living, apart from all the friction of clubs, parliaments, and
mixed society, he did veritably believe that his dear country was

foing utterly to the dogs. He was so staunch in politics that
uring the doings of the last quarter of a century,— from tibe repeal
of the Com Laws down to the ballot, — he had honestly declared one
side to be as bad as the other. Thus he felt that all his happiness
was to be drawn from the past. Thnre was nothing of joy or
glory to which he could look forward either on behalf of his
country or his family. His nephew,— and alas, his heir, — was a
noddy spendthrift, with whom he would hold no communication.
The family settlement for his wife and daughters would leave
them but poorly off; and though he did struggle to save some-
thing, the duty of living as Sir Alured Wharton of Wharton Hall
shoiud live made those struggles very ineffective. He was a
melancholy, proud, ignorant man, who could not endure a per-
sonal liberty, and who thought the assertion of social equality on
the part of men of lower rani: to amount to the taking of personal
liberty ; — who read Kttle or nothing, and thought that he knew
the history of his country because he was aware that Charles I.
had had his head out off, and that the Georges had come from
Hanover. If Charles I. had never had his head cut off, and if the
Georges had never come from Hanover, the Whartons would now
prob{U)ly be great people and Britain a great nation. But the
Evil One had been allowed to prevail, and everything had gone
astray, and Sir Alured now haa nothing of this world to console
him but a hazy retrospect of past glones, and a delight in the
beauty of his own river, his own park, and his own house. Sir
Alured, with all his foibles and with all his faults, was a pure-
minded, simple gentleman, who could not tell a lie, who could not
do a wrong, and who was earnest in his desire to make those who
•were dependent on him comfortable, and, if possible, happy. Once
a year he came up to Londoii for a week, to see his lawyers, and
get measured for a coat, and go to the dentist. These wore the
excuses which he gave, but it was fancied by some that his wig
was the great moving a.use. Sir Alured and Mr. Wharton were
second cousins, and close friends. Sir Alured trusted his cousm
altogether in all thin^, believing him to be the great legal lumi-
nary of Great Britain, and Mr. Wharton returned his cousin's
affection, entertaining something akin to reverence for the man
who was the head of his family. He dearly loved Sir Alured, —
and loved Sir Alured's wife and two daughters. Nevertheless, the

se
th

MR. WHARTON COMHiAINS.

ility which
e. And as
-as he was
us tallow-
%B a matter
;h his wife
in London
lot suffice ;
ments, and
)untry was
>litics that
the repeal
Bclared one
I happiness
of joy or
lalf of his
ir,— was a
lunication.
[>uld leave
lave some-
irton Hall
Se was a
ore a per-
quality on
I personal
t; he knew
Oharles I.
yyme from
and if the
^ould now

But the

had gone

to console

i;ht in the

ouse. Sir

) a pure-

could not

those who

py. Once

ryers, and

were the

it his wig

rton were

lis cousin

gal lumi-

cousin's

the man

Alured, —

eless, the

second wOek at Wharton Hall became always tedious to him, and
the fourth, iifth, and sixth weeks frightful with ennui.

Perhaps it was with some unconscious dread of this tedium that
he made a sudden suggestion to Sir Alured in reference to Dresden.
Sir Alured had come to him at his chambers, and the two old men
were sitting together near the open window. Sir Alured delighted
in the privilege of sitting there, which seemed to confer upon him
something of an insight into the inner ways of London life beyond
what he could get at his hotel or his wigmaker's. " Go to Dresden ;
— for the winter ! " he exclaimed.

" Not only for the winter. We should gp at once."

" Not before you come to Wharton ! " said the amazed baronet.

Mr. Wharton replied in a low, sad voice, " In that case we
should not eo down to Herefordshire at all." The baronet looked
hurt as well as unhappy. "Yes, I know what you will say, and
hew kind you are."

" It isn't kindness at all. You always come. It would be
breaking up everything."

" Everytnine has to be bioken up sooner or later. One feels that
as one grows older."

" You and I, Abel, are just of an age. Why uhould you talk to
me like this P You are strong enough, whatever I am. Why
shouldn't you come P Dresden ! I never heard of such a thing.
I suppose it's some nonsense of Emily's."

Then Mr. Wharton told his whole story. * ' Nonsense of Emily's ! ' '
he began. " Yes, it is nonsense, — worse than vou think, liut she
doesn't want to go abroad." The father's plaint needn't be re-
peated to the reader as it was told to the baronet.' Though it was
neces jary that he should explain himsulf, yet he tried to be reticent.
Sir Alured listened in silence. He loved his cousin Emilv, and,
knowing that she would be, rich, knowing her advantages of birth,
and recognising her beauty, had expected that she would make a
match creditable to the Wharton family. But a Portuguese Jew I
A man who had never been even known to allude to his own
father ! For bv degrees Mr. Wharton had been driven to confess
all the sins of the lover, though he had endeavoured to conceal the
extent of his daughter's love.

** Do you mean that Emily — favours him P "

" I am afiraid so."

"And would she, — would she — do anything without your sanc-
tion P " He was always thinking of me disgrace attaching to
himself by reason of his nephew's vileness, and now, if a dau^ter
of the family should also go astray, so as to be exiled from the
bosom of the Whartons, now manifest would it be that all the
glory was departing from their house !

" No ! She will do nothing without my sanction. She has given
her word, — which is gospel. As he spoke the old lawyer struck
his hand upon the table.

" Then why should you run away to Dresden f "

THE PniMK MINISTER.

*' Because she is unhappy. She will not marry him, — or even
see him, if I forbid it. But she is near him."

" Herefordshire is a long way ofip," said the baronet, pleading.

" Change of soene is what she should have," said the father.

" There can't be more of a change than she'd get at Wharton.
She always did like Wharton. It wae there that she met Arthur
Fletcher." The father only shook his head as Arthur Fletcher's
name was mentioned. "Well, — that is sad. I always thought
she'd ^ive way about Arthur at last."

" It IS impossible to understand a young woman," said the lawyer.
With such an English gentleman as Arthur Fletcher on one side,
and with this Portuguese Jew on the other, it was to him Hyperion
to a Satyr. A darkness had fallen over his girl's eyes, and for a
time her power of judgment had left her.

" But I don't see why Wharton should not do just as well as
Dresden," continued the baronet. Mr. Wharton found himself quite
unable to make his cousin understand that the greater disruption
caused by a residence abroad, the feeling that a new kind of life
had been considered necessary for her, and that she must submit to
the new kind of life, might be gradually effective, while the jour-
neyings and scenes which had been common to her year after year
would have no effect. Nevertheless he gave way. They could
hardly start to Germany at once, but the visit to Wharton might
be accelerated ; and the details of the residence abroad might be
there arranged. It was fixed, therefore, that Mr. Wharton and
Emily should go down to Wharton Hall at any rate before the end
of July.

" Why do you go earlier than usual, papa P*' Emily asked him
afterwards.

," Because I tliink it best," he replied angrify. She ought at
any rate to undct^tand the reason.

" Of course I shall be ready, papa. Tou know that I always
like Wharton. There is no place on earth I like so much, and
this year it will be especially pleasant to me to go out of town.
But "

"But what?"

" I can't bear to think that I shall be taking you away."

" I've got to bear worse things than that, my dear."

" Oh, papa, do not speak to me like that I Of course I know what
you mean. There is no real reason for your going. If you wish it
I will promise you that I will not see him. He only shook his
head,— meaning to imply that a promise which could go no farther
than that would not make him happy. " It will.be just the same,
papa, — either here, or at Wharton, or elsewhere. You need not be
afraid of me."

" I am not afraid of you ; — but I am afraid for you. I fear for
your hanpiness, — and for my own."

"So do I, papa. But what can be done ? I suppose sometimes
people must be unhappy. I can't change myself, and I can't change

A LOVER'S PKRHEVERANOE.

1, — or even

you. I find myself to be as much bound to Mr. Lopoz as though
I were his wife."

*' No, no ! you shouldn't say so. You've no right to say so."

" But I have given you a promise, and I certainly will keep it.
If we must be unhappy, still we need not,— need not quarrel ; need
wo, papa?" Then sne came up to him and kissed him, — where-
upon ho went out of the room wiping his eyes.

That evening he again spoke to her, saying merely a word. " I
think, my dear, we'll have it fixed that we go on the 30th. Sir
Alured seemed to wish it."

** Very well, papa ; — I shall be quite ready."

CHAPTER XrV.

A LOVERS PERSEYERANOE.

Ferdinand Lopez learned immediately through Mrs. Boby that
the early departure for Herefordshire had been fixed. ' I should
go to him and speak to him very plainly," said Mrs. Boby. " He
can't bite you."

" I'm not in the least afraid of his biting me."

" Tou can talk so well ! I should tell him everything, especially
about money, — which I'm sure is all right."

" Yes, — that is all right," said Lopez smiling.

"'And about your people."

** Which, I've no doubt you think is all wrong.'*

" I don't know anything about it," said Mrs. Roby, '* and I don't
much care. He has old-world notions. At any rate vou should
say something, so that he should not be able to complain to her
that you had kept him in the dark. If there is anything to be
known, it's much better to have it known."

" But there is nothing to be known."

*'Then tell him nothing; — but still tell it to him. After that
you must trust to her. I don't suppose she'd go off with you."

" I'm sure she wouldn't."

" But she's as obstinate as a mule. She'll get the better of him
if you really mean it." He assured her that he really did mean it,
and determined that he would take her advice as to seeing, or en-
deavouring to see, Mr. Wharton once again. But before doing so
he thought it to be expedient to put his house into order, so that he
might be able to make a statement of his affairs if asked to do so.
Whether they were flourishing or the reverse, it might be necessary
that he should have to speak of them, — with, at any rate, apparent
candour.

The reader may, perhaps, remember that in the month of April

THE PRIME MINI8TEB.

Ferdiiiutul Lopez had managed to extract a certain Hignatiire from bis
imfortunuio city friend, Sexty Parker, which made that gentleman
responsible for the payment of a considerable sum of money before
the end of July. Tho transaction had been one of an unmixed
painful uatui'e to Mr. Parker. As soon as he oame to think of it,
after Lopez had left him, he could not prevail upon himself to for-
give himself for his folly. That he,— ne, Sextus Parker,— should
have been induced by a few empty words to give his name for
seven hundred and fifty pounds without any consideration or pos-
sibility of benefit ! And the more he thought of it the more sure he
was that the money was lost. The next day he confirmed his own
fears, and before a week was gone he had .written down the sum as
gone. He told nobody. He did not like to confess his folly. But
he made some inquinr about his friend,— which was absolutely
futile. No one that he knew seemed to know anything of the
man's affairs. But he saw his friend from time to time in the city,
shining as only successful men do shine, and he heard of him as
one whose name was becoming known in the city. Still he suffered
grievously. His money was surely gone. A man does not fly a
kite in that fashion till things with him have reached a bad pass.

So it was with Mr. Parker all through May and to the end of June,
■~the load ever growing heavier and heavier as the time became
nearer. Then, while he was still afflicted v^ith a heaviness of
spirits which had never left him since that fatal day, who but Fer-
dinand Lopez should walk into his ofiice, wearing the gayest smile
and with a hat splendid as hats are splendid only in the city. And
nothing could be more "jolly" than his friend's manner, — so much
so that Sexty was almost lifted up into temporary jollity himself.
Lopez, seating himself, almost at once began to deBcribe a certain
speculation into which he was going rather deeply, and as to which
he invited his friend Parker's co-operation. He was intending,
evidently, not to ask, but to confer a favour.

" I rather think that steady business is best," said Parker. " I
hcpe it's all right about that £750."

* * Ah ; yes ; — I meant to have told you. I didn't want the money,
as it turned out, for much above a, fortnight, and as there was no
v^se in letting the bill run out, I settled it. So saying he took out
a pocket-book, extracted the bill, and showed it to Sexty. Sexty's
heart fluttered in his besom. There was his name still on the bit
of paper, and it might still be used. Having it shown to him after
this fashion in its mid career, of course he had strong ground for
hope. But he could not bring himself to put out his hand for it.
" As to what you say about steady business, of course that's very
well," said Lopez. "It depends upon whether a man wants to
make a small income or a large fortune." He still held the bill as
though he were going to fold it up again, and the importance of it
was so present to Sexty's mind that he could hardly digest the
argument about the steady business. ' ' I own that I am not satisfied
with the former," continued Lopoz, "and that I go in for the

A L0VBR8 PERSEVERANCE.

fortune." As he spoke he tore the bill into throe or four bits, appa-
rei^cly without thinkiue of it, and let the fragments fall upon the
floor. It was as thou^ a mountain had been taken off Sexty's
bosom. He felt almost inclined to send out for a bottle of cham-
pagne on the moment, and the arguments of his fHeud rang in his
ears with quite a difEsrent sound. The allurements of a steady in-
come paled before his eyes, and he too began to tell himself, as he
had often told himsf If before, that if he would only keep his eyes
open and his heart high there was no reason why he too should not
become a city millionaire. But on that occasion Lopez left him
soon, without saying very much about his favourite speculation. In
a few days, however, the same matter was brought before Sexty's
eyes from another direction. He learned from a side wind that the
house of Hunky and Sons was concerned largelv in this business,
— or at any rate he thought that he had so learned. The ease
with which Lopez had des&oyed that bill six weeks before it was
due had had great effect upon him. Those arguments about a large
fortune or a small income still clung to himi Lopez had come to
him about the business in the first instance, but it was now neces-
sary that he should go to Lopez. He was, however, very cautious.
He managed to happen to meet Lopez in titie street, and introduced
the subject in his own slap-dash, aery manner, — the result of
which was, that he had gone rather deep into two or three American
mines before the end of July. But he had already made some
money out of them, and, though he would find himself sometimes
ti mbling before he had taken his daily allowance of port wine and
brandy and water, still he was buoyant, and hopeful of living in a
park, with a palace at the West End, and a seat in Parliament.
Knowing also as he did, that his friend Lopez was intimate with
the Duchess of Omnium, he had much immediate' satisfaction in the
intimacy which these relations created. He was getting in the
thin edge of the wedge, and would calculate as he went nome to
Poniier's End how long it must be before he could ask his friend to
propose him at some West End dub. On one halcyon summer
evening Lopez had dined with him at Fender's End, had smiled on
Mrs. Parker, and played "^th the hopeful little Parkers. On that
occasion Sexty had assured his wife mat he regarded his friendship
with Ferdinand Lopez as the most fortunate circumstance of his life.
" Do be c&reful, Sexty," the poor woman had said. But Parker
had simply told her that she understood nothing about business.
On that evening Lopez had thoroughly imbued him with the con-
viction that if you will only set your mind that way, it is quite as
easy to amass a large fortune as to earn a small ':icome.

About a week before the departure of the Whartone for Here-
fordshire, Lopez, in compliance with Mrs. Roby's councils, called
at the chambers in Stone Buildiugs. It is difficult to say that you
will not see a man, when the man is standing just on the other
side of an open door ; — nor, in this case, was Mr. Wharton quite
clear that he had better decline to bue th^ man. But while he was

THE PRIME MINTSTF'.R.

doubting,— at. nny rato before ho had roaolved upon denying hi«
proHonco, — tho raan was thore, inside his room. Mr. Wharton got
up from his chair, hesitated a moment, and then gave his hand to
the intruder in that half- unwilling, unsatisfactory manner which
most of us have experienced when shaking hands with some cold-
blooded, ungenial acquaintance. "Well, Mr. Lopez, — what can I
do for you?" he said, as he re-seatod himself He looked as
though he were at his ease and master of the situation. He had
control over himself sufficient for assuming' such a manner. But
his heart was not high within his bosom. The* more he looked at
the man the less he liked him.

' ' There is one thing, and one thing only, you can do for me,"
said Lopez. His voico was peculiarly sweet, and when he spoke
his words seemed to mean more than when they came f^m other
mouths. But Mr. Wharton did not like sweet yoioes and mellow,
soft words, — at least not from men's mouths.

" I do not think that I can do anything for you, Mr. Lopez," he
said. There was a slight pause, during which the visitor put down
his hat and seemed to hesitate. ** 1 think your coming here can
be of no avail. Did I not explain myself when I saw you
before?"

•• But, I fear, I did not explain myself. I hardly told my story."

*'Tou can tell it, of course, — if you think the telling will do
you any good."

"I was not able to say then, as I can say now, that your
daughter had acceptad my love."

"You ought not to have spoken to my daughter on the subject
after what passed between us. I told you my mind frankly."

"Ah, Mr. Wharton, how was obedience in such a matter pos-
sible ? What would you yourself think of a man who in such a
position would be obedient ? I did not seek her secretly. I did
nothing underhand. Before I had oncj directly asked her for her
love, 1 came to you."

" What's the use of that, if you go to her immediately after-
wards in manifest opposition to my wishes ? You found yourself
bound, as would any gentleman, to ask a father's leaye, and when
it was refused, you went on just as though it had been granted !
Don't you call that a mockery P "

" I can say now, sir, what I could not say then. We love each
other. And I am as sure of her as I am of myself when I assert
that we shall be true to each other. Tou musi know her well
enough to be sure of that also."

" I am sure of nothing but of this; — ^that I will not give her
my consent to become your wife."

" What is your objection, Mr. Wharton P "

" I explained it before as far as I found myself called upon to
pxplaiiii it."

" Are we both to be sacrificed for some reason that we neither of
VA understand ? "

A LUVKlt 8 PKKHKVKKANGI::.

**How dure you tuke upou yourself to sity thut Hho doesn't
understand ! Because I refuse to be inoiu uxpliuit to you, a
you suppose that I am equally silent to my own

stranger,
child?"

" In regard to money and social rank I am able to place vour
daughter as my wife m a position as good as she now hoiOB as
Miss Wharton.*'

"I care nothing about money, Mr. Lopez, and our ideas of
social rank are perhaps different. I have nothing further to say
to you, audi do not think that you can haye anything further to
say to me tnat can be of any avail." Thou, having tinished his
speech, he got up from his onair and stood upright, thereby de-
manding of nis visitor that he should dopart.

" I think it no more than honest, Mr. Wharton, to declare this
one thing. I regard myself as irrevocably eneaged to your
daughter ; and she, although she has refused to bind herself to me
by mat special word, is, I am certain, as firmly fixed in her choice
as I am in mine. My happiness, as a matter of coui'se, can bo
nothing to you."

" Not much," said the lawyer, with angry impatience.

Lopez smiled, but he put down the word in his memory and
'determined that he would treasure it there. " Not much, at any
rate as yet," he said. " But her happiness must be much to you.

"It IS everything. But in thiul iig of her happiness I must
look beyond what might be the sa inaction of the present day.
You must excuse me, Mr. Lopez, if ' that I would rather not
discuss the matter with you any fw Then he rang the bell

and passed quickly into an inner lOO. When the clerk oame
Lopez of course marched out of the chambers and went his way.

Mr. Wharton had been very fiLrm, and yet he was shaken. It
was by degrees becoming a fixed idea in his mind that the man's
material prosperity was assured. He was airaid even to allude to
the subject when talking to the man himsulf, lest he should be
overwhelmed by evidence on that subject. Then the man's manner,
though it was distasteful to Wharton himself, Would, he well knew,
recommend him to others. He was good looking, he lived with
people who were highly regarded, he could speak up for himself,
and he was a favoured guest at Carlton House Terrace. So great
had been the fame of the Duchess and her hospitality during the
last two months, that the fact of the man's success in this respect
had come home even to Mr. Wharton. He feared that the world
would be against him. and he already began to dread the joint
opposition of the world and his own child. The world of this day
did not, he thought, care whether its daughters' husbands had or
had not any fathers or mothers. The world as it was now didn't
care whether its sons-in-law were Christian or Jewish ; — whether
they had the fair skin and bold eyed and uncertain words of an
lOiiglish gentleman, or the t>wai-thy colour and false grimace and glib
longue of some iuierior Latin raco. But he cured for these things ;

9i THE PRIME MINIBTRR.

— and it wan dreadful to him to think that his daughter should
not care for thorn. " I suppose I had better die and lokve thorn to
look after ihomselves," he said, as he returned to his arm-ohair.

Lopez himself was not altoj^^ther ill-satisfied with the iuteryiew,
not havinff expeoted that li^. Wharton would have given way at
onoe, and Destowed upon him then and there the kind father* in '
law's " hlees you, — bless you!" Something yet had to be done
before the blessing would come, or the girl, — or the money. He
had to-day assertM his own material suooess, speaking of himself
as of a moneyed man,— and the statement had been lyceivcd with
no contradiction, — eyen without the suggestion of a doubt. He did
not therefore suppose that the difficulty was over ; but he was
cleyer enough to perceiye that the aversion to him on another
score might help to tide him oyer that difficulty. And if once he
could call the girl his wife, he did not doubt but that he could
build himself up with the odd barrister's money. After leaving
Lincoln's Inn he went at onoe to Berkeley Street, and was soon
closeted with Mrs. Boby. '* You can get her here before they go P "
he said.

" She wouldn't come ; — and if we arranged it without letting her
know that you were to be here, she womd tell her father. She
hasn't a partiole of female intrigue in her."

" So much the better," said me lover.

'« That's
sudi
to look
before I'd stand such treatment."

« Tou could give her a letter."

"She'd only show it to her father. She is 00 perverse that I
sometime' feel inclined to say that I'll have nothing farther to do
with her."

** You'll give her a message at any rate P "

" Yes, — I can do that ;— Mcause I can do it in a way that won't
seem to make it important."

'* But I want my message to be very important. Tell her that
I've seen her father, and mive offered to explain all my affairs to
him, — BO that he may know that there is nothing. to fear on her
behalf."

** It isn't any thought of money that is troubling him."

" But tell her what I say. He, however, would listen to nothing.
Then I assured him that no consideration on earth would induce
me to surrender her, and that I was as sure of her as I am of
myself. Tell her that ; — and tell her that I think she owes it to
me to say one word to me before she goes into the oountry."

▲UTHUB FLUTCHUH.

OHAPTKU XV.

ARTHUR PLBTOHEB.

It may, I think, be a quoRtion whether the two old men acted winely
in hayinff Arthur Fletoher at Wharton Hall ^rhon Emily arrived
there. The story of his love for Miss Wharton, as tar us it had as yet
gone, must be shortly told. He had been the second Hon, as he was
now the second brother, of a Herefordshire squire endowed wi« h much
larger property than that belonging to Sir Aiured. John Fletcher,
Esq., of Longbams, some twelve miles from Wharton, was a consider-
able man in Herefordshire. This present squire had married Sir
Alured's eldest daughter, and the younger brother had, almost since
they Were ohildren together, been known to be in love with Emily
Wharton. All the Fletchers and everything belonging to them were
almost worshipped at Wharton Hall. There had been marriages be-
tween the two families certainly as far back as the time of Henry V II . ,
and they were accustomed to speak, if not of alliances, at any rate
of friendships, much anterior to that. As regards family, therefore,
the pretensions of a Fletcher would always be held to be good by a
Wharton. But this Fletcher was the very pearl of the Fletcher
tribe. Though a younger brother, he had a very pleasant little
fortune of his own. Though born to comfortable droumstauces, he
had worked so hard in his young days as to have already made for
himself a name at the bar. He was a fair-haired, handsome fellow,
with sharp, eager eyes, with an aquiline nose, and just that shape
of mouth and chin which such men as Abel Wharton regarded as
characteristio of good blood. He was rather thin, about five feet
ten in height, and had the character of being one of the best horse-
men in the county. He was one of the most popular men in He-
refordshire, and at Longbams was almost as much thought of as
the squire himself. He certainly was not the man to be taken, from
his appearance, for a forlorn lover. He looked like one of those
happy sons of the gods who are born to success. No young man of
his age was more courted both by men and*women. There was no
one who in his youth had suffered fewer troubles from those causes
of trouble which visit English young men, — occasional impe-
cuniosity, sternness of parents, native shyness, fear of ridicule, in-
ability of speech, and a general pervading sense of inferiority com-
bined with an ardent desire to rise to a feeling of conscious superi-
ority. So much had been done for him by nature that he was never
called upon to pretend to anything. Throughout the county thoso
were the lucky men, — and those too were the happy girls, — who
were allowed to call him Arthur. And yet this paragon was vainly
in love with Emily Wharton, who, in the way of love, would have
nothing to say to him, preferring, — us Liv. f»lher once said in his
extremest wrath, — a greasy Jew adventurer out of th« gutter !
And now it had boon thought expedient to have him down to

THE PRIME MINISTER.

I'ii

Wharton, although the lawyers' regular summer vacation had not
yet commenced. But there was some excuse made for this, over
and above the emergency of his own love, in the fact that his bro-
ther John with Mrs. Fletcher was also to be at the Hall, — so that
there was gathered there a great family party of the Whartons and
Fletchers ; for there was present there also old Mrs. Fletcher, a
magniticently aristocratic and hi^h-minded old lady, with snow-
white hair, and lace worth fifty guineas a yard, who was as anxious
as everybody else that her younger son should marry Emily Whar-
ton. Something of the truth as to Emily Whartcm's £60,000 was,
of course, known to the Longbams people. Not that I would have
it inferred that they wanted their darling to sell himself for money.
The Fletchers were great people, with great spirits, too good in
every way for such baseness. But when love, old friendship, good
birth, together with every other propriety as to age, manner^, and
conduct, can be joined to money, such a combination will always
be thought pleasant.

When Arthur reached the Hall it was felt to be necessary that a
word should be said to him as to that wretched interloper, Ferdi-
nand Lopez. Arthur had not of late been often in Manchester Square.
Though always most cordially welcomed theis by old Wharton, and
treated with every kindness by Emily Wharton short ol that love
which he desired, he had during the last three or four months ab-
stained from frequenting the house. During the past winter, and
early in the spring, he had pressed his suit, — but had been rejected,
with warmest assurances of all friendship short of love. It had
then been arranged between him and the elder Whartons that they
should all meet down at the Hall, and there had been sympathetic
expressions of hope that all might yet be well. But at that time
little or nothing had been known of Ferdinand Lopez.

But now the old baronet spoke to him, the father having deputed
the loathsome task to his friend, — being unwilling himself even to
hint his daughter's disgrace. " Oh, yes, I've heard of him," said
Arthur Fletdier. *' I met him with Everett, and I don't think I
ever took a stronger dislike to a man. Everett seems very fond ol
him." The baronet mournfully shook his head. It was sad to find
that Whartons could go so far astray. " He goes to Carlton House
Terrace, — to the Duchess's," continued the young man.

" I don't think that that is very much in his favour," said the
baronet.

" I don't know that it is, sir ; — only they try to cateh all fish in
that net that are of any use."

" Do you ^o there, Arthur ?"

*' I should if I were asked, I suppose. I don't know who wouldn't.
You see it's a Coalition afiair, so thai everybody is able to feol that
he is supporting his party by going to the Duchess's."

*' I hate Coalitions," said the baronet. "I think they are dis-
graceful."

" Well ; — yes ; 1 don't know. The coach has to be driven somo-

ARTHUB FLETOHEB.

how. You mustn't stick in the mud, you know. And after all, sir,
the Duke of Omnium is a r pectable man, though he is a Liberal.
A Duke of Omnium can't want to send the country to the dogs."
The old man shook his head. He did not understand much aoout
it, but he felt conyinoed that the Duke and his collea^^nes were
sending the country to the dogs whatever might be their wishes.
"I shan't think of politics for the next ten years, and so I don't
trouble myself about the Duchess's parties, but I suppose I should
go if I were asked."

Sir Alured felt that he had not as vet begun even to approach
the difficult subject. " I'm glad you don't like that man," ne suid.

* ' I don't like him at all. Tell me, Sir Alured ;^-why is he ai ways
going to Manchester Square P"

" Ah ;— that is it."

** He hafi been there constantly ; — has he not P"

*' No ; — ^no. I don't think that. Mr. Whartoo doesn't love him
a bit better than you do. My cousin thinks him a most ol^eotion-
able young man.

" But Emily P**

"Ah . That's where it is."

*' Tou don't mean to say she — cares about that man I"

*' He has been encouraged by that aunt of hers, who, as far as I
can make out, is a very imfit sort of person to be much with such
a girl as our dear Emily. I never saw her but once, and then I
didn't like her at aU."

" A vulgar, good-natured woman. But what can she have done P
She can't have twisted Emily round her .^ger."

" I don't suppose there is very much in it, but I thought it better
to tell you. Girls take fancies mto their hMtds,— just for a time."

*' He's a handsome fellow, too," said Arthur Fletcher, musing in
his sorrow.

" My cousin says he's a nasty Jew-looking man."

" He's not that. Sir Alured. He's a han^me man, with a fine
voice ; — dark, and not just like an Englishman ; but still I can
fancy . That's bad news for me, Sir Alured."

" 1 think she'll forget all about him down here."

"She never forgots anything. I shall ask her, straight away.
She knows my feeUns about her, and I haven't a doubt but she'll
tell me. She's too honest to be able to lie. Has he got any
money P"

" My cousin seems to think that he's ridi."

" I suppose he is. Oh, Lord ! That's a blow. I wish I could
have the pleasure of shooting him as a man might a few years ago.
But what would be the goo^l P The girl would only hate me Uie
more after it. The best uiing to do would be to shoot myself."

' • Don't talk like that, Arthur."

" I shan't throw up the spouge as long as there's a chance left,
Sir Alured. But if will go badly with me if I'm beat at last. I
ihouldu't have thought it possible that I should have felt anything

i I

THE PRIME MINISTER.

SO much.*' Then he pulled his hair, and thrust his hand into his
waistcoat ; and turned away, so that his old friend might not see
the tear in his eye.

His old friend also was much moyed. It was dreadful to him
that the happiness of a Fletcher, and the comfort of the Whartons
generally, should be marred by a man with such a name as Fer-
dinand Lopez. " She'll never marry him without her father's con-
sent," said Sir Alured.

" If sle means it of course he'll consent."

" That I'm sure he won't. He doesn't like the man a bit better
than yon do." Fletcher shook his head. "And he's as fond of
you as though you were already his son."

" What does it matter P If a ^1 sets her heart on marrying a
man, of course she will marry him. If he had no moneyit might

be diflTerent. But if he's well off, of course he'll succeed. Well ;

I suppose other men haye borne the same sort of thing before and
it hadn't killed them."

" Lici 'ii5 hope, my boy. I think of her quite as much as of you.'*

** Yes, — we can hope. I shan't giye it up. As for her, 1 dare
say she knows what will suit her best. I'ye nothing to say against
the man,— excepting that I should like to cut him into four
quarters."

"But a foreigner!"

** Qir]a don't think about that, — ^not as you do and Mr. Whar-
ton. And I think they like dark, greasy men with slippery yoioes,
who are up to dodges and full of secrets. Well, sir, I shall go to
her at once and have it out."

*• You'll speak to my cousin P"

** Certainly I will. He has always been one of the best friends
I eyer had in my life. T know it hasn't been his fault. But what
can a man do P Qirls won't marry this man or that because they're
told."

Fletcher did speak to Emily's father, and learned more from him
than had been told him by Sir Alured. Indeed he learned the
whole truth. Lopez had been twice with the father pressing
his suit and had been twice repulsed, with as absolute denial as
words could conyey. Emily, noweyer, had declared her own
feeling openly, ezpressine her wish to marry the odious man,
promising not to do so without her other's consent, but evidently
feeling that that consent ou^ht not to be withheld from her. All this
Mr. Wharton told very plainly, walking with Arthur a little before
dinner along a shaded, lonely path, which for half a mile ran along
the very marge of the Wye at the bottom of the park. And then
he went on to speak other words which seemed to rob his young
friend of all hope. The old man was walking slowly, with his hands
clasped behind his back and with his eyes fixed on the path as he
went ; — and he spoke slowly, evidently weighing his words as he
uttered them, bringing home to his ^hearer a o<mviction that the
matter discussed' fas one of supreme importance to the speaker,-^

ABTHUB FLETOHEB.

into his
not see

to him
'^hartona

as Fer-
jr's con-

it better
fond of

nyiag a
it might

^eU ;

)fore and

of you."
ir, I dare
Y against
uto four

r. Whar-
•y voices,
lall go to

t friends
ut what
they're

romhim
Imed the

pressing

[enial as

ler own

^us man,

Evidently

All this
lie before
[an along
pd then
[s young

is nands
lith as he

Is as he
I that the

aaker,—

as to which he had ihousht much, so as to be able to express his
settled resolutions. " I^e told you all now, Arthur;— only this.
I do not know how lon^ I may be able to resist thi»*man'8 claim
if it be backed by Emily's entreaties. I am thinking very much
about it. I do not know that I have really been able to think of
anything else for the last two months. It is aU the world to me, —
what she and Everett do with themselves ; and what she may do in
this matter of marriaee is of infinitely greater importance than
anything that can befall him. If he makes a mistake, it may be

put right. But with a woman's marrying , vestigia nulla

retrorsum. She has put off all her old bonds and taken new ones,
which must be her bonds for life. Feeling this very strongly, and
disUking this man greatly,— disliking him that is to say in the
view of this close relation, — I have felt mvself to be justified in so
far opposing my child by the use of a high hand. I have refused
my sanction to the marriage both to him and to her, — though in
truth I have been hard set to find any adequate reason for doing
so. I have no right to fashion my girl's life by my prejiidices. My
life has been liv^. Hers is to come. In this matter I should oe
cruel and unnature.1 were I to allow myself to be governed by any
selfish inclination. Though I were to know that she would lie lost
to me for ever, I must give way, — if once brought to a conviction
that by not giving w^ I should sacrifice her young happiness. In
this matter, Arthur, I must not even think of you, though I love
you well. I must consider only my child's welfare ;— and in doing
so I must try to sift my own feelings and my own judgment, and
ascertain, if it be possible, whether my distaste^ to the man is
reasonable or irrational ; — whether I should serve her or sacrifice
her by obstinacy of refusal. I can speak to you more plainly than
to her. Indeed I have laid bare to you Siy whole heart and my
whole mind. You have aU my wishes, but you will understand
that I do not promise you my continued assistance." When he
had so spoken he put out his hand and pressed his companion's
arm. Then he turned slowly into a little by-path which led across
the park up to the house, and left Arthur Fletcher standing idone
by the river's bank.

And so by degrees the blow had come full home to him. He had
been twice refused. Then rumours had reached him, — not at first that
he had a rival, but that there was a man who might possibly become
so. And now this rivalry, and its success, were declared to him
nlainly. He told himself icom. this moment that he had not a
chance. Looking forward he could see it all. He understood the
gill's character sufficiently to be sure that she would not be wafted
about, from one lover to another, by change of scene. Taking her
t/> Dresden, — or to New Zealand, — would only confirm in her
passion such a girl as Emily Wharton. Nothing could shake her
out the ascertained unworthiness of the man, — and not that unless
it were ascertained beneath her own eyes. And then years must
pass by before she would yield to another lover. There was a

100

THE PRIME MINISTER.

farther question, too, "which ho did not fail to ask himself. Was
the man necessarily unworthy because his name was Lopez, and
because he ^id not come of English blood P

As he strove to think of this, if not coolly yet rationally, he eat
himself down on the river's side and began to pitch stones off the
path in among the rocks, amone which at that spot the water
made its way rapidly. There haabeen moments in which he had
been almost ashamed of his love, — and now he did not know
whether to be most ashamed or most proud of it. But he recog-
nised the fact that it was crucifying him, and that it would continue
to crucify him. He knew himself in London to be a popular man,
— oneof tliose for whom, according to general opinion, girls should
sigh, rather than one who should break hishea^ sighing for a girl.
He had often told himself that it was beneath his manliness to be
despondent ; that he should let such a trouble run from him like
water from a duck's back, consoling himself with the reflection that
if the girl had such bad taste she could hardly be worthy of him.
He had almost tried to belong to that school which throws the heart
away and rules by the Load alone. He knew that others,— perhaps
not those who knew him best, but who nevertheless were the oom-
mnions of many of his hours, — gave him credit for such power.
Why should a man afflict himselt oy the inward burden of an un-
satisfied craving, and allow his heart to sink into his very feet
because a gy*l would not smile when he wooed her P "If she 'be
not fair for me, what care I how fair she be I " He had repeated
the lines to himself a score of times, and had been ashamed of him-
self because he could not make them come true to himself.

They had not come true in the least. There ho was, Arthur
Fletcher, whom all the world courted, with his heart in his very
boots I There- was a miserable load within him, absolutely palpable
to his outward feeling, — a very physical pain, — which he could not
shake off. As he threw the stones mto the water he told himself that
it must be so with him always. Though the world did pet him,
though he was liked at his club, and courted in the hunting-field,
and loved at balls and archery meetings, and reputed by^ old men
to be a rising star, he told himself that he was so maimed and
mutilated as to be only half a man. He could not reason about it.
Nature had afflicted hmi with d. certain weakness. One man has a
hump ; — anotitier can hardly see out of his imperfect eyes ; — a third
can barely utter a few disjointed words. It was his fate to be con-
structed with some weak arrangement of the blood vessels which
left him in this plight. " The whole damned thing is nothing to
me," he said bursting out into absolute tears, after vainly trying
to reassure himself by a recollection of the good things which the
world still t ad in store for him.

Then he strove to console himself by thiiiking that he might take
a pride in his love even though it were so intolerable a burden to
him. Was it not something to be able to love as he loved P Was
it not something at any rato that she to whom he had condescended

N£V£Il BUM AWAY 1

101

con-
I which

ingto
Itrying

3h the

it take
len to
Was
»nded

to stoop was worthy of all love P But even here he could get no
comtbrt, — beiug in tiuth unable to see very dearly into the condi-
tion of the thing. It was a disgrace to him, — to him within his
own bosom, — that she should have preferred to him such a one as
Ferdinand Lopez, and this disgrace he exaggerated, ignoring the
fact that the girl herself might be deficient in judgment, or led
away in her love by falsehood and counterfeit attractions. To him
she was such a goddess that she must be right, — and therefore his
own inferiority to such a one as Ferdinand Lopez was proved. He
could take no pride in his rejected love. He would nd himself of
it at a moment's notice if he knew the way. He would throw him-
self at the feet of some second-rate, tawdry, weU-bom, Well-known
beauty of the day, — only that there was not now left to him
strength to pretend the feeling that would be necessary. Then he
heard steps, and jumpine up from his seat, stood just in the way
of Emily Wharton and her cousin Mary, "Ain't you going to
dress for dinner, young^ man P " said the latter.

" I shall have time if you haye, any way," said Arthur endea-
vouring to pluck up his spirits.

"That's nice of him; — ^isn't it P'* said Mary. "Why we are
dressed. What more do you want P We came out to look for you,
though we didn't mean to come as far as this. li'a past seven
now, and we are sui)posed to dine at a quarter past."

" Five minutes wm do for me."

" But you've got to get to the house. Tou needn't be in a tre-
mendous hurry because papa has only just oome in from hay-
making. They've got up tne last load, and there has been th
usual ceremony. Emily and I have been looking at them."

"I wish I'd oeen here all the time," said Emily. " I do so hato
London in July."

" So do I," said Arthur, — " in July and all other times."

" Tou hato London I " said Mary.

' ' Yes, — and Herefordshire, — and other places generally. If Tve
got to dress I'd better get across the park as quick as I can go,"
and so he left them. Mary turned round and looked at her cousin,
but at the moment said nothing. Aiihur's passion was well known
to Mary Wharton, but Mary hc^ as yet heard nothing of Ferdinand

LopQ/i.

CHAPTEE XVI.

NEVER RUN AWAY I

DuRiNQ the whole of that evening there was a forced attempt on
the part of all the party at Wharton Hall to be merry, — which, how-
ever, as is the case whenever such attempts are forced, was a failure.

102

THE PBIME MINISTER.

Iliere had been a haymaking harvest-home which was suppoeed to
give the special occasion for mirth, as Sir Alured farmed the land
around the park himselfi and was great in hay. " I don't think it
pays very well," he said with a gentle smile, " but I like <x> employ
some of the people myself. I think the old people find it earner
with me than wiui the tenants."

*' I shouldn't wonder," said his cousin; — "but that's charity,
not employment."

*• No, no," exclaimed the baronet. ** They work for their wages
and do their best. Powell sees to that." Powell was the bailiff,
who knew the length of his master's foot to a quarter of an inch,
and was quite aware that the Wharton haymakers were not to be
overtasked. " Powell doesn't keep any cats about the place, but
what catch mice. But I am not quite sure that haymaking does
pay."

" How do the tenants manage ? "

" Of course they look to things closer. You wouldn't wish me
to let the land up to the house door."

" I think," said old Mrs. Fletcher, *' that a landlord should con-
sent to lose a little by his own farming. It does good in the long
run." Both Mr. Wharton and Sir Aliued felt that this might be
very well at Longbams, though it could hardly be afforded at
Wharton.

" I don't think I lose much by my farming," said the squire of
Longbams. " I have about four hundred acres on hand, and I
keep my accounts pretty regularly."

** Johnson is a very good man I dare say," said the baronet,

"Like most of the others," continued the squire, "he' very
well as long as he's looked after. I think I know as much about
it as Johnson. Of course I don't expect a farmer's profit ; but I do
expect my rent, and I get it." *

" I don't think I manage it quite in that way," said the baronet
in a melancholy tone. >■

" I'm afraid not," said the barrister.

" John is as hard upon the men as any one of the tenants," said
John's wife, Mrs. Fletcher of Longbams.

" I'm not hard at all," said John, " and you understand nothing
about it. I'm paying thiee shillings a week more to every man,
and eighteen pence a week more to every woman, than I did three
years ago."

" That's beoaupe of the Unions," said the barrister.

" I don't care a straw for the Unions. If the Unions interfered
with my comfort I'd let the land and leave the place."

" Oh, John ! " ejaculated John's mother.

" I would not consent to be made a slave even for the sake of the
country. But the wages had to be raised, — and having raised them
I expect to get proper value for my money. If anything has to
be given away, let it be given away, — so that the people shoul4
know what it is that they receive."

».'i

NEVER RUN AWAY I

108

" That's just what we don't want to do here," said Lady Wharton,
who did not often join in any of these arguments.

• ' You're wrong, my lady ,'^ said her stepson. ' 'You're only breed-
ing idleness when you teach people to think that they are earning
wages without working for tiieir money. Whatever you do with
'em let 'em know and feel the truth. It'll be the best in the long
run."

"I'm sometimes happy when I think that I shan't live to
see the long run," said the baronet. This was the manner in which
they tried to be merry that evening after dinner at Wharton Hall.
Tha two girls sat listening to their seniors in contented silence, —
iistoning or perhaps thinking of their own pecuUar troubles, while
Axthur I'leteher held some bo<>k in his hand which he strove to read
with all his might.

There was not one there in the room who did not know that it was
the wish of the united families that Arthur Fletcher should marry
Emily Wharton, and also that Emily had refused him. To Arthur
of course the feeling that it was so could not but be an additional
vexation ; but the knowledge had grown up and had become com-
mon in the two families wiuiout any power on his part to prevent
so disagreeable a condition of aflPairs. There was not one in that
room, unless it was Mary Wharton, who was not more or less angry
with Emily, thinking her to be perverse and unreasonable. Even
to Mary her cousiiuB strange obstinacy was matter of surprise
and sorrow, — for to her Arthur Fletoher was one of those demi-
gods, who should never be refused, who are not en>ected to do
more than express a wish and be accepted. Her own heart had not
strayed that way because she thought but little of herself, knowing
herself to be portionless, and believing from long thought on the
subject that it was not her destiny to be the wife of any man. She
regarded Arthur Fletoher as bein^ of all men the most loveable, —
though, knowing her own condition, she did not dream of loving
him. It did not become her to be angry with another girl on such
a cause ; — but she was amazed that Arthur Fletcher should sigh in
vain.

The girl's folly and perverseness on this head were known to
them all,— but as yet her greater folly and worse perverseness, her
vitiated taste and dreadful partiality for the Portuguese adventurer,
were known but to the two old men and to poor Arthur himself.
When that sternly magnificent old lady, Mrs. Fletcher, — ^whose
ancestors had been Wemh kings in the time of the Bomans, — when
she thould hear this story, the roof of the old hall would hardly be
able to hold her wrath and her dismay ! The old kings had died
away, but the Fletchers, and the Yaughans, — of whom she had
been one, — and the Whartons remained, a peculiar people in an age
that was then surrendering itself to quick perdition, and with
peculiar duties. Among these duties, the chiefest of them incum-
bent on females was that of so restraining their affections that they
should never damage the good cause by leaving it. They mi^ht

104

TFIK PRIME MINISTKR.

narry \yithin the pale,— or remain single, as might be their lot.
She would not take upon herself to say that Emuy Wharton was
bound to accept Arthur Fletcher, merely because such a marriage
was fitting, — although she did think that there was much perverse-
nesB in the girl, who might have taught herself, had die not been
stubborn, to comply with the wishes of the families. But to love one
oelow herself, a man without a father, a foreigner, a black Portu-
guese nameless Jew, merely because he had a bright e^ and a
hook nose, and a glib tongue,— that a girl from the Whartons

should do thi&' ! It was so unnatural to Mrs. Fletcher tibat it

would be hardly possible to her to be oiyil to the sirl after she had
heard that her mmd and taste were so astray. AU this Sir Alured
knew and the barrister knew it, — and they feared her indigna-
tion the more because they sympathised with the old l^y'v
feeling?

'* Emily Wharton doesn't seem to me to be a bit more gracious
than she used to be," Mrs. Fletcher said to Lady Wharton that
night. The two old ladies were sitting together up-stairs, and Mrs.
John Fletcher was with them. In such conferences Mrs. Fletcher
always domineered, — to the perfect contentment of old Lady
WhartoiL, but not equally so to that of her daughtor-in-law.

*' Fm afraid she is not very happy," said Lady Wharton.

" She has everything that ought to make a girl happy, and I
don't know what it is she wants. It makes me quite angry to sec»
her 80 discontented. She doesn't say a word, bi\t sitn there as glum,
as death. If I were Arthur I would leave her for six months, and
never speak to her during the time."

*' I suppose, mother," said the younger Mrs. Fletcher, — who
called her husband's mother, mother, and her own mother, mamma,
— ** a girl needn't marry a man unless she Ukes him."

" But she should try to like him if it is suitable * n other respects.
I don't mean to take any trouble about it. Arthux needn't beg for
any favour. Only I wouldn't have come hero if I had thought that
she had intended to sit silent like that always."

"It makes her unhappy, I suppose," said Lady Wharton,
** because she can't do what we all want."

" Fall, lall ! She' \ have wanted it herself if nobody else had
wished it. I'm surprised that Arthur should be so much taken
with her,"

" You'd better say nothing more about it, mother."

" I don't mean to say anything more about it. It's nothing to
me. Arthur can do very well in the world without Emily Wharton.
Only a girl like that will sometimes make a disgraceful match ;
and we should all feoi tibat."

" I don't think ExiiHy will do anything disgraceful," said Lady
Wharton. And so they parted.

In the mean time the two brothers were smoking their pipes in
the housekeeper's room, which, at Wharton, when theFletehersof
Eyei^ett were tiiere, was freely^ used for that purpose,

WEVKK UUN AWAY !

1U0

their lot.
trton was
marriage
perverae-
not benn
» love one
k Portu-
'e, and a
Vbartons
<r that it
rahehad
ir Alured
indigna-
d Lidy's

gracious
ton that
and Mrs.
Fletcher
Id Lady
w.

>y. and X

ry to seo

as glum

ths, and

coming

"espects.

beg for

ght that

harton,

Ise had
taken

hingto
harton.
DQLatoh;

ILady

ipesin
hersoir

.1 1

'* Isn't it T&fhcr quaint of you," said the elder brother,
dowu here in thu middle of term timo F"

'* It doesn't matter much."

" I should have thought it would matter ; — that is, if you mean
to go on with it."

" I'm not going to make a slave of myself about it, if you mean
that. I don't suppose I shall ever marry, — and as for rising to be
a swell in the profession, I don't care about it."

•• You used to care about it, — very much. You used to say
that if you didn't get to the top it shouldn't be your own fault."

*' And I have worked ; — ana I do work. But things get changed
somehow. I've ha^i a 7nind to give it all up,— to raise a lot of
money, and to start off with a resolution to see every comer of the
world. I suppose a man could do it in about thirty years if he
lived so long. It's the kind of thing would suit m«."

" Exactly. I don't know any fellow who has been more into
society, and therefore you are exactly the man to live alone for the
rest of your life. You've always worked hard, I will say that
for you ; — and therefore you're just the man to be contented with
idleness. You've always been ambitious and self-confident, and
therefore it will suit you to a T, to be nobody and to do nothing."
Arthur sat silent, smoking his pipe with all his might, and his
brother continued, — *' Besides, — you read sometimes, I fancy."

" I should read all the more."

" Very likely. But what you have read, in the old plays, for
instance, must have taught you that when a man is cut up about
a woman, — which I suppose is your case just at present, — he never
does get over it. He never gets all right after a time, — does he ?
Such a one had better go and turn monk at once, as the world ia
over for him altogether ; — isn't it P Men don't recover after a
month or two, and go on just the same. You've never seen that
kind of thing yoursdf P"

" I'm not going to cut my throat or turn monk either."

"No. There are so many steamboats and railways now that
travelling seems easier. Suppose you go as far as St. Petersbiirg,
and see if that does you ojiy good. If it don't, you needn't go on,
bacause it will be hopeless. If it does, — why, you can come back,
because the second journey will do the rest'

" There never was anyming, John, that wasn't matter for chaff
writh you."

*' And I hope there n3ver will be. People understand it when
logic would be thrown away. I suppose the trulth is the ^1 cares
for somebody else." Arthur nodded his head. *' Who is it P Any
one I know P"

•'I think not."

*• Any one you know P"

" I have met the man."

" Decent ?"

" Pisgustingly indecent,

X should say." John looked very

106

THE PRIME MINISTKR.

black, for even with him the feeling about the Whartons and the
Vaughans and the Fletchers was very strong. " He's a man I
should say you wouldn't let in*^ "^ ifbams."

" There might be various re «or that. It might be that you

wouldn't care to meet him."

" Well ; — no, — I don't suppose I should. But without that you
wouldn't like him. I don't think he's an Englishman."

"A foreigner !""

" He has got a foreign name."

" An Italian nobleman ?"

** 1 don't thmk he's noble in any country."

" Who the d is he ? "

" His name is Lopez."

"Everett's friend P"

" Yes; — Everett's Mend. I ain't very muoh obliged to Master
Everett ifor what he has done."

" I've seen the man. Indeed, I may say I know him, — for I
dined with him once in Manchester Square. Old Wharton himself
must have asked him there."

" He was there as Everett's friend. I only heard all this to-day,
you know ; — though I had heard about it before."

" And therefore you want to set out on your travels. As far as
I saw I should say he is a clever fellow."

'* I don't doubt that."

" And a gentleman." ' ^

" I don't know that he is not," said Arthur. " I've no right to
say a word against him. From what Wharton says I suppose he's
rich."

"He's good looking too; — at least he's the sort of man that
women like to look at."

" Just so. I've no cause of quarrel with him, — ^nor with her.
But ."

" Yes, my friend, I see it all," said the elder brother. " I think
I know all about it. But running away is not the thing. One
may be pretty nearly sure that 'one is right when one says that a
man shouldn t run away from anything."

" The thing is to be happy if you can," said Arthur.

" No ; — that is not the thing. I'm not muoh of a philosopher,
but as far as I can see there are two philosophies in the world.
The one is to make one's self happy, and the other is to make other
people happ"-. The latter answers tiie best."

" I can t add to her happiness by han^ng about London."

" That's a quibble. It isn't her happmess we are talking about,
— nor yet your hanging about London. G-ird yourself up and go
on wiui wnat you've got to do. Put your work before your
feelings. What does a poor man do, who goes out hedging and
ditching with a dead child lying in his house P If you get a blow
in tb.e face, return it if it ought to be returned, but never complain
p^ the pain. If you must have your vitals eaten in^o,— have

1 .i

NLYEB r.UK AWAY I

107

them eaten into likn a man. But, mind you, — these ain't youi-
vitals."

•* It goes pretty near."

"These ain't your vitals. A man gets cured of it,— almost
always. I believe always ; though some men get hit so Ixard th«\
oan never bring themselves to try it again. But tell me this.
Has old Wharton given his consent P"

" No. He has refused," said Arthur with strong emphasis.

" How is it to be, then P"

" He has dealt very fairly bv me. He has done all he could to

fet rid of the man,— both with him and with her. He has told
!milv that he will have nothing to do with the man. And she
will ao nothine without his sanction."
" Then it wul remain just as it is."

" No, John ; it will not. He has gone on to say that though he
has refused, — and has refused roughly enough, — he must give way
if he sees tiiat she has really set her heart upon him. And she

" Has she told you so P"

** No; — ^but he has told me. I shall have it out with her to-
morrow, if I oan. And then I shall be off."

*< You'll be here for shooting on the 1st P "

" No. I dare say you're right in what you say about sticking
to my work. It does seem unmanly to run away because of a
girl/

" Because of anything ! Stop and face it, whatever it is."

*' Just so ;— but I can't stop and face her. It would do no good.
For all our sakes I should be better away. I can get shooting
with Musgrave and Carnegie in Perthshire. I dare say I shall go
there, and take a share with them."

*' That's better than going into all the quarters of the globe."

** I didn't mean that I was to surrender and start at once. Tou
take a fellow up so short. I shall do veiy well, I've no doubt, and
shall be hunting here as jolly ae ever at Christmas. But a fellow
must say it all to somebody." G^he elder brother put his hand out
and laid it i^ectionately upon the younger one's arm. " I'm not
goin^ to whimper about the world like a whipped dog. The worst
of it IS so many people have known of this."

" Tou mean down here."

"Oh; — everywhere. I have never told them. It has been a
kind of family affair and thought to be fit for general dis-
cussions."

" That'll wear away."

" In the mean time it's a bort>. Bat that shall be the end of it.
Don't you say another word to me about it, and I won't to you.
And tell mother not to, or Sarah." SariJi was John Fletcher's
wife. " It has got to be dropped, and let us drop it as quickly as
we can. If she does marry this man I don't suppose she'll be
much at Longbarns or Wharton."

108

THK I'RIMK MINIHTKR.

"Not at Lonffbarns certainly, I should nay," repliorl
" Fancy mother having to curtsey to her as Mra. Lopoz !

John.
And I
doubt whother Sir Alurod would Tike him. Ue inn't of our sort.
He's touclovor, too coHUiupolitAn, — a sort of man whitewashed of all
prejudices, who wouldn't mind whether he ate horseflesh or buef if
horseflesh were as good as boef, and never had an association in his
life. I'm not sure that he's not on the safest side. Good night, old
fellow. Pluck up, and send us plenty of groufie if you do go to
Scotland."

John Flotcbcr, us I hope may have been already seen, was by no
moans a weak man or an indifft*reut brother. He was warm-
hearted, sharp-witted, and, though perhaps d little self-opinionated,
considered throughout the county to be one of the most prudent
in it. Indeed no one ever ventured to doubt his wisdom on all

Sraotioal matters, — save his mother, who seeing him almost everj
ay, had a sironger bias towards her younger son. "Arthur has
been hit hard about that girl," he said to his wife that night.

"Emily Wharton P"

" Yes ; — your cousin Emilv. Don't say anjrthing to him, but be
as good to him as you know now."

" Good to Arthur I Am not I always good to him ? "

" Be a little more than usually tender with him. It makes one
almost cry to see such a fellow hurt like that. I can understand it,
though I never had anjrthing of it myself."

" xou ne\ r had, John," said the wife leaning close upon the
husband's breast as she spoke. "It all came very easily to you ; —
too easily perhaps."

"If any girl nad ever refused me, I should have taken her at
her word, I can tell you. There would have been no second * hop '
to that ball."

" Then I suppose I was right to catch it the first time P "

" I don't say now that may be."

" I was right. Oh, dear me I— Suppose I had doubted, just for
once, and you had gone off. Tou would have tried once more ; —
wouldn't you P "

" You'd have gone about like a broken-winged old hen, and
have softened me that way."

" And now poor Arthur has had his wing broken."

" You mustii't let on to know that it's broken, and the wing will
be healed in due time. But what fools girls are I "

" Indeed they are, John ;— particularly me."

" Fanov a girl like Emily Wharton," said he, not condescending
to notice her uttle joke, " throwing over a fellow like Arthur for u
greasy, black foreigner."

" A foreigner I "

"Yes; — a man named Lopez. Don't say anything about it at
present. Won't she live to find out the difference, and to know
what she has done I X can tell her of one that won't pity her.'*

GOOD-BYE.

109

OUAPTBR XVU.

OOOD-DYB.

A.RTTnjR FiiETcnER received hin brother's teaching as tme, and
took hie brother's advice in snod part ; — so that, before the moniing
followinff, he had resolved tnat however deep the woiind might be,
he would so live before the world, that the world should not see his
wound. What people already knew they must know, — but they
should learn nothing further either by words or signs from him.
He would, as ho hod 'said to his brother, "have it out wiUi
Emily ; " and then, if she told him plainly that she loved the man,
he would bid her adieu, simply expressing regret that their coursa
for life should be divided. He waH confident that she would teU
him the entire truth. She would be restrained neither by false
modesty, nor by any assumed unwillingness to discuss her own
aflaitB with a fnend so true to her as he had been. He knew her
well enough to be sure that ^e recognised the value of his love
though she could not bring herself to accept it. There are rcgeoted
lovers who, merely because they are lovers, become subject to the
scorn and even to the disgust of the girls they love. But again
there are men who, even when they are rejected, are almost loved,
who are considered to be worthy of all reverence, almost of worship ;
— and yet the worshippers will not love them. Not analyzing all
this, but somewhat conscious of the light in which this ^rl regtoded
him, he knew that what he might say would be treated with deference.
As to shaking her,— -as to talking her out of one pu.^poee and into
another, — that to him did not for a moment seem to be practicable.
There was no hope of that. He hardly knew why he shoidd en-
deavour to say a word to her before he left Wharton. And yet he
felt that it must be said. Were he to allow her to be married to
this man, without any farther previous word between them, it
would appear that he had resolved to quarrel with her for ever.
But now, at this very moment of time, an he lay in his bed, as he
dressed himself in the morning, as he sauntered about among the
now hay-stacks with his pipe in his mouth after breakfast, he
came to some conclusion in his mind very much averse to such
quarrelling.

He had loved her with all his heart. It had not been a mere
drawing-room love begotten between a couple of waltzes, and
fostered by five minutes in a crush. He knew himself to be a man
of the world, and he did not wish to be other than he was. He
could talk among men as men telked, and act as men acted ; — and
he could do the same with women. But there was one person who
had been to him above all, and round everything, and upder every-
thing. There had been a private nook within him into which there
had Deen no entrance but for the one ima^. There had been a
holy of holies, which he had guarded within himself, keeping it

110

THE PTtlMS MINIStER.

free from all outer contamination for his own use. He had
cherished the idea of a clear fountain of ever-running water which
would at last he his, always read^ for the comfort of his own lips.
Now all his hope was shattered, his trust was gone, and his longing
disappointed. But the person was the same person though she
could not he hisc The nook was there, though she would not fill
it. The holy of holies was not less holy, though he himself might
not dare to mt the curtain. The fountain would still run.-^still
the clearest fountain of all, — though he might not put his lips to it.
He would never allow himself to tmnk of it with lessened reverence,
or with changed ideas as to her nature.

And then as he stood leaning against a ladder which still kept its
place against one of the hay-ricks, and filled his second pipe uncon-
sciously, he had to realise to himself the prohahle condition of his
future life. Of course she would marry tiiis man with very little
further delay. Her father had alread;(r declared himself to be tooweak
to interfere much loneer with her wishes. Of course Mr. Wharton
would give way. He had himself declared that he would give way.
And then, — ^what sort of life would be her life P No one knew
anything; about the man. Th^re was an idea that he was rich, —
but wealth such as his, wealth that is subject to speculation, will
fly away at a moment's notice. He might be cruel, a mere adven-
turer, or a thorough ruffian for all that was known of him. There
should, thought Arthur Fletcher to himself, be more stability in
the giving and taking of wives than could be reckoned upon here.
He became old in that half hour, taking home to himself and appre-
ciating many saws of wisdom and finger-directions of experience
which hitherto had been to him matters almost of ridicule. But he
could only come to this conclusion, — that as she was sdll to be to
him his holy of holies though he might not lay his hand upon the
altar, his fountain though he might not drink of it, the one image
which alone could have filled that nook, he would not cease to
regard her happinttis when she should have become the wife of
this stranger. With ti^ie stranger himself he never could be on
friendly terms ; — but for the stranger's wife there should always
be a fnend, if the friend were needed.

About an hour before*lunch John Fletcher, who had been hang-
ing about the house all the morning in a manner very unusual to
him, caught Emily Wharton as she was passing through die hall,
and told her that Arthur was in a certain part of the grounds and
wished to speak to her. " Alone P " she asked. "Yes, certainly
f^one." " Ought I to go to him, John P " she asked again. " Cer-
tainly I think you ought." Then he had done his commission and
was able to apply himself to whatever business he had on hand.

Emily at once put on her hat, took her parasol, and ' left the
house. There was something distasteful to her in the idea of this
going out at a lover's bidding, to meet k^'m ; but like all Whartons
and all Fletchers, she trusted John Fletcher. And then she was aware
that there were circumstances which might make such a meeting

-•^

OOOD-BYK.

Ill

He had
iter which
I own lips,
is longing
lough she
lid not fill
self might
run,-i-still
lips to it.
reverence,

ill kept its
■pe uncon-
tion of his
very little
e too weak

Wharton
give way.
one knew
SLB rich, —
Eition, will
ire adven-
n. There
tahility in
ipon here.
Ind appre-
xpenence
). But he
1 to be to

upon the
me image

cease to
B wife of
lid be on

d always

en hang-
Lusual to
the hall,
inds and
Qertainly
"Cer-
sion and
land,
left the
. of this
hartons
IS aware
meeting

as this serviceable. She knew nothing of what had taken place
duriDg the last four-aud-twentv hours. She had no idea that in
consequence of words spoken to him by her father and his brother,
Arthur Fletcher was about to abandon his suit. There would have
been no doubt about her going to meet him had she thought this.
She supposed that she would have to hear again the old story. If
so, she would hear it, and would then have an opportunity of telling
him that her heart had been given entirely to another. She knew
all that she owed to him. After a fashion she did love him. He was
entitled to all kindest consideration from her hands. But he should
be told the truth.

As she entered the shrubbery he came out to meet her, giving
her his hand with a frank, easy air and a pleasant smile. His
smile was as bright as the ripple of the sea, and his eye would then

fleam, and the slightest sparkle of his white teeth woul4 be seen
etween his lips, and the dimple of his chin would show itself
deeper than at other times. "It is very good of you. I thought
you^d come. John asked you, I suppose."

"Yes; — he told me you were here, and he said I ought to

come.

" I don't know about ought, but I

„ , think it better. Will you

mind walking on, as I've got something that I want to say P " Then
he turned and she turned with him into the little wood. " I'm not
going to bother you any more, my darling,^ he said. " You are
still my darling, though I will not call you so after this." Her
heart sank almost in her bosom as she heard this, — ^though it was
exactly what she would have wished to hear. But now there must
be some close understanding between them and some tenderness.
She knew how much she had owed him, how good he had been to
her, how true had been his love ; and she felt that words would fail
her to say that which ought to be said. " So you have given your-
self to — one Ferdinand Lopez ! "

* ' Yes," she said, in a hard, dry voice. " Yes ; I have. I do not
know who told you ; but I have.'

" Your father told me. It was better, — was it not ? — ^that I
should know. You are not sorry that I should know r* "

" It is better."

" I am not going to say a word against him.'*

" No ;— do not do that."

" Nor against you. I am simply here now to let you know that
1 retire."

" You will not quarrel with me, Arthur P "

'* Qiuurrel with you I I could not quarrel with you, if I would.
No ; — there shall be no quarrel. But I do not suppo: . we shall
Bee each other very often."

*' I hope we may."

" Sometimes, perhaps. A man should not, I think, affect to be
friends with a successfiil rival. I dare say he is an excellent fellow,
but how is it possible that he and I should get on together P But

112

THE PRIME MINISTER.

you will always Lavo one, — one besides him, — who will love yoil
best in this world."

"No; — no; — no."

" It must be so. There will be nothing wrong in that. Every
one has some dearest friend, and you will fdways be mine. If any-
thing of evil should ever happen to you, — which of course there

won't, — there would be some one who would . But I don't

want to talk buncum ; I only want you to believe me. Good-bye,
and God bless you." Then he put out his right hand, holding his
hat under his left arm.

*' You are not going away P "

" To-morrow, perhaps. But I will say my real good-bye to you
here, now, to-day. I hope you may be happy. I hope it with all
my heart. Good-bye. God bless you I "

" Oh, Arthur ! " Then she put her hand in hii».

" Oh, I have loved you so dearly. It has been with my whole
heart. Tou have never quite understood me, but it has been as
true as heaven. I have thought sometimes that had I been a little
less earnest about it, I should have been a little less stupid. A
man shouldn't let it get the better of him, as I have done. Say
good-bye to me, Emily."

" Good-bye," she said, still leaving her hand in his. ^

"I suppose that's about all. Don't let them quarrel with you
here if you can help it. Of course at Longbarns tney won't like it
for a time. Oh, — if it could have been different ! " Then he
dropped her hand, and turning his back quickly upon her, went
away along the path.

She had expected and had almost wished that he should kiss her.
A girl's cheek is never so holy to herself as it is to her lover, — if he
do love her. There woiUd have been something of reconciliation,-
something of a promise of future kindness in a kiss, which even
Ferdinand would not have grudged. It would, for her, have robbed
the parting of that bitterness of pain which his words had given to
it. As to all that he had made no calculation ; but the bitterness
was there for him, and he could have done nothing that would have
expelled it.

She wept bitterly as she returned to the house. There might
have been cause for joy. It was clear enough that her father,
though he had shown no sign to her of yielding, was nevertheless
prepared to yield. It Was her father who had caused Arthur
Fletcher to take himself off, as a lover really dismissed. But, at
this moment, she could not bring herself to look at that aspect of
the affair. Hei mind would revert to all those choicest moments
in her early years in which she had been happy with Arthur
Fletcher ; in which she had first learned to love him, and had then
taught herself to understand by some confused and perplexed lesson
that she did not love him as men and women love. But why should
she not so have lovtd him ? Would she not have done so could she
then haye understood how true and firm he was i* Aud then, in-

THE DUKE OF OMNIUM TmNKS OF HIMSELF.

113

love yott

b. Every
If any-
irse there
it I don't
>ood-bye,
Iding his

►ye to you
it with all

my whole
Eis been as
en a little
tupid. A
one. Say

L with you

)n't like it

Then he

her, went

kiss her.
er, — if he
nciliation,-
hich even
ve robbed

given to
bitterness
ould have

ere might

.er father,

vertheless

Arthur

But, at

aspect of

moments

1 Arthur

had then

ced lesson

ly should

could she

then, in-

dependently of herself, throwing herself aside for the time as she
was bound to do when thinking of one so good to her as Arthur
Fletcher, she found that no personal joy could drown the grief
which she shared with him. For a moment the idea of a compari-
son between the men forced itself upon her, — but she drove it from
her as she hurried back to the house.

CHAPTEE XVin.

THE DUKE OF OMNIUM THINKS OF HIMSELF.

The blaze made by the Duchess of Omnium during the three
months of the season up in London had been very great, but it
was little in comparison with the social coruscation expected to be
achieved at Gatherum Castle, — little at least as far as public report
went, and the general opinion of the day. No doubt the house in
Carlton Gardens had been thrown open as the house of no Prime
Minister, perhaps of no duke, had been opened before in this
country ; but it had been done by degrees, and had not been
accompanied by such a blowing of trumpets as was sounded with
reference to the entertainments at Gkitherum. I would not have
it supposed that the trumpets were blown by the direct order of the
Ducness. The trumpets were blown by the customary trumpeters
as it became known that great things were to be done, — all news-
papers and very many tongues lending their assistance, till the
sounds of the instruments almost frightened the Duchess herself.
** Isn't it odd," she said to her friend, Mrs. Finn, '* that one can't
have a few friends down in the country without such a fuss about
it as the people are making P" Mrs. Finn did not think that it
was odd, and so she said. Thousands of pounds were being spent
in a very conspicuous way.* Invitations to the place even for a
couple of days, — ^for twenty-four hours, — ^had been begged for
abjectly. It was understood everywhere that the Prime Minister
was bidding for greatness and popularity. Of course the trumpets
were blown very loudly. '^ If people don't take care," said the
Duchess, 'Til put everybody off and have the whole place shut
up. I'd do it for sixpence, now."

Perhaps of all the persons, much or little concerned, the one who
heard the leapt of the trumpets,— or rather who was the last to
hear them, — was the Duke himself. He could not fail to see
something in the newspapers, but what he did see did not attract
him so frequently or so strongly as it did others. It was a pity,
he thought, that a man's social and private life should be made
subject to so many remarks, but this misfortune was one of those
to which wealth and rank are liable. He had long recognized that

114

THE PRIME MINISTER.

fact, and for a time endeavoiired to belieye that his intended
Bojoarn at Gatherum Castle was not more public than are the
autumn doings of other dukes and other pnme ministers. But
gradually the trumpets did reach eyen his ears. Blind as he was
to many things himself, he always had near to him that other duke
who was never blind to anything. " You are goiog to do great
things at Qutherum this year," said the Duke.

"Nothing particular, I hope," said the Prime Minister, with an
inward trepidation, — ^for gradually there had crept upon him a
fear that his wife was making a mistake.

" I thought it was going to be very particular."

*' It's Glencora's doing.

"I don't doubt but that her Grace is right. Don't suppose
that I am criticizing your hospitality. We are to be at Gathei-um
ourselves about the end of the month. It will be the first time I
shall have seen the place since your uncle's time."

The Prime Minister at this moment was sitting in his own par-
ticular room at the Treasury Chambers, and before the entrance
of his friend had been conscientiously endeavouring to define for
himself, not a future policy, but the past policy of me last month
or two. It had not been for him a very happy occup?ition. He
had become the Head of the Government, — and had not fuled, for
there he was, still the Head of the Government, with a majority
at his back, and the six months' vacation before him. They who
were entitled to speak to him confidentially as to his position were
almost vehement in declaring his success. Mr. Battler, about a
week ago, had not seen any reason why the Ministry should not
endure at least for the next four years. Mr. Boby, from the other
side, was equally confident. But, on looking back at what he
had done, and indeed on looking forward into his future
intentions, he could not see why he, of all men, should be
Prime Minister. He had once been Chancellor of the Exchequer,
filling that office through two halcyon sessions, and he had known
the reason why he had held it. He had ventured to assure him-
self at the time that he was the best man whom his party could
then have found for that office, and he had been satisfied. But he
had none of that satisfaction now. There were men under him
who were really at work. The Lord Chancellor had legal reforms
on foot. Mr. Monk was busy, heart and soul, in regard to
income tax and brewers' licences, — making our poor Prime
Minister's mouth water. Lord Drummond was active among the
colonies. Phineas Finn had at any rate his ideas about Ireland.
But with the Prime Minister, — so at least the Duke told himself,
— it was all a blank. The policy confided to him and expected at
his hands was that of keeping together a Coalition Ministry. That
was a task that did not satisfy him. And now, gradually, — very
slowly indeed at first, but still with a sure step, — there was
creepmg upon him the idea that this power of cohesion was sought
for, and perhaps found, not in his political capacity, but in nis

c
i

11
i

'-mm.. "

l^4■:(il.^4VA

THE DUKE OF OMNIUM THINKS OF HIMSELF.

115

intended
are the
rs. But
B he was
tier duke
do greut

with an
1 him a

suppose
atherum
at time I

[>wn par-
entrance
lefine for
Bt month
ion. He
iuled, for
majority
Chey who
kion were
, about a
lould not
the other
what he
3 future
lould be
chequer,
d known
lire him-
rty could
But he
ider him
reforms
agard to
Prime
long the
Ireland,
himself,
ected at
'. That
r,— very
ere was
B sought
in his

rank and wealth. It might, in fact, be the case that it was his
wife the Duchess, — that Lady Glencora, of whose wild impulses and
general impracticability he had always been in dread, — that she
with her dinner parties and receptions, with her crowded saloons,
her music, her picnics, and social temptations, was Prime Minister
rather than he fiimself. It might be that this had been under-
stood by the coalesced parties, — ^by everybody, in fact, except
himself. It had, perhaps, been found that in the state of things
then existing, a ministry could be best kept together, not by
parliamentary capacity, but by social arrangements, such as his
Duchess, and his Duchess alone, could carry out. She and she
only would have the spirit and the money and the sort of cleverness
required. In such a state of things he of course, as her husband,
must be the nominal Prime Minister.

There was no anger in his bosom as he thought of this. It
would be hardly just to say that there was jealousy. His nature
was essentially free from jealousy. But there was shame, — anr*
self-acctisation at having accepted so great an office with so little
fixed purpose as to great work. It might be his duty to subordinate
even his pride to the service of his country, and to consent to be
a faineant minister, a gilded Treasury log, because by remaining
in that position he would enable the Government to be carried on.
But how base the position, how mean, how repugnant to that
grand idea of public work which had hitherto been the motive
power of all his life ! How would he continue to live if this thing
were to go on from year to year, — ^he pretending to govern while
others governed, — stalking about from one public heill to anotiber
in a blue ribbon, taking the highest place at all tables, receiving
mock reverence, and known to all men as faineant First Lord of
the Treasury P Now, as he had been thinking of all this, the most
trusted of his friends had come to him, and had at once alluded to
the very circumstances which had been pressing so heavily on his
mind. * * I was delighted," continued the elder Duke, * ' when I heard
that you had determined to go to Gatherum Castle this year."

'*ua. man has a big house I suppose he ought to live in it, some-
times."

" Certainly. It was for such purposes as this now intended
that your uncle built it. He never became a public man, and
therefore, though he went there, every year I believe, he never
really used it."

" He hated it, — in his heart. And so do I. And so does
Glencora. I don't see why any man should have his private life
interrupted by being made to keep a huge caravansary open for
persons he doesn't care a straw about."

" You would not like to Hve alone."

** Alone, — with my wife and children, — I would certainly, during
a portion of the year at least.'*

"I doubt whether such a life, even for a month, even for a week
is compatible with your duties. You would hardly find it possible

ril

116

THE PRIME MINISTER.

If
I

Could you do without your private secretaries ? Would you know
enough oi what is going on, if you did not discuss matters with
others ? A man cannot be both private and public at the same
time.*'

" And therefore one has to be chopped up, like ' a reed out of the
nver/ as the poet said, ' and yet not give sweet music after-
wards.' " The Duke of St. Bungay said nothing in answer to this,
as he did not understand the chopping of the reed. " Pm afraid
I've been wrong about this collection of people down at Gatherum,"
continued the younger Duke. "Qlencora is impulsive, and has
overdone the tmng. Just look at that." And he handed a letter
to his Mend. The old Duke put on his spectacles and read the
letter through, — which ran as follows ; —

*♦ Private."
" My Lord Duke,—

" 1 do not doubt but that your Grace is aware of my position
ii: regard to the public press of the country, and 1. beg to assure
youi Grace that my present proposition is made, uot on account of
the great honour and pleasure which would be coniferred upon myself
should your Grade accede to it, but because I feel assured that I
might so be best enabled to discharge an important duty for the
Deueiit ot the public generally.

'* Your Grace is about to receive the whole fashionable world of
England and many distinguished foreign ambassadors at your
ancestral halls, not solely for social delight, — for a man in your .
Grace's higb position is not able to think only of a pleasant life, —
but in order that the prestige of your combined Ministry may be
so best maintained. That your Grace is thereby doing a duty to
your country no man who understands the country can doubt. But
it must be the case that the country at large should interest itself in
your festivities, and should demand to have accounts of the gala
doings of your ducal palace. Your Grace will probably agree with
me uiat wese records could be better given by one empowered by
yourself to give them, by one who had been present, ana who would
write in your Grace's interest, than by some interloper who would
receive his tale only at second hand.

*• It is my purport now to infoim your Grace that should I be
honoured by an invitation to your Grace's party at Gatherum, I
should obey such a call with the greatest alacrity, and would
devote my pen and the public organ which is at my disposal to
your Grace's service with the readiest good- will.
" I have the honour to be,

<« My Lord Duke,

•• Your Grace's most obedient

** And very humble Servant,

"QuiNTUs Slide."

The old Duke, when he had read the letter, laughed heartily
** Isn't that a terribly bad sign of the times ?" said the younger.

uknow
rs with
le samo

it of the
B after-
to this,
n afraid
lenim,"
lud has
. a letter
read the

position
;o assure
ccount of
>n myeelf
3d that I
y for the

I world of
I at your
in your .
at life, —
y may be
a duty to
ubt. But
t itself in
the gala
gree with
wered by
rho would
ho would

ould I be
iherum, I
od would
Lsposal to

»»

5LrDE.

heartily
mnger.

THE DUKE OF OMNIUM THINKS OP HIMSELF.

117

"Well; — hardly that, I think. The man is both a fool and a
blackguard ; but I don't think we are therefore to suppose that
there are many fools and blackguards like him. 1 wonder what he
really has wanted."

" He has wanted me to ask him to Gatherum."
** He can hardly have expected that. I don't think he can have
been such a fool. He may have thought that there was a possible
off chance, and that he wotud not lose even tbat for want of asking.
Of course you won't notice it."

*' I have asked Warburton to write to him, saying that he cannot
be received at my house. I liave all letters answered unless they
seem to have come from insane persons. 'Would it not shook you
if your private arrangements were invaded in tJiat way Y"
*• He can't invade you."

*' Yes he can. He does. That is an invasion. And whether he
is there or not, he can and will writhe about my house. And thougn
no one else will make himself such a fool as lie has done by his
letter, nevertheless even that is a sign ot what others are doing.
Tou yourself were saying just now that we were going to do some-
thing, — something particmar, you said."

"It was your word, and 1 echoed it. 1 suppose you are going
to have a great many people Y"

" I am ahraid Oiencora has overdone it. 1 don't know why 1
should trouble you by saymg so, but it makes me uneasy."
" I can't see why.'

" I fear she lias got some idea into her head of astounding the
world by display."

" I tmnk she has got an idea of conquering the world by gra-
ciousness and hospitality."

"It is as bad. It is, indeed, the same thing. Why should she
want to conquer what we call the world Y She ought to want to
entertain my friends because they are my friends ; and if from my
public position I have more so-called friends than would trouble
me in a happier condition of private life, why, then, she must
entertain more people. There should be nothing beyond that.
The idea of conquering people, as you call it, by feeding them, is
to me abominable. If it goes on it will drive me mad. I shall
have to ^ve up eveiything, because I cannot bear the burden."
This he said with more excitement, with stronger passion, than his
friend had ever seen in him before; so much so that the old
Duke was frightened. " I ou^ht never to have been where I am,"
said the Prime Minister, getting up fr-om his chair and walking
about the room.

" Allow me to assure you that in that you are decidedly mis-
taken," said his Grace of St. Buugay.

" I cannot make even you see the inside of my heart in such a
matter as this," said his Grace of Omnium.

X think I do. It may be that in saying so T claim for myself
greater power than 1 posetoss, but T think I do.

But let your heart

118

THE PRIME MINISTER.

say what it may on the subject, I am sure of this, — that when the
Sovereign, by the advice of two outgoing Ministers, and with the
unequivocally expressed assent of the House of Commons, calls on
a man to serve her and the country, that man cannot be justified
in refusing, merely by doubts about his own fitness. If your health
is failing you, you may know it, and say so. Or it may be that
your honour, — your faith to others, — should forbid you to accept
the position. £ut of your own general fitness you must take the
verdict given by such general consent. They have seen clearer
than you have done what is required, and know better than you
can know how that which is wanted is to be secured."
" If I am to be here and do nothing, must I remain P"
" A man cannot keep together the Government of a country and
do nothing. Do not trouble yourself about this crowd at Gatherum.
The Duchess, easily, almost without exertion, will do that which to
you, or to me either, would be impossible. Let her have her
way, and take no notice of the Quintus Slides." The Prime Minis-
tor smiled, as though this repeated allusion to Mr. Slide's letter had
brought back his good humour, and said nothing further then as
to his difficulties. There were a few words to be spoken as to some
future Cabinet meeting, something perhaps to be settled as to some
man's work or position, a hint to be ^iven, and a lesson to be learned,
— for of these inner Cabinet Councils between these two statesmen
there was frequent use ; and then the Duke of St. Bungay took his
leave.

Our Duke, as soon as his friend had left him, rang for his private
secretary, and went to work diligently as though nothing had dis-
turbed him. I do not know that his labours on that occasion were
of a very high order. Unless there be some special etfort of law-
making before the country, some reform bill to be passed, some
attempt at education to be made, some iietters to be forged or to be
relaxed, a Prime Minister is not driven hard by the work of his
portfolio, — as are his colleagues. But many men were in want of
many things, and contrived by many means to make their wants
known to nie Prime Ministor. A dean would fain be a bishop, or
a judge a chief justice, or a commissioner a chairman, or a secretary
a commissioner. Knights would fain be baronets, baronets barons,
' and barons earls. In one guise or another the wants of gentlemen
were made known, and there was work to be done. A ribbon can-
not be given away without breaking the hearte of, perhaps, three
gentlemen and of their wives and daughters. And then he went
down to the House of Lords, — for the last time this Session as far
as work was concerned. On the morrow legislative work would be
over, and the gentlemen of Parliament would be sent to their country
houses, and to their pleasant country joys. *

It had been arranged that on the day after the prorogation of Par-
liament the Duchess of Omnium should go down to Gatherum to
prepare for the coming of the people, which was to commence about
three days later, taking her ministers, Mrs. Finn and Locock, with

tien the
ith the
jails on
ustified
> health
be that
) accept
ake the
clearer
lan you

itry and
therum.
i^hich to
ftve her
9 Minis-
tter had
' then as
I to some
to some
learned,
:atesnien
took his

3 private
had dis-
ion were
of law-
jd, some
or to be
k of his
want of
ir wants
shop, or
leoretary
} barons,
mtlemen
)on can-
)8, three
[he went
l>n as far
rould be
country

ofPar-
jierum to
Ice about
Ick, with

THE DUKE OF OMNIUM THINKS OP HIMHELF.

119

her ; and that her husband with his private secretaries and dispatch
boxes was to go for those three days to Matching, a smaller place
than Gatherum, bat one to which they were much better accus-
tomed. If, as the Duchess thought to be not unlikely, the Duke
should prolong his stay for a few days at Matching, she felt con-
fident that she would be able to bear the burden of the Castle on
her own shoulders. She had thoujght it to be yerv probable that
he would prolong his stay at Matching, and if the aosence were not
too long, this might be well exi)laini^ to the assembled company.
In the Duchess's estimation a Prime Minister would lose nothing by
pleading the nature of his business as an excuse for such absence,
— or by having such a plea made for him. Of course he must
appear at last. But as to that she had no fear. His timidity, and
his conscience also, would both be too potent to allow him to shirk
the nuisance of Gkitherum altogether. He would come ; she was
sure ; but she did not much care how lone he deferred his coming.
She was, therefore, not a little surprised when he announced to
her an alteration in his plans. This he did not many hours after
the Duke of St. Bungay had left him at the Ti^easury Ohambers.
" I think I shall go down with you at once to Gatherum," he
said.

" What is the meaning of that P " The Duchess was not skilled
in hiding her feelings, at any rato from him, and declared to him
at once by her voice and eye that the proposed change was not
gratifying to her.

" It wUl be better. I had thought that I would get a ^uiet day
or two at Matching. But as the thing has to be done, it may as
well be done at first. A man ought to receive his own guests.
I can't say that I look forward to any great pleasure in doing so
on this occasion ; — but I shall do it." It was very easy to under-
stand also the tone of his voice. There was in it something of
offended dignity, something of future marital intentions, — some-
thing also of the weakness of distress.

She did not want him to come at once to Gatherum. A great
deal of money was being spent, and the absolute spending was not
yet quite perfected. There might still be possibility of interference.
The tents were not all pitehed. The lamps were not as yet all hung
in the conservatories. Waggons would still be coming in and work-
men still be going out. He would think less of what had been done
if he could be kept from seeing it while it was being done. And
the greater crowd which would be gathered there by the end of the
first week would carry off the vastness of the preparations. As to
money, he had given her almost carte blanche, having at one vacil-
latory period of his Prime Ministership been talked by her into
some agreement with her own plans. And in regard to money he
would say to himself that he ought not to interfere with any whim
of hers on that score, unless he thought it right to crush the whim
on some other score. Half what he possessed had been hers, and
even if during this year he ware to spend more than his income,-*

120

THE PRIME MINISTER.

if he were to double or oven treble the expenditure of past years,—
he could not consume the additions to his wealth which had accrued
and heaped themselves up since his marriage. lie had therofuro
written a line to his banker, and a line to his lawyer, and he had
himself seen Looock, and his wife's hands had been loosened. " 1
didn't think, your Qrace," said Locock, " that his Grace would bo
so very, — very, — very—." " Very what, Locock?" ** So very
free, your Grace." The Duchess, as she thought of it, declared to
herself that her husband was the truest uubleman in all England.
She revered, admired, and almost loved him. She knew him to hb
infinitely better than herself. But she could hardly sympathise
with him, and was quite sure that he did not sympathise with her.
He was so good about the money ! But^yet it was necessary that he
should be kept in the dark as to the spending of a good deal of it.
Now he wae going to upset a portion of her plans by coming to
Gatherum before he was wanted. She knew him to be obstinate,
but it night be possible to turn him back to his old pu.''po8e by
clever manipulation.

*' Of course it would be much nicer for me," she said.

"That alone would be sufficient."

" Thanks, dear. But we had arranged for people to come at first
whom I thought you would not specially care to meet. Sir Orlando
and Mr. Battler will be there with their wives."

" I have become quite used to Sir Orlando and Ma. Rattler."

' No doubt, and therefore I wanted to spare you something of
their company. The Duke, whom you really do like, isn't coming
yet. I thought, too, you would have your work to finish off."

" I fear it is of a kind that won't bear finishing off. However, I
have made up my mind, and have already told Locock to send word
to the people at Matching to say that I shall not be there yet.
How long will all this last at Gatherum P "

" Who can say ? "

" I should have thought you could. People are not .Dming; T
suppose, for an indefinite time."

** As one set leaves, one asks others."

*' Haven't you asked enough as yet P I should like to know
when we may expect to get away from the place."

** You needn't stay till the end, you know."

*• But you must." ^

"Certainly."

"And I should wish you to go with me, when we do go to
Matching."

"Oh, Plantagenet," said the wife, "what a Derby and Joan
kind of thing you like to have it ! "

" Yes, I do. The Derby and Joan kind of thin^ is what I like."

" Only Derby is to be in an office all day, and in Parliament all
night, — and Joan is to stay at home."

"Would you wish me not to be in an office, and not to be in
Parliament ? But don't let us misunderstand each other. You

VULOABITY.

121

rears, —
accrued
lerefoio
he had
d. •• 1
ould bo
3o very
Lared to
lugland.
im to be
ipatixise
nth her.
r that he
lal of it.
»ming to
bstinate,
'pose by

are doing the best you can to further what you think tu hv my
iuttire^ts."

" I am," said the Duchess.

" I love you the better for it, day by day." This so surprised
her, that as she took him by the arm, her eyes were iiiled with
tears. " I know that you are working for me quite as hard as I
work myself, and that you are doing so with the pure ambition of
seeing your husband a great man."

♦• And myself a great man's wife."

•• It is the same thing. But I would not have you overdo your
work. I would not have you make yourself conspic uo us by anything
like display, ^here are ill-natured people who will say things that
you do not expect, and to which I shoidd be more sensitive than I
ought to be. Spare me such pain as this, if you can." He still
held her hand as he spoke, and she answered him only by noddin)<
her head. " I will go down v/ith you to Gatherum on Friday."
Then he left her.

e at first
Orlando

OHAPTEE XIX.

ithing of
t coming

Dflf."

wever, I
end word
lere yet.

Dming. T

to know

io go to

jid Joan

1 1 like."
iment all

; to be in

jr. You

VULOABITY.

The Duke and Duchess with their children and personal servants
reached Gatherum Castle the day before the first crowd of visitors
expected. It was on a lovely autumn afternoon, and the

was

Duke, who had endeavoured to make himself pleasant during the
journey, had suggested that as soon as the heat would allow them
they would saunter about the grounds and see what was h«>i*ig done.
They could dine late, at half-past eight or nine, so that they might
be walking from seven to eight. But the Duchess when she reached
the Castle declined to fall into this arrangement. The journey had
been hot and dusty and she was a little cross. They reached the
place about five, and then she declared that she would have a cup
of tea and lie down ; she was too tired to walk ; and the sun, she
said, was still scorchingly hot. He then asked that the children
might go with him ; but the two little girls were weary and travel-
worn, and the two boys, the elder of whom was home from Eton
and the younger from some minor Eton, were already out about
the place after their own pleasures. So the Duke started for his
walk alone.

The Duchess certainly did not wish to have to inspect the works
in conjunction with her husband. She knew how much there was
that she ought still to do herself, how many things that she herself
ought to see. But she could neither do anything nor see anything
to any purpose under his wing. As to lyiug down, that she knew
to be quite o;^t of the question. She had already found out that

122

THE PRIME MINISTER.

the life which she had adopted wafl one of inceHHant work. But she
was neither weak nor idle. She was q^uito prepared to work, — if
only she might work after her own fashion and with companions
chosen by herself. Had not her husband been so perverse, she
would have travelled down with MrH. Finn, whose coming was now
postponed for two days, and Locock would have been with her.
The Duke had given directions which made it necessary that
Locock*s coming should be postponed for a day, and this was another
grievance. She was put out a good deal, and began to speculate
whether her husband was doing it on purpose to torment her.
Nevertheless, as soon as she knew that he was out of the way, she
went to her work. She could not go out among the tents and
lawns and conservatories, as she would probably meet him. But
she gave orders as to bedchambers, saw to the adornments of the
reception-rooms, had an eye to the banners and martial trophies
suspended in the vast hall, and the busts and statues which adorned
the corners, looked in on the plate which was bein^ prepared for
the great dining-room, and superintended the moving about ot
chairs, sofas, and tables generally. " You may take it as certain,
Mrs. Pritchard," she said to the housekeeper, " that there will never
be less than forty for the next two months."

" Forty to sleep, rj lady ? "• To Pritchard the Duchess had for
many years been Lady Glencora, and she perhaps understood that
her mistress liked the old appellation.

" Yes, forty to sleep, and forty to eat, and forty to drink. But
that's nothing. Forty to push through twenty-four hours every
day ! Do you think you've got everything that you want ? "

" It depends, my lady« how long each ox 'em stays."

" One night ! No, — say two nights on an average."

"That makes shifting the beds v^ry often :— doesn't it, my
lady?"

" Send up to Puddick's for sheets to-morrow. Why wasn't that
thought of before?"

"It was, my lady, — and I think we shall do. We've got the
steam-washery put up."

" Towels ! '' suggested the Duchess.

*' Oh yes, my Imx. Puddick's did send a great many things ; — a
whole waggon load there was come from the station. But the
table cloths ain't, none of 'em, long enough for the big table." The
Duchess's face fell. " Of course there must be two. On them very
long tables, my lady, there always is two."

" Why diidn't you tell me, so that I could have had them made P
It's impossible, — impossible that one brain should think of it all.
Are you sure you've get enough hands in the kitchen ?"

" Well, my lady ; — we couldn't do with more ; and they ain't an
atom of use, — only just in the way, — if you don't know something
about 'em. I suppose Mr. Millepois will be down soon." This
name, which Mrs. Pritchard called Milleypoise, indicated a French
cook who was as yet unkuown at the Oasstle.

VULOABITT.

128

lit she
k,-il'
inionB
\e, she
18 now
\i her.
Y that
nother
toulate
,t her.
y, she
its and
. But
of the
rophies
domed
xed for
tout ot
certain,
11 never

had for
lod that

But
every

it, my
I't that
got the

igs ;— a
But the
" The
jm very

made ?
it all.

lin't an
lething
This
I French

p:/

*• lie'U lie here to-night.*

" I wish he could have been here a day or two sooner, my lady,
80 as just to see about him."

" And how should we have got our dinner in townl* He won't
make any difficulties. The confectioner did come f "

" Tes, my lady ; and to tell the truth out at once, he was that

drunk last night that ; oh, dear, we didn't know what to do

with him."

'* I don't mind that before the affair begins. I don't siippoee
he'll get tipsy while he ha/to work for all these people. You've
plenty of eggs ? "

These questions went on so rapidly that in addition to the asking
of them the Duchess was able to go through all the rooms before
she dressed for dinner, and in every room she saw something to
speak of, noting either perfection or imperfection. In the mean-
time the Duke had gone out alone. It was still hot, but he had
made up his mind that he would enjoy his first holiday out of town
by walking about his own grounds, and he would not allow the
heat to interrupt him. He went out through the vast hall, and the
huge front door, which was so huge and so grand that it was very
seldom used. But it was now open by chance, owing to some inci-
dent of this festival time, and he passed through it and stood upon
the grand terrace, with the well-known and much-lauded portico
over nead. Up to the terrace, though it was very high, there ran
a road, constructed upon arches, so that grand guests could drive
almost into the house. The Duke, who was never grand himself,
as he stood there looking at the far-stretching view before him,
could not remember that he had ever but once before placed himself
on that spot. Of what use had been the portico, and the marbles,
and the huge pUe of stone, — of what use the enormous hall just
behind him, cutting the house in two, declaring aloud by its own
aspect and proportions that it had been built altogether for show
and in no degree for use or ..uuifort ? And now as he hjood there he
could already see that men were at work about the place, that
ground had been moved here, and grass laid dowu there, and a new
gravel road constructed in another place. Was it not possible that
his friends should be entertained without all these changes in the
gardens P Then he perceived the tents, and descending from the
terrace and turning to the left towards the end of the house he came
upon a new conservatory. The exotics with which it was to be
filled were at this moment being brought in on great barrows. He
stood for a moment and looked, but said not a word to the men.
They gazed at him but evidently did not know him. How should
they know him,— him, who was so seldom there, and who when
there never showed himself about the place ? Then he went farther
afield from the house and came across more and more men. A
great ha-ha fence had been made, enclosing on three sides a large
flat and turfed parallelogram of ground, taken out of the park and
open at one end to the gardens, containing, as he thought, about

124

THE FVdME HINISTEB.

an acre. " What are you doing this for?" he said to one of the
labourers. The man stared at him and at first seemed hardly in-
clined to make him an answer. "It be for the quality to shoot
their bows and harrows,^' he said at last, as he continued the easy
task of patting with his spade the completed work. He evidently
regarded this stranger as an intruder who was not entitled to
ask questions, even if he were permitted to wander about the
grounds.

From one place he went on to anotl^^er and found changes, and
new erections, and some device for throwing away money every-
where. It angered him to think that there was so little of sim-
plicity left in the world that a man could not entertain his Mends
without such a fuss as this.. His mind applied itself frequently to
the consideration of the money, not that ne grudged the loss of it,
but the spending of it in such a cause. And then perhaps there
occurred to him an idea that all this should not have been done
without a word of consent from himself. Had she eome to him with
some scheme for changing everything about the place, making
him think that the alterations were a matter of taste or of mere
personal pleasure, he would probably have given his assent at once,
thinking nothing of the money. But all this was sheer display.
Then he walked up and saw the flag waving over the Castle, indi-
cating that he, the LordiLieutenant of the County, was present there
on his own soil. That was ri^ht. That was as it should be, because
the flag was waving in compliance with an acknowledged ordinance.
Of all that properly belonged to his rank- and station he could be
very proud, ana would allow no diminution of that outward respect
to wmch they were entitled. Were they to be trenched on by his
fault in his person, the rights of others to their enjoyment would
be endangered, and the benefits accruing to his country from estab-
lished marks of reverence would be imperilled. But here was an
assumed and preposterous grandeur that was as much within the
reach of some rich swindler or of some prosperous haberdasher as
of himself, — having, too, a look of raw newness about it which was
very distasteful to him. And then, too, he knew that nothing of
all this would have been done unless he had become Prime Minister.
Why, on earth, should a man's grounds be knocked about because
he becomes Prime Minister ? He walked on arguing this within his
own bosom, till he had worked himself almost up to anger. It was
clear that he must henceforth take things more into his own hands,
or he would be made to be absurd before the world. Indifference
he knew he could bear. Harsh criticism he thought he could en-
dure. But to ridicule he was aware that he was pervious. Suppose
the papers were to say of him that he built a new conservatory and
made an archery ground for the sake of maintaining the Coalition !

When he gox, back to the house he found his wife alone in the
small room in which they intended to dine. After all her labours she
was now reclining for the few minutes her husband's absence might
allow her, knowing that after dinner there were a score of letters

VULGARITY.

125

le of the
rdly in-
to shoot
the easy
evidently
ititled to
hout the

Qges, and
ey every-
Le of sim-
lis friends
mently to
loss of it,
laaps there
been done
[) him with
;e, making
)r of mere
mt at once,
ler display,
astle, indi-
esent there
be, because
. ordinance,
le could be
rard respect
1 on by his
ment would
from estab-
.ere was an
. within the
)erdasher as
t which was
; no^ng of
ne Minister.
>out because
is within his
:er. It ,was
own hands.
Indifference
le could en-
US. Suppose
ervatory and
le Coahtion !
1 alone in the
ar labours she
)sence might
ore of letters

•for her to write. " I don't think," said she, ** I was ever so tired
in my life."

•* It isn't such a very long journey after all."

" But it's a very big house, and I've been, I think, into every
room since I have been nere, and I've moved most of the furniture
in the drawing-rooms with my own hand, and I've counted the
pounds of butter, and inspected the sheets and tablecloths."

** Was that necessary, Olencora P "

" If I had gone to bed instead, the world, I suppose, would have
gone on, and Sir Orlando Drought would still have led the House
of Commons ; — ^but things should be looked after, I suppose."

"There are people to do it. You are like Martha, troubling
yourself wit^ many things."

" I always felt that li^rtha was very ill-used. If there were no
Marthas there would never be anything fit to eat. But it's odd how
sure a wife is to be scolded. If I did nothing at all, that wouldn't
please a busy, hard-working man like you.'*

'* I don't know that I have scolded, — not as yet."

** Are you going to begin ? "

" Not to scold, my dear. Looking back, can you remember that
I ever scolded you ? "

" I can remember a great malhy times when you ought."

" But to tell you the truth I don't like all that you have done
here. I cannot see that it was necessary."

" People make changes in their gardens without necessity some-
times."

" But these changes are made because of your guests. Had they
been made to grati^ your own taste I would have said nothing, —
although even in that case I think you might have told me what
you proposed to do."

" What;— when you are so burdened with work that you do not
know how to turn ? "

" I am never so burdened that I cannot turn to you. But, as
you know, that is not what I complain of. K it were done for
yourself, though it were the wildest vagary, I would learn to like
it. But it distresses me to think that what might have been good
enough for our friends before should be thought to be insufficient
because of the office I hold. There is a — a — a — I was almost going
to say vulgarity about it which distresses me."

** Vulgarity ! " she exclaimed, jumping up from her sofa.

**I retract the word. I would not for the world say anything
that should annoy you ; — ^but pray, pray do not go on with it."
Then again he left her.

Vulgarity ! There was no other word in the language so hard to
bear as that. He had, indeed, been careful to say that he did not
accuse her of vulgarity, — but nevertheless the accusation had been
made. Gould you call your friend a liar more plainly than by
saying to him that you would not say that he lied ? lliey dined
together, the two boys, also, dining with them, but very little wad

126

THE PRIME MINISTER.

said at dinner. The horrid word was clinging to the lady's ears,*
and the remembrance of having uttered the word was heayy on the
man's conscience. He had told himself very plainly that the thing
was vulgar, but he had not meant to use the word. When uttered
it came even upon himself as a surprise. But it had been uttered ;
and, let what apology there maybe made, a word uttered cannot be
retracted. As he looked across the table at his wife, he saw that
the word had been taken in deep dudgeon.

She escaped, to the writing of her letters she said, almost before
the meal was done. '* Vu'>arity ! " She uttered the word aloud
to herself, as she sat herself down in the little room up-stairs which
she had assigned to herself for her own use. But though she was
very angry with him, she did not, even in her own mind, contra-
dict him. Perhaps it was vulgar. But why shouldn't she be
vulgar, if she could most surely get what she wantf^d by vulgarity P
What was the meaning of the word vulgarity F Of course ^e was
prepared to do things. — was daily doing things, — which would have
been odious to her had not her husband been a public man. She
submitted, without unwillingness, to constant contact with dis-
agreeable people. She lavished her smiles, — so she now said to
herself,— on butchers and tinkers. What she said, what she read,
what she wrote, what she did, whither she went, to whom she was
kind and to whom unkind, — was it not all said and done and
arranged with reference to his and her own popularity ? When a man
wants to be Prime Minister he has to submit to vulgarity, and
must give up his ambition if the task be too disagreeable to him. The
Duohess thought that thathad been understood, at any rate ever since
the days of Ooriolanus. " The old Duke kept out of it," she said
to herself, '* and chose to live in the other way. He had his choice.
He wants it to be done. And when I do it for him because he can't
do it for himself, he calls it by an ugly name I " Then it occurred
to her that the world tells hes every day, — telling on the whole
much more lies than truth, — but that the world has wisely agreed
that the world shall not be accused of lying. One doesn't venture
to express open disbelief even of one's wife ; and with the world at
large a word spoken, whether lie or not, is presumed to be true of
course, — because spoken. Jones has said it, and therefore Smith,
— who has known the lie to be a lie, — has asserted his assured
belief, Iving again. But in this way the world is able to live
pleasantly. How was she to live pleasantly if her husband accused
her of vulgarity ? Of course it was aU vulgar, but why should he tell
her so ? She did not do it from any pleasure that she got from it.

The letters remained long unwritten, and then there came a
moment in which she resolved that they should not be written.
The work was very hard, and what good would come, from it P
Why should she make her hands dirty, so that even her husband
accused her of vulgarity P Would it not be better to give it all
up, and be a great woman, une grande dame, of another kind, —
difficult of access, sparing of her favours, aristocratic to the back-

SIR ORLANDO S POLIOT.

127

y's ears "
y on the
he thing
I uttered
uttered ;
annot be
saw that

st before
>rd aloud
Irfl which
i she was
i, contra-
t she be
olgarity ?
B she was
ould have
lan. She
with dis-
)W said to
she ready
n she was
done and
lenaman
arity, and
him. The
ever since
" she said
is choice.
, he oan't
occurred
[the whole
jly agreed
pt venture
world at
[be true of
►re Smith,
assured
[le to live
id accused
hild he tell
»t from it.
^e came a
written,
from it ?
husband
^ive it all
jr kind, —
the back-

bone, — a very Duchess of duchesses. The role would be one very
easy to play. It required rank, money, and a little manner, — and
these she possessed. The old Duke had don'e it with ease, without
the slightest trouble to himself, and had been treated almost like a
god because he had secluded himself. She could make the change
even yet, — and as her husband told her that she was vulgar, she
thought she would make it.

But at last, before she had abandoned her desk and paper, there
had come to her another thought. Nothing to her was so distaste-
ful as failure. She had known that there would be difficulties, and
had assured herself that she would be firm and brave in overcoming
them. Was not this accusation of vulgarity simply one of the
difficulties which she had to overcome P Was her courage already
gone from her P Was she so weak that a single word should knock
her over, — and a word evidently repented of as soon as uttered P
Vulgar I Well; — let her be vulgar as long as she gained her object.
There had been no penalty of everlasting punishment denounced
against vulgarity. And then a higher idea touched her, not with-
out effect, — an idea which she could not analyze, but which was
hardly on that account the less effective. Sne did believe tho-
roughly in her husband, to the extent of thinking him the fittest
man in all the country to be its Prime Minister. His fame was
dear to her. Her nature was loyal ; and though she might, per-
haps, in her younger days have been able to lean upon him with a
more loving heart had he been other than he was, brighter, more
gay, given to pleasures, and fond of trifles, still, she could recognise
merits with which her sympathy was imperfect. It was good that
he should be England's Prime Minister, and therefore sno would
do all she could to keep him in that place. The vulgarity was a
necessary essential. He might not acknowledge this, — might even,
if the choice were left to him, refuse to be Prime Minister on such
terms. But she need not, therefore, give way. Having in this
way thought it all out, she took up her pen and completed the
batch of letters before she allowed herself to go to bed.

CHAPTER XX.

SIR ORLANDO'S POLICY.

When the guests began to arrive our friend the Duchess had
apparently got through her little difficulties, for she received them
^ith that open, genial hospitality which is so delightful as coming
evidently from the heart. There had not been another word
between her and her husband as to the manner in which the thing
was to be done, and she had determined that the offensive wonl
Bhould pass altogether out of her memory. The first comer was

128

THE PRIME MINISTER.

Mrs. Finn, — who came indeed rather as an assistant hostess than
as a mere guest, and to her the Duchess uttered a few half playful
hints as to her troubles. " Considering the time haven't we done
marvels ? Because it does look nice, — doesn't it P There are no
dirt heaps about, and it's all as ^reen as though it had been there
since the conquest. He doesn't like it because it looks new. And
we've got forty-five bedrooms made u^. Hie servants are all turned
out over the stables somewhere, — quite comfortable, I assure you.
Indeed they like it. And by knocking down the ends of two
passages we've brought everything togeuier. And the rooms are
all numbered just like an inn. It was tibe only way. And I keep
one book myself, and Locock has another. I have everybody^
room, and where it is, and how long the tenant is to be allowed to
occupy it. _ And here's the way everybody is to take everybody
down to dinner for the next fortnight. Of course that must be
altered, but it is easier when we have a sort of settled basis. And
I have some private notes as to who should flirt with whom.*'

" Tou*d better not let that lie about."

"Nobody ootild understand a word of it if they had it. A. B.
always means X. Y. Z. And this is the code of the Gatherum
Archery Ground. I never drew a bow in my lifb, — not a real bow
in the flesh, that is, my dear, — and yet I've made 'em all out, and
had them printed. The way to make a thing go down is to give it
some special importance. And I've gone tlm)ugh the bill of fare
for the first week with Millepois, who is a perfect gentleman, —
perfect." Then she gave a little sigh as she remembered that word
from her husband, which had so wounded her. " I used to think
that Flantagenet worked hard when he was doing his decimal
coinage ; but I don't think he ever stuck to it as I have done."

*♦ What does the Duke say to it all P"

"Ah; well, upon the whole he behaves like an angel. He
behaves so well that half my. time I think I'll shut it all up and
have done with it, — for his gake. And then, the other half, I'm
determined to go on with it, — also for his sake."

" He has not been displeased P "

"Ask no quebtions, mj^ dear, and you'll hear no stories. You
haven't been married twice without knowing that women can't
Have everything smooth. He only said one word. It was rather
hard to bear, but it has passed away."

That afternoon there was quite a crowd. Among the first comers
were Mr. and Mrs. Boby, and Mr. and Mrs. Battler. And there
were Sir Orlando and ]|j^y Drought, Lord Bamsden, and Sir
Timothy Beeswax. These gentlemen with their wives represented,
for the time, the ministry of which the Duke was the nead, and
had been asked in order that their fealty and submission might be
thus riveted. There were also there Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, with
Lord Thrift and his daughter Angelica, who had belonged to formet
ministries, — one on the liberal and the other on the conservative
side, — and \Aio were now among the Duke's guests, in order that

SIR ORLANDO S POLICY

129

ess than
f playful
we done
e are no
len there
w. And
11 turned
rare yon.
3 of two
ooms are
id I keep
jrybody's
llowed to
very body
must be
sis. And
.m."

it. A. B.
aatheram
i real bow
1 out, and

to give it
bill of fare
itleman, —
[that word
)d to think
is decimal

done."

ngel. He
,U up and
half, I'm

ries. You
omen can't
was rather

irst comers
And there
n, and Sir
(presented,

liead, and
n might be
3offin, with
d to formei
onservative

order that

they and otliers might see how wide the Duke wished to open his
hands. And there was our friend Ferdinand Lopez, who had cer-
tainly made the best use of his opportunities in securing for him-
self so great a social advantage as an inyitation to Gatherum Castle.
How could any father, who was simply a barrister, refuse to receive
as his son-in-law a man who had been a guest at the Duke of
Omnium's country house? And then there were certain people
from the neighbourhood ; — Frank Gresham of Greshambury, with
his wife and daughter, the master of the hounds in those parts, a
rich squire of old blood, and head of the family to which one of the
aspirant Prime Ministers of the day belonged. And Lord Ghiltem,
another master of fox hounds, two counties off, — and also 1 1 old
friend of ours, — had been asked to meet him, and had brought his
wife. And there was Lady Eosina de Couroy, an old maid, the
sister of the preaent Earl de Courcy, who lived not far off and had
been accustomed to come to Gatherum Castle on state occasions
for the last thirty years, — the only relic in those parts of a family
which had lived there for many years in great pride of place ; for
her elder brother, the Earl, was a ruined man, and her younger
brothers were living- with their wives abroad, and her sisters had
married, rather lowly in the world, and her mother now was dead,
and Lady Bosina hved alone in a little cottage outside the old
park palings, and still held fast within her bosom all the old pride
of the De Courcy s. And then there were Captain Gunner and
Major Pountney, two middle-aged young men, presumably belong-
ing to the army, whom the Duchess had lately enlisted among
her followers as 'being useful in their way. They could eat their
dinners without being shy, dance on occasions, though very un-
willingly, talk a little, and run on messages; — and they knew
the peerage by heart, and could tell the details of every unfortu-
nate marriage for the last twenty years. Each thought him-
self, especially since this last promotion, to be indispensably
necessary to the formation of London society, and was comfortable
in a conviction that he had thoroughly succeeded in life by
acquiring the privilege of sitting down to dinner three times a
week with peers and peeresses.

The list of guests has by no means been made as complete here as
it was to be found in the county newspapers, a-ndin the '* Morning
Post" of the time ; but enough of names has been given to show
of what nature was the party. "The Duchess has got rather a
rough lot to begin with," said the Major to the Captain.

"Oh, yes. I knew that. She wanted me to be useful, so of
course I came. I shall stay here this week, and then be back in
September." Up to this moment Captain Gunaer had not received
any invitation for September, but then there was no reason why he
should not do so.

" I've been getting up that archery code with her,'" said Pount-
ney, " and I was pledged to come aown and sot it going. That
httle Gresham girl isn't a bad looking th'ng."

180

THE PRIME MINISTER.

" Rather flabby," said Captain GKinner.

" Very nice colour. She'll have a lot of money, you know.**

*' There's a brother," said the Captain.

"Oh, yes; there's a brother, who will haye the Greshambury
property, but she's to have her mother's money. There's a very
odd story about all that, you know." Then the Major told the
story, and told every particular of it wrongly. " A man might do
worse than look there," said the Major. A man might have done
worse, because Miss Gresham was a very nice girl ; but of course
the Major was all wrong about tihe money.

* • Well ; — now you've tried it, what do you think about it P " This
question was put by Sir Timothy to Sir Orlando as they sat in a
corner of the archery ground, under the shelter of a tent, looking
on while Miyor Fountney ta'ight Mrs. Boffin how to fix an arrow
on to her bow string. It was quite understood that Sir Timothy
was inimictJ to the Coalition tnough he still belonged to it, and
that he would assist in breaking it up if only there were a fair
chance of his belonging to the party which would remain in power.
Sir Timothy had been ' ^ly Seated, and did not forget it. Now
Sir Orlando had also of xate shown some symptoms of a disturbed
ambition. He was the leader of the House of Commons, and it had
become an almost recognised law of the Constitution that the leader
of tiie House of Commons should be the First Minister of the
Crown. It was at least uiiderstood by many that such was Sir
Orlando's reading of the laws of the Constitution.

" Ve've got along, you know," said Sir Orlando.

" Yos; — yes. "V^'ve got along. Can you imagine any possible
concatenation of circumstances in which we should not get along P
There's always too much good sense in the House for an absolute
coUajpse. But are you contented P "

*' I won't say I'm not," said the cautious baronet;. "I didn't
look for very great things from a Coalition, and I didn't look for
very great tilings from me Duke."

<*It seems to me that the one achievement to which we've all
looked has been the reaching the end of the Session in safety.
We've done that certainly."

"It is a ^eat thing to do. Sir Timothy. Of cour&e the main
work of Farhament is to raise supplies ; — and, when that has been
done with ease, when all the money wanted has been voted without
a break-down, of course Ministers are very glad to get rid of the
Parliament. It is as much a matter of course that a Minister
should dislike Parliament now as that a Stuart King should have
done so two hundred and fifty years ago. To get a Session oyer
and done with is an achievement and a delight.'

" No ministry can go on long on that far niente principle, and
no minister who accedes to it will remain long in any ministry."
Sir Timothy in saying this might bo alluding to the Duke, or the
reference might be to Sir Orlando himself. " Of course I'm not
in the Cabinet, and am not entitled to say a word ; but I think

SIR ORLANDO S POLICY.

181

»»

Dttbury
a very
)ld the
ight do
re done
course

" This
satin a
looking
I arrow
Smothy
) it, and
e a fair
a power.
b. Now
isturbed
id it had
tie leader
jr of the
.was Sir

t along ?
absolute

I didn't
look for

igye've all
safety.

the main
has been
■without
lid of the
1 Minister
luld have
lion over

[iple, and

Wiatry."

[e, or the

I'm not

I think

that if I were in the Cabinet, and if I were anxious, — which
I confess I'm not, — for a continuation of the present state of
things, I should endeavour to obtain from the Duke some idea of
his policy for the next Session." Sir Orlando was a man of certain
parts. He could speak volubljr, — and yet slowly, — so that
reporters and others could hear him. He was patient, both in the
House and in his office, and had the great gift of doing what he
was told by men who understood things better than he did him-
self. He never went very far astray in his official business,
because he always obeyed the clerks and followed precedents.
He had been a useful man, — and would still have remained so
had he not been lifted a little too high. Had he been only one in
the ruck on the Treasury Bench he would have been useful to the
end ; but special honour and special place had been assigned to
him, and therefore he desired still bigger things. The Duke's
mediocrity of talent and of energy and of general governing power
had been so often mentioned of late in Sir Orlando's huaring, that
Sir Orlando had gradually come to think that he was the Duke's
equal in the Cabinet, and that perhaps it behoved him to lead the
Duke. At the commencement of their joint opei'ations he had
held the Duke in some awe, and perhaps something of that feeling
in reference to the Duke personally still restrained him. The Dukes
of Omnium had always been big people. But still it mi^ht be
his duty to say a word to the Duke, air Orlando assured himself
that if ever convinced of the propriety of doing so, he could say a
word even to the Duke of Omnium. " I am confident that we
should not go on quite as we are at present," said Sir Timothy as
he closyl the conversation.

" Where did th^ pick him up P" said the Major to the Captain,
pointing with his nead to Ferdinand Lopez, who was shooting with
Angelica Thrift and Mr. Boffin and one of the Duke's private
secretaries.

" The Duchess found him somewhere. He's one of those fabu-
lously rich fellows out of the city who make a hundred thousand
pounds at a blow. They say his people were ^andees of Spain."

" Does anybody know him ?" asked the Major.

" Everybc^y soon will know him," answered the Captain. ** I
think I heard that he's going to stand for some place in the Duke's
interest. He don't look the sort of fellow I like ; but he's got
money and he comes here, and he's good looking, — and therefore
he'll be a success." In answer o this the Major only grunted.
The Major was a year or two older than the Captain, and there-
fore less vdlling even than his friend to admit the claims of new
comers to social honours.

Just at this moment the Duchess walked across the ground up
to the shooters, accompanied by Mrs. Finn and Lady Chiltern.
^he had not been seen in the gardens before that day, and of
course a little concourse was made round her. The Major and
the Captain, who had been driven away by the success of Ferdinand

182

THE FItlME MINISTER.

,1
i I

I i

I t

■

Lopez, returned with their sweetest smiles. Mr. BofBn put down
his treatise on the nature of Franchises, which he was studying in
order that he might lead aa opposition against the Ministry next
Session, and even Sir Timothy £eeswax, who had done hi,: work
with Sir Orlando, joined the tniong.

•' Now I do hope," said the Duchess, "that yon are all shooting
by the new code. That is, and is to be, the Gatherum Archery
Code, and I shall break my heart if anybody rebels."

" There are one or two men," said Major Fountney very gravely,
" who won't take the trouble to understand it."

" Mr. Lopez," said the Duchess, pointing with her finger at our
friend, *• are you that rebel ?"

•• I fear I did suggest — — " began Mr. Lopez.

*' I will have no suggestions, — nothing but obedience. Here are
Sir Timothy Beeswax and Mr. Boffin, and Sir Orlando Drought is
not far oif ; and here is Mr. Battler, than whom no authority on
such a subject can be better. Ask them whether in other matters
suggestions are wanted."

" Of course not," said Major Pountney.

*' Now, Mr. Lopez, will you or will you not be guided by a
strict and close interpretation of the Q-atherum Code ? Because,
if not, Tm afraid we shall feel constrained to accept your resigna-
tion."

** I won't resign, and I will obey," said Lopez.

" A good ministerial reply »" said the Duchess. " I don't doubt
but that in time you'll ascend to high office and become a pillar of
the Gatherum constitution. How does he shoot, l^s Thr^t P"

" He will shoot very well indeed. Duchess, if he goes on and

Eractises," said AngeUca, whose life for the last seven years had
een devoted to archery. Major Pountney retired far away into
the park, a full quarter of a mile ofp, and smoked a cigar under a
tree. Was it for this that he had absolutely giyen up a month to
drawing out this code of rules, going backwards and forwards two
or three times to the printers in his desire to carry out the

Duchess's wishes? Women are so d ungrateful! he said

aloud in his solitude, as he turned himself on the hard gi-ourd.

"And some men are so d lucky!" This fellow, Loper;, had

absolutely been allowed to make a good score off his own intaract-
able disobedience.

The Duchess's little joke about the Ministers generally, and
the advantages of submission on their part to their chief, was
thought by some who heard it not to have been made in good taste.
The joke was just such a joke as the Duchess would be sure to
make, — meaning very little but still not altogether pointless. It
was levelled rather at her husband than at her husband'ei col-
leagues who were present, and was so understood by those who
really knew her, — as did Mrs. Finn, and Mr. Warburtpn, the
private secretary. But Sir Orlando and Sir l^mothy and Mr.
Rattier, who were all within hearing, thought that the Duchess

SIR ORLANDO S POLICY.

188

it down
lying in
ry next

ir. work

jhooting
Archery

gravely,

er at our

Here are

TOUgiit 18

;liority on
r matters

ded by a

Because,

r resigna-

on't doubt

a pillar of

hrift?"

BS on and
years had
away into
ar under a
I, month to
■wards two
•y out the
" he said
•d giourd.
►pes, had
iataraot-

^raUy, and

chief, was

yood taste.

Tbe sure to

Intleas. It

kand'ei col-

[ those who

lurton, the

W and Mr.

le Duchess

had intended to allude to the iiervile nature of their position ; and
Mr. Bo:(Bn, who leard it, rejoiced within himself, comforting him-
self with the reiiecMon that his withers were unwrung, and think-
ing with what pleasure he might carry the anecdote into the
farthest corners of tho clubs. Poor Duchess I 'Tis pitiful to think
that after such Herculean labours she should injure the cause by
one slight unconsidered word, more, perhaps, than she had ad-
vanced it by all her energy.

During this time the Duke was at the Castle, but he showed
himself seldom to his guests, — so acting, as the reader will I hope
understand, from no sense of the importance of his own personal
presence, but influenced by a conviction that a public man should
not waste his time. He breakfasted in his own room, because
he could thus eat his breakfast in ten minutes. He read all the
papers in solitude, because he was thus enabled to give his mind to
their contents. Life had always been too serious to him to be
wasted. Every afternoon he walked for the sake of exercise, and
would have accepted any companion if any companion had espe-
cially offered him&olf. But he went off by some side-door, finding
the side-door to be convenient, and therefore when seen by others
was supposed to desire to remain unseen. " I had no idea there
was so much pride about the Duke," Mr. Boffin said to his old
colleague, Sir Orlando. *' Is it pride ?" asked Sir Orlando. ** It
may be shyness," said the wise Bo(En. "The two things are so
alike you can never tell the dijQPorence. But the man who is
cursed by either E^ould hardly be a Prime Minister."

It was on the da,y after this that Sir Orlando thought that the
moment had come in which it was his duty to say that salutary
word to the Duke, which it was clearly necessary that some col-
league should say, and which no colleague could have so good a
right to say as he who was the Leader of the House of Gommous.
He understood clearly that though they were gathered together
then at Gatherum Oastle for festive purposes, yet that no time
was unfit for the discussion of State matters. Does not all the
world know that when in autumn the Bismarcks of the world, or
they who are bigger than Bismarcks, meet at this or that delicious
haunt of salubrity, the affairs of the world are then settled in little
conclaves, with greater ease, rapidity, and certainty than in large
parliaments or tho dull chambers of public <^cee ? Emperor
meets Emperor, and King meets King, and as they wander among
rural glades in fraternal intimacy, wars are arranged, and swell-
ing territories are enjoyed in anticipation. Sir Orlando hitherto
had known all this, but had hardly as yet enjoyed it. He had
been long in office, but these sweet confidences can of their very
nature belong only to a very few. But now the time had mani-
festly come.

It was Sunday afteinoon, and Sir Orlando caught th(3 Duke in
the very act of leaving the house for his walk. Thero was no
archery, and many of the inmates of the Castle were asleep.

184

THE PRIME MINIHTER.

There had been a question as to tho propriety of Sabbath archery, in
disciibsing which reference had beon made to Laud'a hi lok of sports,
and the growing idea that the National Gallery should be opened
on the Lord's-day. But tho Duchesis would not have the aroiery.
** We are just the people who shouldn't prejudge the question,"
said the Duchess. The Duchess with various ladies, with the
Pountneys and Gunners, and other obedient male followers, had
been to church. None of the Ministers had of course been able
to leave the swollen pouches which are always sent out from
London on Saturday night, probably, —we cannot but think, —
as arranged excuses for sucn defalcation, and had passed their
mornings comfortably dosing over new novels. The Duke, always
right in his purpose but generally wrong in his practice, had
stayed at home working all the morning, thereby scandalising
the strict, and had gone to church alone in the afternoon, thereby
offending the social. The church was close to the house, and he
had gone back to change his coat and hat, and to get his stick.
But as he was stealing out of the little side-gate. Sir Orlando
was down upon him. '* If your Grace is going for a walk, and
will admit of company, I shall be delighted to attend you," said
Sir Orlando. The Duke professed himself to be well pleased, and
in truth was pleased. He would be glad to increase his personal
intiuiacy with his colleagues if it might be done pleasantly.

They had gone nearly a mile across the park, watching the
stately movements of the herds of deer, and talking of this and
that trifle, before Sir Orlando could bring about an opportunity for
uttering his word. At last he did it somewhat aoruptly. ** I
think upon the whole we did pretty well last Session, he said,
standing still under an old oak-tree.

'* Pretty well," re-echoed the Duke.

"And I suppose we have not much to be afraid of next Ses-
sion?"

'* I am afraid of nothing," said the Duke.

** But ;" then Sir Orlando hesitated. The Duke, however,

said not a word to help him on. Sir Orlando thought that the
Duke looked more ducal than he had ever seen him look before.
Sir Orlando remembered the old Duke, and suddenly found that
the uncle and nephew were very like each other. But it does not
become the leader, of the House of Commons to be afraid of any
one. *' Don't you think," continued Sir Orlando, '• we should try
and arrange among ourselves something of a policy ? I am not
quite sure that a ministry without a distinct course of action before
Xt can long enjoy the confidence of the country. Take the last
half century. There have been various policies, commanding more

or less of general assent; free trade ." Here Sir Orlando gave

a kindly wave of his hand, showing that on behalf of his com-
panion he was willing to place at the head of the list a policy
which had not always commanded his ovn assent; — "continued
reform in Parliament, to which I have, with my whole heart,

T
w
D

sc
ai

C«
th
re;
Di
m(
Pc
of

THE DU0HE8SS NSW SWAN.

185

cry, in
sports,
opened
rchery.
stion,"
ith the
rs, had
em able
it from
tiink, —
id their
always
ce, had
ialising
thereby
and he
is stick.
Orlando
ilk, and
u," said
sed, and
personal

ling the
his and

anity lor

•a

said,

)xt SeB-

lowever,
that the
before,
tnd that
does not
of any
ould try
am not
n before
the last
ig more
kdo gave
tis com-
policy
mtinued
Le heart.

u^iven my poor assistance." The Duke remembered how the
bathers' clothes were stolen, and that Sir Orlando had been one
of the most nimble-fingered of the thieves. " No popery, Irish
grievances, the ballot, rotrenohment, efficiency of the public service,
all have had their time."

"Things to be done offer themselves, I suppose, because they
are in themselves desirable ; not because it is desirable to have
something to do."

"Just so; — no doubt. But still, if you will thiixk of it, no
ministry can endure without a policy. During the latter part of
the last Session it was understooa that we had to get ourselvea in
harness together, and nothing more was expected from us } but I
think we should be prepared with a distinct policy ior the coming
year. I fear that nothing can be done in Ireland."

" Mr. Finn has ideas ."

•' Ah, yes ; — well, your Grace. Mr. Finn is a very clever voung
man certainly ; but I don't think we can support ourselves by his
plan of Irish reform." Sir Orlando had been a little carried away
by his own eloquence and the Duke's tameness, and had inter-
rupted the Duke. The Duke again looked ducal, but on this
ooc^^ion Sir Orlando did not observe his countenance. " For my-
oeL, I think, I am in flavour of increased armaments. I have been
applying my mind lo the subject, and I think I see that the people
of tnis country do not object to a slightly rising scale of estimates
in that direction. Of course there is the county suffrage "

" I will think of what you have been saying," said uie Duke.

" As to the county suffrage——"

"I will think it over," said the Duke. "You see that oak.
That is the largest tree we have here at Gatherum ; and I doubt
whether there be a larger one in this part of England." The
Duke's voice and words were not uncourteous, but there was
something in them which hindered Sir Orlando from referring
again on that occasion to county suffrages or increased arma-
ments.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE DUCHESS'S NEW SWAN.

When the party had been about a week ojUected at Oithemm
Castle Ferdinand Lopez had manifestly become the favourite of
the Duchess for the time, and had, at ner instance, promised to
remain there for some further days. He had hardly spoken to the
Duke since he had been in the house, — but then but few of that
motley assembly did talk much with the Duke. Gunner and
Pountney had gone away, — the Captain having declared his dislike
of the upstart Portuguese to be so strong that he could not stay in

180

THE PRIME MINI8TEB.

the Rame hona© with him any longer, and the Mnjor, who was of
fltroiiger uiind, having resolved that he would put the intruder
down. "It is hoiTible to think what power money has in these
days," said the Captain. The Captain had shaken the dust of
Gatherum altogether from his feet, but the Major had so arranged
that a bed was to bo found for him again in October, — for another
happy week ; but he was not to return till' bidden by the Duchess.
•• You won't forget ; — now will you, Duchess ?" he said, imploring
her to remember him as he took his leave. " I did take a deal of
trouble about the code ;— didn't I ?" " They don't soem to me to
care for the code," said the Duchess, " but, nevertheless, I'll
remember."

' ' Who, in the name of all that's wonderful, was that I saw you with
in the garden F " the Duchess said to her husband one afternoon.

** It was Lady Rosina De Courcy, 1 suppose ! "

" Heaven and earth ! — what a companion for you to choose."

" Why not P — why shouldn't I talk to Lady Rosina De Courcy P

"I'm not jealous a bit, if you mean that. I don't think Ladv
Rosina will steal your heart from me. But why you should pick
her out of aU the people here, when there are so many would
think their fortunes made if you would only take a turn with
them, I cannot imagine."

" But I don't want to make any one's fortune," said the Duke ;
** and certainly not in that way."

" What could you be saying to her P"

" She was talking about her family. I rather like Lady Rosina.
She is living all alone, it seems, and almost in poverty. Perhaps
there is nothing so sad in the world as the female scions of a noble
but impoverished stock."

" Nothing so dull certainly."

" People are not dull to me, if they are real. I pity that poor
lady. She is proud of her blood and yet not ashamed of her
poverty."

*• Wliatever might come of her blood, she -tiay been all hor life
willing enough to get rid of her poverty. It isn't above three
years since she was trying her best to marry that brewer at Silver-
Dridge. I wish you could give your time a little to some of the
other people."

•* To go and shoot arrows ?"

" No ; — I don't want you to shoot arrows. You might act the
part of host without shooting. Can't you walk about with anybody
except Lady Rosina De Courcy ?"

" I was walking about with Sir Orlando Drought last Sunday,
and I very much prefer Lady Rosina."

" There has been no quarrel P" asked the Duchess sharply.

"Oh dear no."

"Of course he's an empty-headed idiot. Everybody has always
known that. And he's put above his place in the House. But it
wouldn't do to quarrel with him now."

) was of
intruder
in these
dust of
uranged
' anotner
Duchess,
nploring
a deal of
to me to
•less, ril

you with
irnoon.

oose."
Courcy ?
ink Ladv
lould pick
.ny would
Mm with

he Duke ;

y Bosina.
Perhaps
Qf a noble

that poor
3d of her

11 hor life
lOve three
at Silver-
irie of the

ht act the
1 anybody

Sunday,

rply.

^as always
But it

TUB DUGHRHS 8 NEW SWAN.

187

•• I don't think I am u miarrelsoine man, Cora. I don't remem-
ber at this moment that 1 have ever quarrelled with anybo<ly to
your knowled^. But I may perhaps be permitted to "

"Snub a man, you mean. Well: I wouldn't even snub Sir
Orlando very much, if I were you ; though I can understand that
it might be both pleasant and easy."

" 1 wish you wouldn't put slang phrases into my mouth. Cora.
If I think that a man intrudes upon me, I am of course bound to
let him know my opinion."

•' Sir Orlando has— intruded I "

" By no means. He is in a position which justifies his saying
many things to me which another might not say. But then, again,
he is a man whose opinion does not go far with mo, and I have not
the knack of seeming to agree with a man while I let his words
pass idly hy me."

" That is quite true, Plantagenet."

*' And, therefore, I was uncomfortable with Sir Orlando, while
I was able to sympathise with Lady Bosina."

" What do you think of Ferdinand Lopez P " asked the Duchess,
with studied bruptness.

" Think oi Mr. Lopoz ! I haven't thought of him at all. Why
should I think of him ? "

" I want you to think of him. I think he's a very pleasant
fellow, and I'm sure he's a rising man."

"You might think the latter, and perhaps feel sure of the
former."

" Very well. Then, to oblige you, I'll think the latter and feel
sure of me former. I suppose it's true that Mr. Grey is goinjB; on
this mission to Persia F" Mr. Grey was the Duke's intimate finend,
and was at this time member for the neighbouring borough of
Silverbridge.

"I think he will go. I've no doubt about it. He is to go after
Christmas."

" And will give up his seat P "

The Duke did not answer her immediately. It had only just
been decided, — decided by his friend himself, — that the seat should
be given up when the journey to Persia was undertaken. Mr.
Grey, somewhat in opp»osition to the Duke's advice, had resolved
that he could not be in Persia and do his duty in the House of
Commons at the same time. But this resolution had only now
been made known to the Duke, and he was rather puzzled to
think how the Duchess had been able to be so quick upon him.
He ha4, indeed, kept the matter back from the Duchess, feeling
that she would have something to say about it, which might pos-
."'vbly be unpleasant, as soon as the tidings should reach ner.
" JLtoS," h« said, '' I think he will give up his seat. That is his
purpose, though 1 tiiink it is unnecessary."

•* Let Mr. Lopez have it."

" Mx. Lopez 1 "

138

THE PBIME MINISTEB.

" Yos ; — he is a olever man, a rising man, a man that is sure to
do well, and who will be of use to you. Just take the trouble to
i^lk to him. It is assistance of tbat kind that you want. Tou
Uinisterri go on shuffling the old cards till they are so worn out
and dirty that one can hardly tell the pips on them."

" I am one oi i.he dirty old cards myself," said the Duke.

" That's nonsense, you know. A man who is at the head of affairs
as you are can't be included among the pack I am speaking of. What
you want is new blood, or new wood, or new metal, or whatever
you may choose to call it. Take my advice and try this man. He
isn't a pauper. It isn't money that he wants."

" Cora, your geese are all swans."

'* That's not fair. I have never brought to you a goose yet.
My swans ha\ ~: been swans. Who was it Irought you and your
pet swan of fJl, Mr. Grey, together f I won't name any names,
but it is your swans have been geese."

** It is i;ot for me to return a member for Silverbridge." When
he said this, she gave him a look which almost upset even his
gravity, a look which was almost the same as asking him whether
he would not—" tell that to the marines." '* You don't q[uite un-
derstand these things, Cora,." he continued. " The influence
which owners of property may have in boroughs is decreasing
every day, and there arises the question whether a conscientious .
man will anj louKer use such influence."

"I don't thbiis. you'd like to see a man from Silverbridge
opposing you in the t!ouse."

" I may have bo bear worsv even than that."

" Well ; — there it is. The man is here and you have the oppor-
tunity of knowing him. Qf course I have not hinted at the
matter to him. If there were any Falliser wanted the borough I
wouldn't say a word. What more patriotic thing can a patron do
with his borough than to select a man who is unknown to him,
not related to him, a perfect stranger, merely for his worth P "

" But I do not know what may be the worth of Mr. Lopez."

"I will guarantee that," said the Duchess. Whereupon the
Duke laughed, and then idft her.

The Duchess had spoken with absolute truth when she told her
husband that she had not said a word to Mr. Lopez about Silver-
bridge, but it was not long before she did say a word. On that
same day she found herself alone with him in the garden, — or so
much alone as to be able to speak with him privately. He had
certainly made the best use of his time since ne had been at the
Castle, having secured the good- will of many of the ladies, and the
displeasure of most of the men. " You have never been in Parlia-
ment, I think," said the Duchess.

•* I have never even tried to get there."

*' Perhaps you dislike the idea of that kind of life."

" No, indeed," he said. " So far from it, that I regard it as the
highest kind of life there is in England. A seat in Parliament

,v -^^

THE DUCHESS 8 NEW SWAN.

189

gives a man a status in this country which it has never done else-
where."

" Then why don't you try it ?"

** Because I've got into another groove. I've become essentially
a city man, — one of those who take up the trade of making money
generally."

" And does that content you P "

"No, Duchess; — certainly not. Instead of contenting me it
disgusts me. Not but that I like the money, — only it is so in-
sufficient a use of one's life. I suppose I shall try to get into
Parliament some day. Seats in Parliament don't grow like black-
berries on bushes."

•' Pretty nearly," said the Duchess.

•' Not in my part of the country. These good things seem to be
appointed to fall in the way of some men, and not of others. If
there were a general election going on to-morrow, I should not
know how to look for a seat."

" They are to be found sometimes even without a general elec-
tion," said the Duchess.

" Are you alluding to anything now ? "

** Well ;— yes, I am. But I'm very discreet, and do not like to
do more than allude. I fancy that Mr. Grey, the member for
Silverbridge, is going to Persia. Mr. Grey is a Member of Parlia-
ment. Members of Parliament ought to be in London and not in
Persia. It is generally supposed that no man in ICugland is mqro
prone to do what he ought to do than Mr. Grey. Therefore, Mr.
Grey will cease to be Member for Silverbridge. That's logic ;
isn't it?"

"Has your Grace any logic equally strong to prove that I can
follow him in the borough ?

" No ; — or if I have, the logic that I should use in that matter
must for the present be kept to myself." She certainly had a little
syllogism in her head as to the Duke ruling the borough, the
Duke's wife ruling the Duke, and therefore the Duke's wife ruling
the borough ; but she did not think it prudent to utter this on the
present occasion. *' I think it much better that men in Parliament
should be unmarried," said the Duchess.

" But I am going to be married," said he.

" Going to be married, are you ? "

" I have no right to say so, because the lady's father has rejected
me." Then 'he told her the whole story, and so told it as to secure
her entire sympathy. In telling it he never said that he was a rich
man, he never boasted that that search after wealth of which he
bad spoken, ha/i been successful ; but he gave her to understand ,
that there was no objection to him at all on the score of money.
" You may have heard of the family," he said.

"I have heard of the Whartons of course, and know that there
is a baronet, — but I know nothing more of them. He is not a man
of large property, I think."

140

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

*• My Miss "Wharton, — the one I would fain call mine, — is the
daughter of a London barrister. He I believe is rich."

'* Then she will be an heiress."

*' I suppose so ; — but that consideration has had no weight with
me. I have always regarded myself as the architect of my own
fortune, and have no wish to owe my material comfort to a wife. *

*' Sheer love ! " suggested the Duchess.

** Yes, I think so. It's very ridiculous ; is it not ? "

*• And why does the rich barrister object ? "

*' The rich barrister, Duchess, is an out and out old Tory, who
thinks that his daughter ought to marry no one but an English
Tory. I am not exactly that.*'

" A man does not hamper his daughter in these days by politics,
when she is falling in love."

*' There are other cognate reasons. He does not like a foreigner.
Now I am an Englishman, but I have a foreign name. He does
not think that a name so grandly Saxon as Wharton should bjB
changed to one so meanly Latin as Lopez."

*• The lady does not object to the Latinity P "

"I fancy not."

• * Or to the bearer of it ? "

" Ah; — there I must not boast. But in simple truth there is
only the father's ill-will between us."

"With plenty of money on both sides?" asked the Duchess.
Lopez shrugged his shoulders. A shrug at such a time may mean
anything, but the Duchess took this shrug as signifying that that
question was so surely settled as to admit of no difficiuty. ** Then,"
said the Duchess, " the old gentleman may as well give way at
once. Of course his daughter wiU be too many for him." In this
way the Duchess of Omnium became the fiist friend of Ferdinand
Lopez.

CHAPTER XXIL

ST. JAMES'S PARK.

Towards the end of September Everett Wharton and Ferdinand
Lopez were in town together, and as no one else was in town, — so
at least they both professed to say, — they saw a good deal of each
other. Lopez, as we know, had spent a portion of the preceding
month at Gatherum Castle, and had made good use of his time, but
Everett Wharton had been less fortunate. He had been a little
cross with his father, and perhaps a little cross with all the Whar-
tons generally, who did not, he thought, make quite enough of
h im. In the event of *' anything happening " to that ne'er-do-well
nephew, he himself would be the heir ; and he reflected not imfre-
quently that something very probably might happen to the nephew.

ST. JAMES S PABK.

141

He did not often see this particular cousin, but he always heard of
him as being drunk, oyerwhehned with debt and difficulty, and
altogether in that position of life in which it is probable that some-
thing will " happen." There was always of course the danger that
the young man might marry and have a child ; — but in the' mean-
time surely he, Everett Wharton, should have been as much thought
of on the banks of the Wye as Arthur Fletcher. He had been
asked down to Wharton Hall, — but he had been asked in a way
which he had not thought to be flattering and had declined to go.
Then there had been a plan for joining Arthur Fletcher in a certain
shooting, but that had failed in consequence of a few words between
himself and Arthur respecting Lopez. Arthur had wanted him to
say that Lopez was an unpardonable intruder, — but he had taken
the part of Lopez, and therefore, when the time came round, he
had nothing to do with the shooting. He had stayed in town till
the middle of August, and had then started by himself across the
continent with some keen intention of studying German politics ;
but he had found perhaps that German politics do not manifest
themselves in the autumn, or that a foreign country cannot be well
studied in solitude, — and he had returned.

Late in the summer, just before his father and sister had left
town, he had had some words with the old barrister. There had
been a few bills to be paid, and Everett's allowance had been
insufficient. It often was insufficient, and then ready money for
his German tour was absolutely necessary. Mr. Wharton might
probably ha'/e said less about the money had not his son accom-
panied his petition by a further allusion to Parliament. " There
are some I'ellows at last really getting themselves together at the
Progi'ess, and of course it will be necessary to know who will be
ready to come forward at the next general election."

"X think I know one who woirt," said the father, "judging
from the manner in which he seems at present to manage his own
money affairs." There was more severity in this than the old man
had intended, for he had often thought within his own bosom
whether it would not be well that he should encourage his son to
stand for some seat. And the money that he had now been asked
to advance had not been very much,- not more, in truth, than he
expected to be called upon to pay in addition to the modest sum
which he professed to allow his son. He was a rich man, who was
not in truth made unhappy by parting with his money. But there
had been, he thought, an impuaence m the conjoint attack which
it was his duty to punish. Therefore he had given his son very
little encouragement.

*' Of course, sir, if you tell me that you are not inclined to pay
anything beyond the allowance you make me, there is an end
of it."

" I rather think that you have just asked me to pay a consider-
able sum beyond your allowance, and that I have consented."
Everett argued the matter no further, but he permitted his mind

i ,, ,

142

THE PRIMK MINISTKR.

to entertain an idea that he was ill-used by his father. The time
would come when he would probably be heir not only to his father's
money, but also to the Wharton title and the Wharton property, —
when his position in the country would really be, as he frequently
told himself, quite considerable. Was it possible that he should
refrain from blaming his father for not allowing him to obtain,
early in life, that parliamentary education which would fit him to
be an ornament to tb House of Commons, '^.nd a safeguard to his
country in future years P

Now he and Lopez were at the ProgreoS together, and they were
almost the only men in the club. Lopez was quite contented with
his own present sojourn in London. He had not only been at
Gatherum Castle but was going there again. And then ho had
brilliant hopes before him, — so brilliant that they br->un, he
thought, to aouume the shape of certainties. He had con impended
with the Duchess, and he had gathered from her somewhat dubious
words that the Duke would probably accede to her wishes in the
mat.^er of Silverbridge. The vacancy had not yet been declared.
Mr. Grey was deterred, no doubt by certain high State purposes,
from applying for the stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds,
and thereby releasing himself from his seat in Parliament, and
enabling himself to perform, with a clear conscience, duties in a
distant part of the world which he did not feel to be compatible
with that seat. The seekers after seats were, no doubt, already
on the track; but the Duchess had thought that as far as the
Duke's good word went, it might possibly be ^ven in favour
of Mr. Lopez. The happy aspirant had taken this to be almost
as good as a promise. There were also certain pecuniary specu-
lations on foot, which could not be kept quite quiet 3ven in
September, as to which he did not like to txust entirely to the
imaided energy of Mr. Sextus Parker, or to the boasted aUiance of
Mr. Mills Happerton. Sextus Parker's whole heart and soul were
now in the matter, but Mr. Mills Happerton, an undoubted partner
in Hunky and Sons, had blown a little coldly on the affair. But
in spite of this Ferdinand Lopez was happy. Was it probable that
Mr. Wharton should continue his opposition to a marriage which
would make his daughter the wife of a member of Parliament and
of a special friend of the Duchess of Omnium ?

He had said a word about his own prospects in reference to the
marriage, but Everett had been at first too full of his own affairs
to attend much to a matter which was comparatively so trifling.
"Upon my word,'" he said, "I am beginning to feel angry with
the governor, which is a kind of thing I don't like at all."

*' I can understand that when he's angry with you, you shouldn't
like it."

** I don't mind that half so much. He'll come round. However
unjust he may be now, at the moment, he's the last man in the
world to do an injustice in his will. I have thorough confidence in
him. But I find myself driven into hostility to him by a convic-

i f

ST. JAM£S S PARK.

143

tion that he von*t let me take any real step in life, till my life has
boen half frittered away."

•* You're thinking of Parhament."

" Of course I am. I don't say you ain't an Englishman, but
you are not quite enough of an Euglishman to understand what
Parliament is to us."

'* I hope to be, — some of these days," said Lopez.

■*Perhia.ps you may. I won't say but what you may get your-
self educated to it when you've been married a dozen years to an
English wife, and have half-a-dozen English children of your own.
But, in the meantime, look at my position. I am twenty-eight
years old."

♦* I am four years your senior.**

" It does not matter a straw to you," continued Everett. " But
a few years are everything ^th me. I have a right to suppose
that I may be able to represent the county, — say in twenty years.
I shall probably then be the head of the fp.mily and a rich man.
Consider what a parliamentary education would be to me ! And
then it is just the life for which I have laid myself put, and in
which I could make myself useful. Tou don't sympathise with me,
but you might understand me."

" I do both. I think of going into the House myself."

" You ! "

"Yss; I do."

** You must have changed your ideas very much then within
the last month or two."

" I have changed my ideas. My one chief object in life is, as
you know, to marry your sister ; and if I were a Member of Par-
liament I think that some difficulties would be cleared away."

" But there won't be an election for the next three years at any
rate," said Everett Wharton, staring at his friend. ** You don't
mean to keep Emily waiting for a dissolution ? "

" There are occasional vacancies," siid Lopez.

** Is there a chance of anything of thtkt kind falling in your way ? "

" I think there is. I oan'i quite toll you all the" particulars
because other people are concerned, but I don't think it impro-
bable that I may De in i!iie House befoio ; well, say in three

months' time."

" lu three months' time ! " exclaimed Everett, whose mouth wan
watering at the prospects of his friend. "That is what comes
from going to stay with the Prime Minister, I suppose." Ltpez
shrugged his shoulders. "Upon my word I can't understand
you," continued the other. " It was only the other day you were
arguing in this very room as tt* the absurdity of a parliamentary
career,— pitching into me, by George, like the very mischief, because
I had said something in its favour, — and now you are going in for
it yourself in some sort of mysterious way that a fellow can't under-
t'taud." It was quite clear that Everett Wharton thought himself
ill ujped by his friend's success.

THE PRIME MIMISTEtt.

" There is no mystery ;— only I can't tell people's names."

«• What is the borough ? "

*'' I cannot tell you that at present."

*• Are you sure there will be a vacancy ? '*

•• I think I am sure."

" And that you will be invited to stand P "

" I am not sure of that."

*' Of cours*^ anybody can stand whether invited or not."

" If I come forward for this place I shall do so on the very best
interest. Don't mention it. I tell you because I already regard
my oonn<3ction with you as being so close as to call upon me to tell
you anyt.iing of that kind."

•* And yet you do not tell me the details."

** I tell you all that I can in honour tell."

Everett Wharton certainly felt aggrieved by his friend's news,
and plainly showed that he did so. It was so hard that if a stray
seat in Parliament were going a begging, it should be thrown in
the way of this man who didu't care ror it, and couldn't use it to
any good purpose, instead of in his own way ! Why should any
one want Ferdinand Lopez to be in Parliament? Ferdinand Lopez
had paid no attention to the great political questions of the Com-
monwealth. He knew nothing of Labour and Capital, of Unions,
Strikes, and Lock-outs. But because he was rich, and, by being
rich, had made his way among great people, he was to have a seat
in Parliament ! As for the wecdth, it might be ft his own com-
mand also, — if only his father could be got to oie the matter in a
proper light. And as for the friendship of great people, — Pi'ime
Ministers, Duchesses, and such like, — Everett Wharton was quite
confident that he was at Any rate as well qualified to shine among
them as Ferdinand Lopez. He was of too good a nature to be stirred
to injustice against his friend hj the soreness of this feeling. He did
not wish to rob his friend of his wealth, of his Duchesses, or of his
embryo seat in Parliament. But for the moment there came upon
him a doubt whether Ferdinand was so very clever, or so peculiarly
gentlemanlike or in any way very remarkable, and almost a con-
viction that he was very far from being good-looking.

They dined together, and quite late in the evening they stroUed
out into St. James's Park. There was nobody in Loudon, and there
was nothing for either of them to do, and therefore they agreed to
walk round the park, dark and gloomy as they knew the park would
be. Lo]^jz had seen and had quite understood the bitterness of
spirit by which Everett had been oppressed, and with that pecu-
liarly imperturbable good humour which made a part of bis cha-
racter bore it all, oven with tenderness. He was a man, as are
many of his race, who could bear contradictions, unjust suspicions,
and social ill-treatment without a shadow of resentment, but who,
if he had a purpose, could cari'y it out without a shadow of a
scruple. Everett Wharton had on this occasion made himself very
unpleasant, and Lopez had borne with him as an angel would

I i

BT. JAMKSS PARK.

145

hardly have «loTie ; \m^ should Wharton ever stand in his friend's
way, his friend would sacrifice liim without compunction. As
it was Lopez bore with him, simply noting in his own mind that
Bverett Wharton was a greater ass than he had taken him to be.
It was Wharton's idea that they should walk round the park,
and Lopez for a time had discouraged the suggestion. " It is a
wretchedly dark place at night, and you don't know whom you
may meet there."

" You don't mean to say that you are alVaid to walk round St.
James's Park with me, because it's dark ! " said Wharton.

" I certainly should be afraid by myself, but I don't know that 1
am afraid with you. But what's the good P "

*' It's better than sitting here doing nothing, without a >oul to
speak to. I've already smoked hal?-a-doz^n cigars, till I'm so
muddled I don't know what I'm about. It's so hot one can't walk
in the day, and this is just the time for exercise." Lopez yielded,
being willing to yield in almost anything at present to the Drotiier
of Emily Wnarton ; and, though the tmng seemed to him to be
very foolish, they entered the park hy St. James's Palace, and
started to walk round it, turning to the ri^t and going in front of
Buckingham Pelace. As they went on Wharton still continued
his accusation against his father and said also some sharp things
against Lopez himself, till his companion began to think that the
wine he had drunk had been as bad as the cigars. " I can't under-
stand your wanting to go into Parliament," he said. " What do
you know about it ? "

" If I get there I can learn like anybody else, I suppose."

** Half of those who go there don't learn. They are, as it were,
bom to it, and they do very well to support this party or that."

•* And why shouldn't I support this party,— or that ? "

" I dout suppose you know which party you would support, —
except that you'd vote for the Duke, if, as I suppose, you are to
get in under the Duke's influence. If I went into the House I
should go with a fixed and settled purpose of my own."

*' I'm not there yet," said Lopez, willing to drop the subject.

" It will be a great expense to you, and will stand altogether
in the way of your profession. As far as Emily is concerned, I
should think my father would be dead against it.*

" Then he would be unreasonable."

** Not at all, if he thought you would injure your professional

prospects. It is a d piece of folly ; that's the long and the

short of it."

This certainly was very uncivil, and it almost made Lopez angry.
But he had made up his mind that his friend was a little the worse
for the wine he had drunk, and therefore he did not resent even
this. "Never mind politics and Parliament now," he said, " but
let U8 get home. I am beginning to be sick of this. It's so awfully
dark, and whenever I do hear a step, I think somebody is coming
to rob us. Let us get on a bit."

146

THE PBIMB MINISTER.

" What the deuce are you afraid of P " said Everett. They had
then come up the greater part of the length of the Bird- Cage
Walk, and the lights at Storey's (jiate were just visible, but the
road on vebioh they were then walking was very dark. The trees
were black over their head, and not a step was heard near thorn.
At this time it was just midnight. Now, certainly, among the
faults which might be justly attributed to Lopez, personal
cowardice could not be reckoned. On this evening be had twice
spoken of being afraid, but the fear had simply been that which
ordinary caution indicates ; and his object had been that of hinder-
ing Wharton in the first place from coming into the park, and then
of getting him out of it as quickly as possible.

" Come along," said Lopez.

" By Qeorge, you are in a blue funk," said the other. " I can
hear your teet^ chattering." Lopez, who was beginning to be
angry, walked on and said notliing. It was too absura, he mought,
for real anger, but he kept a little in front of Wharton, intending
to show that he was displeased. " Tou had better run away at
once,'' said Wharton.

" Upon my word, I shall begin to think that you're tipsy," said
JLopez.

" Tipsy I " said the other. " How dare you say such a thing to
me ? You never in your life saw me in the least altered by any
thing I had drunk."

Lopez knew that at any rate this was untrue. ** I've seen you
as drunk as Oloe before now," said he.

<* That's a lie," said Everett Wharton.

" Gome, Wharton," said the other, ** do not disgrace yourself by
conduct such as that. Something has put you out, and you do not
know what you are saying. I oan hardly imagine that you should
wish to insult me."

" It was you who insulted me. Tou said I was drunk. When
you said it you knew it was untrue."

Lopez walked on a little way in silence, thinking over this most
absurd quarrel. Then he turned round and spoke. "This is all
the greatest nonsense I ever heard in the world. I'll go on and go
to bed, and to-morrow morning you'll think better of it. But pray
remember that under no circumstances should you call a man a
liar, unless on cool consideration you are determined. to quarrel
with him for lying, and determined also to see the quarrel out."

" I am quite ready to see this quarrel out.'

" Good night," said Lopez, starting off at a quick pace. They
were then close to the turn in the park, and Lopez went on till he
had nearly reached the park front of the new offices. As he had
walked he had listened to the footfall of his friend, and after a
while had perceived, or had thought that he perceived, that the
sound was discontinued. It seemed to him that Wharton had
altogether lost his senses ; — the insult to himself had been so de-
termined and so absolutely groundless ! He had striven his best

ST. JAMES S PARK.

147

to conquer the nian s ill liumour by good -natii red forbearance, and
had only suggOHted that Wharton was perhaps tipsy in order to
give him some excuse. But if his companion were really drunk,
as he now began to think, could it bo right to leave him unpro-
tected in the park ? The man's manner had been strange the
whole evening, but there had been no sign of the effect of wine till
after they had left the club. But Lopez nad heard of men who had
been apparently sober, becoming drunk as soon as they got out
into the air. It might have been so in this case, though Wharton's
voice and gait had not beon those of a drunken man. At any rate,
he would turn back and look after him ; and as ho did turn back,
he resolved that whatever Wharton might say to him on this night
he would not notice. He was too wise to raise a further impedi-
ment to his marriage by quarrelling with Emily's brother.

As soon as he paused he was sure that he heard footsteps behind
him which were not those of Everett Wharton. Indeed, ho was . aro
that he heard the footsteps of more than one person. He stood
still for a moment to listen, and then ho distinctly heard a rash
and a scuffle. He ran back to the spot at which he had left his
friend, and at first thought that he perceived a mob of people in
the dusk. But as he got nearer, he saw that there were a man and
two women. Wharton was on the ground, on his back, and the
man was apparently kneeling on his neck and head while the
women were rifling his pockets. Lopez, hardly knowing how he
was acting, was upon them in a moment, flying in the first place at
the man, who had jumped up to meet him as he came. He received
at once a heavy blow on his head from some weapon, which, however,
his hat so far stopped as to save him from being felled or stunned,
and then he felt another blow from behind on the ear, which he
afterwards conceived to have been given him by one of the women.
But before he could well look about him, or well know how the
whole thing had happened, the man%nd the two women had taken
to their le^j, and Wharton was standing on his feet leaning
against the iron railings.

The whole thing had occupied a very short space of time, and
yet the effects were very grave. At the first moment Lopez looked
round and endeavoured to listen, hoping that some assistance
might be near, — some policeman, or, if not that, some wanderer
by night who might be honest enough to help him. But he could
hear or see no one. In this condition of things it was not possible
for him to pursue the . ruffians, as he could not leave his friend
leaning againsj; the park-rails. It was at once manifest to him that
Wharton had been much hurt, or at any rate incapacitated for im-
mediate exertion, by the blows he had received ; — and as he put
his hand up to his own head, from which in the scuffle his hat had
fallen, he was not certain tnat he was not severely hurt himself.
Lopez could see that Wharton was very pale, that his cravat had
been almost wrenched from his neck by pressure, that his waist-
coat wns torn open and the front of his shirt soiled, — arjd he could

148

THE PRiare MINISTER.

8e« also that a fragment of the watoh-chaiii wan hanging loose,
showing that the watch was pone. "Are you hurt muchP" he
said, coming close up and taking a tender hold of his friend's arm.
Wharton smiled andf shook hi^fi head, but spoke not a word. Ue
was in truth more shaken, stunned, and bewildered than actually
injured. The rufhan's ^st had been at his throat, twisting his
cravat, and for half a minute he had felt that he was choked. As
he had struggled while one woman pulled at his watch and the
other searched for his purse, — s':rugghng, alas I unsuccessfully,—
the man had endeavoured to r aieb him by kneeling on his chest,
strangling him with his owtx necktie, and pressing hard on his
gullet. It is a treatment which, after a few seconds jf vigorous
practice, is apt to leave the patient for a while disconcerted and
unwilling to speak. •' Say a word if you can," whispered Lopez,
looking into the other man's face with anxious eyes.

At the moment there came across Wharton's miud a remem-
brance that he had behaved very badly to his friend, ana some sort
of vague misty doubt whether all this evil had not befallen him
because of his misconduct. But he knew at the same Lime that
Lopez was not rei^ponsible for the evil, and dismayed as he had
been, still he recalled enough of the nature of the struggle in
which he had been engaged, to be aware that Lopez had befriended
him gallantly. He comd not even yet speak ; but he saw the
blood trickling down his friend's temple and forehead, and lifting
up his hand, touched the spot with his fingers. Lopez also put
his hand up, and drew it away covered with blood. " Oh," said
he, " that dons not signify in the least. I got a knock, I know,
and I am afi'aid I have lost my hat, but I'm not hurt."

' ' Oh, dear ! " The word was uttered with a low sigh. Then
there was a pause, during which Lopez supported the sufierer.
*' I thought that it was all over with me at one moment."

•* You will be better now."

** Oh, yes. My watch is gone I"
" I fear it is," said Lopez.

*' And nay purse," said '"Vharton, collecting hio strength
together sufficiently to search for his treasures. " I had eight £5
notes in it."

•' Never mind your money or your watch if your bones are not
broken."

" It's a bore all the same to loso every shilling that one has."
Then they walked very slowly away towards the steps at the Duke
of York's column, Wharton regaining his strengtk as he went,
but still able to progress but leisurely. Lopez had not found
his hat, and, being covered with blood, was, as far as appearances
went, in a worse plight than the other. At the foot of the steps
they met a policeman, to whom they told their story, and who, as a
matter of course, was filled with an immediate desire to arrest them
both. To the ^lioeman's mind it was most distressing that a bloody-
fttoed man without a hat, with a companion almost too weak to

ST. JAMKBB PARK.

149

es are not

walk, should not be conveyed to a police-station. But after ten
minutes' parley, during which Wharton sat on the bottom step and
Lopez explained all the oircumstances, he consented to get them a
cab, to take their address, and then to go alone to the station and
make his report. That the thieves had got off with their plunder
was only too manifest. Lopez took the injured man homo to the
house in Manchester Square, and then returned in the same cab,
hatless, to his own lodgings.

As he returned he appUed his mind to think how he could turn
the events of the evening to his own use. He did not believe that
Everett Wharton was severely hurt. Indeed thore might be a ques-
tion whether in the morning his own injury w|>uld not be the ipost
severe. But the immediate effect on the flustered and despoiled
unfortunate one^ad been great enough to justify Lopez in taking
strong steps if strong steps could in any way benefit himself. Would
it be best to publish this affair on the hou.se -tops, or to bury it in
the shade, as nearly as it might be buried P He had determined
in his own mind that his friend certainly had boen tipsy. In no
other way could his conduct be understood. And a row with a
tipsy man at midnight in the park is not, at first sight, creditable.
But it could be made to have a better appearance S told by him-
self, than if published from other quarters. The old housekeeper
at Manchester Square must know something about it, and would,
of course, tell what she knew, and the loss of the money and the
watch must in all probability be made known. Before he had
reached his own door, he had quite made up his mind that he him-
self would tell the story after his own fashion.

And he told it, before he went to bed that night. He washed
the blood from his face and head, and cut away a part of the clotted
hair, and then wrote a letter to old Mr. Wharton at Wharton Hail.
And between three and tour o'clock in the morning he went out
and posted his letter in the nearest pillar, so that it might go down
by the day mail and certainly be preceded by no other written
tidings. The letter which he sent was as follows ; —

"Dear Mr. Wharton,

" I regret to have to send you an account of a rather serious
accident which has happened to Everett. I am now writing at
3 A.M., having just taken him home, and it occurred at about
midnight. You may be quite sure that there is no danger or I
should have advertised you by telegram.

"There is nothing doing in town, and therefore, as the night
was fine, we, very foolishly, agreed to walk round St. James's Park
late after dinner. It is a kind of thing that nobody does ; — but we
did it. When we had nearly got round I was in a hurry, whereas
KiVerett was for strolling slowly, and so I went on before him. But
I was hardly two hundred yards in front of him before ho was
attacked by three persons, a niarj and two women. The man I
] 'resume came upon him from behind, but ho has not suftcienily

160

THE PRIMK MINI8TKU.

.1 '.■>

;•

collected his thoughts to remember exactly what occurred. I heard
th« souffle and of course turned b^^k, — and was luckily in time to
get up before ho was seriously huit. I think the man would other-
wise nave strangled him. I am sorry to say that he lost both his
watch and purse..

" He undoubtedly has been very much shaken, and altogether
' knocked out of time,' as people say. P]xcu8e the phrase, because
I think it will best explain what I want you to understand. The
man's hand at his throat must ^ave stopped his breathing for some
seconds. He certainly has received no permanent injury, but I
should not wonder if he should be unwell for some days. I tell
you all exactly as i^^ occurred, as it strikes me that you may like
to run up to town for a day just to look at him. But you need not
do so on the score of any danger. Of course h% will see a doctor
to-morrow. There did not seem to be any necessity for calling one
up to-night. We did give notice to the police as we were coming
home, but I fear the ruffians had ample time for escape. He was
too weak, and I was too fully employed with him, to tnink of pur-
suing them at the time.

" Of course he is at Manchester Square.

" Most faithfully yours,

**Fekdinand Lopez."

He did not say a word about Emily, but he knew that Emily
would see the letter and would perceive that he had been the means
of preserving; her brother ; and, in regard to the old barrister him-
self, Lopez thought that the old man could not but feel grateful for
his conduct. He had in truth behaved very well to Everett. He
had received a heavy blow on the head in young Wharton's defence,
— of which he was determined to make good use, though he had
thought it expedient to say nothing about the blow in his letter.
Surely it would all help. Surely the paternal mind would be
softened towards him when the father should be made to under-
stand how great had been his service to the son. That Everett
would make little of what had been done for him he did not in the
least fear Everett Wharton was sometimes silly but was never
ungenerous.

Li spite of his night's work Lopez was in Manchester Square
before nine on the following morning, and on the side of his brow
he bore a great patch of black plaster. " My head is very thick,"
he said laughing, when Everett asked after his wound. "But it
would have gone badly with me if the ruffian had struck an inch
lower. I suppose my hat saved me, though I remember very
little. Yes, old fellow, I have written to your father, and I think
he will come up. It was better that it should be so."

" There is nothing the matter with me," said Everett.

*• One didn't quite know last night whether there was or no. At
any rate his coming won't hurt you. It's always well to have your
banker near you, when your funds are low."

SURRENDEB.

161

Then after a pauso Everett made his apolo^, — " I kuow I made
a great aan of myself laut uight. "

" Don't think about it."

" I used a word I shouldn't h%ye used, and I beg your pardon."

" ^<ot another word, Everett. Between you and me things oan't
go wrong. We love each other too well."

CHAPTER XXIIL

SURRENDER.

was never

The letter given in tbe previous Chapter was received at Wharton
Hall late in the evening of the day on which it was written, and
was discussed amone all the Whartons that night. Of course there
was no doubt as to the father's going up to town on the morrow.
The letter was just such a letter as would surely make a man run
to his son's bedside. Had the son written himself it would have
been different ; but the fact that the letter had come from another
man seemed to be evidence that the poor sufferer could not write.
Perhaps the urgency with which Lopez had sent off his dispatch,
getting; his account of the fray read}^ for the very eai'ly day mail,
though the fray had not taken place till midnight, did not impress
them sufficiently when they accepted this as evidence of Everett's
dangerous condition. At this conference at Wharton very little
was said about Lopez, but there was a general feeling that lie had
behaved well. " It was very odd that they should have parted in
the park," sai i Bir Alured. " But very lucky that they should not
have parted sooner," said John Fletcher. If a grain of suspicion
against Lopez might have been set afloat in their minds by Sir
Alured's suggestion, it was altogether dissipated by John Fletcher's
reply; — for everybody there knew that John Fletcher carried
common sense for the two families. Of course they all hated
Ferdinand Lopez, but nothing could be extracted from the inci-
dent, as far as its details were yet known to them, which could be
turned to his injury.

While they sat together discussing the matter in the drawiug-
room Emily Wharton hardly said a word. She uttered a little
shriek when the account of the affair was first read to her, and
then listened with silent attention to what was said around her.
When there had seemed for a moment to be a doubt, — or rather a
question, for there had been no doubt, — whether her father should
go at once to London, she had spoken just a word. " Of course you
will go, papa." After that she said nothing till she came to him in
his own room. " Of course I will go with you, to-morrow, papa."

" I don't think that will be necessary."

*' Oh, yes, Think how wretched I should be."

152

THE PRIME MINISTER.

.i'!

** I would telegraph to you immediately."

*' And I shouldn t believe the telegraph. Don't you know how
it always is P Besides we have been more than the usual time. We
were to go to town in ten days, and you would not think oi
returning to fetch me. Of course I will go with you. I have
already begun to pack my things, and Jane is now at it." Her
father, not knowing how to oppose her, yielded, and Emily before
she went to bed had made the ladies of the house aware that she
also intended to start the next morning at ei^ht o'clock.

During the first part of thejoumey very little was said between
Mr. Wharton and Emily. There were othei persons in the car-
riage, and she, though she had determined in some vague way
that she would speak some words to her father before she reached
their own house, nad still wanted time to resolve what those words
should be. But before she had readied Gloucester she had made
up her mind, and going on from (]llouce6ter she found herself for a
time alone with her famer. She was sitting opposite to him, and
after conversing for a while she touched his knee with her hand.
** Papa," she said, " I suppose I must now have to meet Mr. Lopez
in Manchester Square P "

*' Wbv should you have to meet Mr. Lopez in Manchester
Square?"

" Of course he will come there to see Everett. After what has
occurred you can hardly forbid him the house. He has saved
Everett's life."

" I don't know that he has done anything of the kind," said
Mr. Wharton, who was vacillating between dmerent opinions. He
did in his heart believe that the Portuguese whom he so hated had
saved his son from the thieves, and he also had almost come to the
conviction that he must give his daughter to the man, — but at the
same time he could not as yet bring himself to abandon his oppo-
sition to the marria<2;e.

" Perhaps you think the isto^y is not true."

** I don't doubt the story in the least, '^f course one man sticks
to another in such an affair, and I have hq doubt that Mr. Lopez
behaved as any English gentleman would."

" Any English gentleman, papa, would have to come afterwards
and see the friend he had saved. Don't you think so P "

•• Oh, yes ;— he might «,all."

♦* And Mr. Lopez will have an additional reason for calling, —
and I kuow he will come. Don't you think he will come ? "

" I don't want to think anything about it," said the father.

" But I want you U) think about it, papa. Papa, I know you
are not indifferent to my happiness."

'♦ I hope you know it."

'♦ I do know it. I am quite sure of it. And therefore I don't
think you ought to be afraid to talk to me about what must concern
my happiness so greatly. As far as my own self and my own will
are concerned I consider myself giveji away to Mr. Lopez already.

BUfiB£ND£B.

158

Qow hovi
ime. We
think oi
I have
t." Her
ly before
that she

between
the car-
gue way
) reached
>se words
lad made
aelf for a
him, and
er hand.
Lr. Lopez

mohester

^hat has
as saved

id," said

ODs. He

ated had

e to the

t at the

s oppo-

^n sticks
r. Lopez

srwards

lUing,—

ler.
)ow you

I don't
soncern

i-n will
Llready.

Nothing but his marrying some other woman, — or his death, —
would make me think of myself otherwise than as belonging lo
him. I am not a bit ashamed of owning my love — to you ; nor
to him, if the opportunity were allowed me. I don't think there
should be concealment about anything so important betweeiv people
who are dear to each other. I have told you that I will do what-
ever you bid me about him. If you say that I shall not speak to
him or see him, I will not speak to him or see him — wulingly
You certainly need not be afraid that I should marry him without
your leave."

" I am not in the least afrt^id of it."

** But I think you should taink over what you are doing. And
I am quite sure of this, — that you must tell me what I am to do
in regard to receiving Mr. Lopez in Manchester Square." Mj-.
Wharton listened attentively to what his daughter said to him,
shaking his head from time to time as though almost equally dis-
tracted by her passive obedience and by her passionate protesta-
tions of love ; but he said nothing. When she had completed her
supplication he threw himself back in his seat and after awhile
took his book. It may be doubted whether he read much, for the
question as to his girl s happiness was quite as near his heart as
she could wish it to be.

It was late in the afternoon before they reached Manchester
Square, and they were both happy to find that 'they were not
troubled by Mr. Lopez at the first moment. Everett was at home
and in bed, and had not indeed as yet recovered the efiect of the
man's knuckles at his windpipe ; but he was well enough to assure
his father and sister that th()y need not have distmbed themselves
or hurried their return from Herelordshire on his account. ' ' To tell
the truth," said he, " Perdinaud Lopez was hurt worse than I was.'*

" He said nothing of being hurt himself," said Mr. Wharton.

** How was he hurt P" asked Emily in the quietest, stillest voice.

" The fact is," said Everett, beginning to tell the whole story
after his own fashion, '* if he hadn't been at hand then, there would
have been an end of me. We had separated, you know, "

" What could make two men separate from each other in the
darkness of St. James's Park?"

" Well, — to tell the truth we had quarrelled. I had made an ass
of myself. You need not go into that any further, except that you
ehould know that it was all my fault. Of course it wasn't a real
quarrel," — when he said this Emily, who wab sitting clot<e to his
lied-head, pressed his arm under the clothes with her hand, — *' but
J had suid something rough, and he had gone on just to put an
end to it."

"It was uncommonly foolish," said old Wharton. " It was very
foolish going round the park at all at that time of night."

" No doubt, sir ; — but it was my doing. And if lie had not gone
with me, I should liavo gone alone." Here theie was another
prtssure. ** I was a little low in spirits, and wanted tho walk,"

B '

154

THE PRIME MINT8TEB.

** But how is he hurt ? " asked the father.

'* The man who was kneeling on me and squeezing the life out
of me jumped up when he heard Lopez coming, and struck him
oyer the head with a bludgeon. I heard the blow, laough I was

Eretty well done for at the time myself. I don't think they hit me,
ut tney got something round my neck, and I was half strangled
before I knew what they were doing. Poor Lopez bled horribly,
but he says he is none the worse for it." Here there was another
little pressure under the bed-clothes ; for Emily felt that her
brother was pleading for her in every word that he said.

About ten on the following morning Lopez came and asked for
Mr. Wharton. He was shown into the study, where he found the
old man, and at once began to give his account of the whole con-
cern in an easy, unconcerned manner. He had the large black
patch on the side of his head, which had been so put on as almost
to become him. But it was so conspicuous as to force a question
respecting it fro^^Bd.r. Wharton. " I am afraid you got rather a
sharp knock yourseff, Mr. Lopez ? "

" I did get a knock, certainly ; — but the odd part of it is that I
knew nothing about it till I found the blood in my eyes after they
had decamped. But I lost my hat, and there is a rather long cut
just above the temple. It hasn't done me the slightest harm. The
worst of it was that they got off with Everett's watch and
money."

*• Had he much money P "

'* Forty pounds ! " And Lopez shook his head, thereby signifying
that forty pounds at the present moment was more than Everett
Wharton could afford to lose. Upon the whole he carried himself
very well, ingratiating himself with the father, raising no question
about the daughter, and saying as little as possible of himself. He
asked whether he could go up and see his friend, and of course was
allowed to do so. A minute before he entered the room Emily
left it. They did not see etich other. At any rate he did not see
her. But there was a feeling with both of them that the other was
close, — and there was something present to them, almost amount-
ing to conviction, that the accident of the park robbery would be
good for them.

" He certainly did save Everett's life," Emily said to her father
the next day.

•' Whether he did or not. he did his best," said Mr. Wharton.

"When one's dearest relation is concerned," said Emily, «* and
when his life has been saved, one feels that one has to be grateful
Gven if it has been an accident. I hope he knows, at any rate, that
I am grateful."

The old man had not been a week in London before he knew
that ho had absolutely lost the gftme. Mrs. Eoby came back to
her house round the corner, ostensibly with the object of assisting
her relatives in nursing Everett,- -a purpose for which she cei'tainly
was not nojded; but, as the matter progressed, Mr. Wharton was

SURRENDER.

165

not without suspicion that her return had been arranged by Ferdi-
nand Lopez. She took upon herself, at any rate, to be loud in the
praise of the man who had saved the life of her *! darling nephew,*
— and to see that others also should be loud in his praise. In a
little time all London had heard of the affair, and it had been dis-
cussed out of London. Down at Gatherum Castle the matter had
been known, or partly known, — but the telling of it had always
been to the great honour and glory of the hero. Major Pountney
had almost broken his heart over it, and Captain Gunner, writing
tc his friend from the Curragh, had asserted his knowledge that it
was all a •* got-up thing" between the two men. The " Breakfast
Table" and the "Evening Pulpit" had been loud in praise of
Lopez ; but the " People's Banner," under the management of
Mr. Quintus Slide, had naturally thrown much suspicion on the
incident when it became known to the Editor that Ferdinand
Lopez had been entertained by the Duke and Duchess of Omnium.
" We have always felt some slight doubts as to tho details of the
affair said to have happened about a fortnight ago, just at mid-
night, in St. James's Park. We should be glad to know whether
the policemen have succeeded in tracing any of the stolen property,
or wlxother any real attempt to trace it has been made." This was
one of the paragraphs, and it was hinted still more plainly after-
wards that Everett Wharton, being short of money, had arranged
the plan with the view of opening his father's purse. Bat the
general effect was certainly serviceable to Lopez. Emily Wharton
did believe him to be a hero. Everett was beyond measure grateful
to him, — not only for having saved him fi'om the thieves, but also
for having told nothing of ms previous folly. Mrs. Eoby always
alluded to the matter as if, for all coming ages, every Wharton
ought to acknowledge that gratitude to a Lopez was the very first
duty of life. The old man felt the absurd <cy of much of this, but
still it affected him. When Lopez came he could not be rough to
the man who had done a service to his son. And then he found
himself compelled to do something. He must either take his
daughter away, or he must yield. But his power of taking his
daughter away seemed to be less than it had been. There was an
air of quiet, unmerited suffering about her, which quelled him.
And so he yielded.

It was after this fashion. Whether affected by the violence of
the attack made on him, or from other cause, Everett had been
unwell after the affair, and had kept his room for a fortnight.
During this time Lopez came to see him daily, and daily Emily
Wharton had to take herself out of the man's way, and hide herself
from the man's sight. This she did with much tact and with lady-
like quietness, but not without an air of martyrdom, which cut her
father to the ^uick. *' My dear," he said to her one evening, as
she was preparmg to leave the drawing-room on hearing his knock,
" stop and see him if you like it,"

•* Papa I "

156

THE PBIME MINISTER.

.. i

"I don't want to make you wretched. If I could have died
first, and got out of the way, perhaps it would have been better.'

'* Papa, you will kill me if you speak in that way ! If there is
auythiug to say to him, do you say it." And then she escaped.

Well ! It was an added bitterness, but no doubt it was his duty.
If he did intend to consent to the marriage, it certainly was for
him to signify that consent to the man. It would not be sufficient
that he should get out of the way and leave his eirl to act for her-
self as though she had no friend in the world. The surrender
which he had made to his daughter had come from a sudden im-
pulse at the moment, but it could not now be withdrawn. So he
stood out on the staircase, and when Lopee came up on his way to
Everett's bedroom, he took him by the arm and led him into the
drawing-room. " Mr. Lopez," he said, " you know that I have
not been willing to welcome you into my house as a son-in-law.
There are reasons on my mind, — perhaps prejudices,— which are
strong against it. They are as strong now as ever. But she
wishes it, and I have the utmost xeliance on her constancy."

•* So have I," said Lopez.

" Stop a moment, if you please, sir. In s ich a position a father's
thought is only as to his daughter's happiness and prosperity. It
is not his own that he should consider. I hear you well spoken
of in the oute»' world, and I do not know that I have a right to
demand of my daughter that she should tear you from her affec-
tions, because — because you are ^ot just such as I would have her
husband to be. You nave my permission to see her." Then
before Lopez could say a word, ne left the room, and took his
hat and hurried away to his club.

As he went he was aware that he had made no terms at all i-"
but then he was inclined to think that no terms should be made.
There seemed to be a general uudor»ianding that Lopez was doing
well in the world, — in a profession of the working of which Mr.
Wharton himself knew absolutely nothing. He had a large tor-
tune at his own bestowal, — intended for his daughter, — which would
have been forthcoming at the moment and paid down on the nail,
had she married Arthur Fletcher. The very way in which the
money should be invested and tied up and made to be jafe and
comfortable to the Fletcher-cum- Wharton interests generally, had
been fully settled among them. But now this other man, this
stranger, this Portuguese, had entered in upon the inheritance.
But the stranger, the Portuguese, must wait. Mr. Wharton knew
himself to be an old man. She was his child, and he would not
wrong her. But she should have her money closely settled upon
herself on his death,— and on her children, should she then have
any. It should be done by his will. He would say nothing about
money to Lopez, and if Lopez should, as was probable, ask after his
daughter's fortune, he would answer to this effect. Thus he
almost rosolved that he would give his daughter to the man with-
out any in(|uiry as to the m^n's muans. The thing had to be done,

SUBBENDEB.

157

Ave died
jetter.'

there is
laped.
lis duty.

was for
lufficient

for her-
urrecder
deu im-
. So he
s way to

into the
b I have
i-in-law.
hich are
But she

a, father's
»rity. It
11 spoken
right to
ler affec-
Ihave her
Then
took his

and he would take no further trouble about it. The comfort of
hi.s life was gone. His h^mo would no longer be* u home to him.
His daughter could not now be his companion. The sooner that
death came to him the better, but till death should come he must
console himself as well as he could by playing whist at the Eldon,
It was after this fashion that Mr. Wharton thought of the coming
marriage between his daughter and her lover.

"I have your father's consent to marry your sister," said
Ferdinand immediately on entering Everett's room.

" I knew it must come soon," said the invalid.

** I cannot say that it has been given in the most gracious
manner, — but it has been given very clearly. I have his express
permission to see her. Those were his last words."

Then there was a sendinq; of notes between the sick-room and
the sick man's sister's room. Everett wrote and Ferdinand wrote,
and Emily wrote, — short lines each of them, — a few words scrawled.
The last from Emily was as follows: — "Let him go into the
drawing-room. E. W. And so Ferdinand went down, to meet his
love, — to encounter her for the first time as her recognised future
husband and engaged lover. Passionate, declared, and thorough
as was her love for this man, the famUiar intercourse between them
had hitherto been very limited. There had been little, — we may
perhaps say none, — of that dalliance between them which is so
delightful to the man and so wondrous to the girl till custom
has staled the edge of it. He had never sat with his arm round
her waist. He had rarely held even her hand in his for a happy
recognised pause of a few seconds. He had never kissed even
her brow. And there she was now, standing before him, all his
own, absolutely given to him, with the fullest assurance of love
on her part, and with the declared consent of her father. Even
ho had been a little confused as he opened the door, — even he, as
he paused to close it behind him, had had to think how he would
address her, and perhaps had thought in vain. But he had not
a moment for any thought after entering the room. Whether it
was his doing or hers he hardly knew ; but she was in his arms,
and her lips were pressed to his, and his arm was tight round her
waist, holding her close to his breast. It seemed as though all
that was wanting had been understood in a moment, and as thoujgh
they had lived together and loved for the last twelve months with
the fullest mutual confidence. And she was the first to speak ; —

** Ferdinand, I am so happy I Are you happy ? "

" My love ; my darling ! "

" You have never doubted me, I know, — since you first knew it."

" Do"bted you, my girl I'"

'* That I would be firm I And now papa has been good to me,
and how quickly one's sorrow is over. I am yours, my love, for
ever and ever. You knew it before, but I like to tell you. I
vill be true to you in everything I Oh, my love ! "

He had but Uttle to say \.j her, but we know that for *' loyers

!l '

:'l

158

THE PRIME MINISTER.

lacking matter, tho cleanliest shift is to kiss." In siich moraentfi
silence charms, and almost any words are unsuitable except those
soft, bird -like murmuriiigs of love which, sweet as they are to the
ear, can hardly be so written as to be sweet to the reader.

CHAPTER XXIV.

¥ U:

V. 4'

\ ] "

THE MARKIAGE,

The engagement was made in October, and the marriage took place
in the latter part of November. When Lopez pressed for an early
day, — which ne did very strongly, — Emily raised no difficulties in
the way of his wishes. The father, foolishly enough, would at first
have postponed it, and made himself so unpleasant to Lopez by
his manner of doing this, that the bride was driven to takrt her
lover's part. As the thing was to be done, what was to be gained
by delay ? It could not be made a joy to him ; nor, looking
a:t the matter as he looked at it, could he make a joy even oi
her presence during the few intervening weeks. Lopez proposed
to take his bride into Italy for the winter months, and to ^tay
there at any rate through December and January, alleging that he
must be back in town by the be^nning of February ; — and this
was taken as a fair plea for hastening the marriage.

When the matter was settled, he went back to Gatherum Castle,
as he had arranged to do with the Duchesfi, and managed to
interest her Grace in all his proceedings. She promised that she
would call on his bride in town, and even went so far as to send
her a costly wedding present. ' ' Tou are sure she has got money ? "
said the Duchess.

" I am not sure of anything," said Lopez, — " except thi.^, that I
do not mean to ask a single question about it. If he says nothing
to me about money, I certainly shall say nothing to him. My
feeling is this, Ducness ; I am not marrying Miss Wharton for her
moiiey* The money, if there be any, has had nothing to do with
it. But of course it will be a pleasure added if it be there." The
Duchess complimented him, and told him that this was exactly as
it should be.

But there was some delay as to the seat for Silverbridge. Mr.
Grey's departure for Persia had been postponed, — the Duchess
thought only for a month or six weeks. The Duke, however, was
of opinion that Mr. Grey should not vacate his seat till the day of
his going was at any late fixed. The Duke, moreover, had not
made any promise of supporting his wife's favourite. " Don't set
your heart upon it too much, Mr. Lopez," vie Duchess had said;
*'but you may be sure I will not forgot you." Then it had been

THE M.vnnTAnK.

159

noments
pt those
re to the

ook place
an early
sulties in
Id at first
Lopez by
takr« hei
36 gained
, looking
y even oi
proposed
d to ^tay
ig that he
-and this

m Castle,

^naged to

that she

to send

jmoney?"

u, that I
nothing
im. My
|>n for her
do with
le." The
Ixactly as

|ge. Mr.

Duchess

iver, was

le day of

had not

)on't set

[blA said ;

lad been

getfled between fhsm that the marriage should not be postponed,
or tho proposed trip to Italy abandoned, because of the probable
vacancy at Silvarbridge. Should the vacancy occur during his
absence, and should the Duke consent, he could return at onoe.
All this occurred in the last week or two before his marriage.

There were various little incidents which did not tend to make

the happiness of Emily Wharton complete. She wrote to her

cousin Mary Wharton, and also to Lady Wharton ; — a_id her

father wrote to Sir Alured ; but the folk at Wharton Hall did not

give in their adherence. Old Mrs. Fletcher wslh still there, but

John Fletcher had gone home to Longbams. The obduracy of the

Whartons might probably be owing to these two accidents. Mrs.

Fletcher declared aloud, as soon as the tidings reached her, that

she never wished to see or hear anything more of Emily Wharton.

** She must be a girl," said Mrs. Fletcher, " of an ingrained vulgar

taste." Sir Alured, whose letter from Mr. Wharton had been very -

short, replied as shortly to his cousin. "Dear Abel, — We all hope

that Emily will be happy, though of course we regret the marriage."

The father, though he had not himself written triumphantly, or

even hopefully, — as fathers are wont to write when their daughters

are given away in marriage, — was wounded by the curtness and

unkiiidness of the baronet's reply, and at the moment declared

to himself that he would never go to Herefordshire any more.

But on the following day there came a worse blow tnan Sir

Alured's single line. Emily, not in the least doubting but that

her request would be received with the usual ready assent, had

asked Mary Wharton to be one of her bridesmaids. It must be

°^ipposed that the answer to this was written, if not under the die

uaiiun, at any rate under the inspiration, of Mrs. Fletcher. It was

as follows ; —

" Dear Emily,

** Of course we all wish you to be very happy in your mar-
riage, but equally of course we are all disappointed. We had
taught ourselves to think that you would have bound yourself
closer with us down here, instead of separating yourself entirely
from us.

" Under all the circumstances mamma thinks it would not be
wise for me to go up to London as one of your bridesmaids.

** Youi' affectionate Cousin,

** Mary Wharton."

This letter made poor Emily very angry for a day or two. " It
is as unreasonable as it is ill-natured," she said to her brother.

"What else could you expect from a stiffnecked, prejudiced set
of provincial ignoramuses ?

" What Mary says is not true. She did not think that I was
going to bind mygelf closer with them, as she calls it. I have
been quite open w:ith her, and have always told her that I could
not be Arthur Fletcher's wife."

.^1

160

TUE PBIME MINISTEB.

** Why on oarth should you marry to please them ?"
*' BecauHe they don't know Ferdiaand they are determined to
insult him. It is an insult never to mention even his name. And
to refuse to come to my marriage ! The world ie wide and there is
room for us and them ; but it makes me unhappy, — very unhappy,
— that I should have to break with them." And then the tears
came into her eyes. It was intended, no doubt, to be a complete
breach, for not a single wedding present was sent from Wharton
Hall to the bride But from Longbarns,— from John Fletcher
himsel -therf did come an elaborate coffee-pot, which, in spite
of its i ''l*:y and ugliness, was very valuable to Emily.

But - "e ■< 3 one other of her old Herefordshire friends who
received , .^ tidL»o of her marriage without quarrelling with her.
She herself had "W; Uxien to her old lover.

*• My dear Arthub,

" There has been so much true friendship and affection
between us that I do not like that you should hear from any one
but myfl^lf the news that I am going to be married to Mr. Lopez.
We are to be married on the 28tn of November, — this day month.

** Yours affectionat^,

*• Emily Wharton."

To this she received a very short reply ; —

** Dear Emily,

*' I am as I always have been.

Yours,

"A. P."

He sent her no present, nor did he say a word to her beyond
this; but in her anger against the Herefordshire people she
never included Arthur Fletcher. She pored over the little note
a score of times, and wept over it, and treasured it up among her
inmost treasures, and told herself that it was a thousand pities.
She could talk, and did talk, to Ferdinand about the Whartons,
and about old Mrs. Fletcher, and described to him the arrogance
and the stiffness and the ignorance of the Herefordshire squire-
archy generally ; but she never spoke to him of Arthur Fletcher,
— except in that one narrative of her past life, in which, girl-like,
she tola her lover of the one other lover who had loved her.

But these things of course gave a certain melancholy to the
oocasiou which perhaps was increased by the season of the year, —
by the November fogs, and by the emptiness and general sadness
of the town. And added to this was the melancholy of old Mr.
Wharton himself. After he had given his consent to the marriage
he admitted a certain amoiint of intimacy with his son-in-law,
asking him to dinner, and discussing with him matters of general
interest, — but never, in tru<h, opening his heart to him. Inflcod,

j'*^

tHE MARRlAOfik

161

■mined to
me. And
id there is
unhappy*
i the tears
i complete
1 Wharton
1 Fletcher
jh, in spite

•

riends who
5 with her.

d affection
am any one
Mr. Lopez.
Lay month.

SAETON.

' .i-

" A. F."

how can any man open his heart to ono whom he dislikes ? At
best ho can only pretend to open lua heart, and even this Mr.
Wharton would not do. And very soon after the engagement
Lopez left London and went to the Duke's place in the country.
His objects in doing this and his aspirations in regard to a seat in
Parliament were all made known to his future wife, — but he said
not a ^ord on the subject to her father ; and she, acting under
his instructions, was equally reticent. *' He will get to know me
in time,'^ he said to her, " and his manner will be softened towards
But till that time shall come, I can hardly expect him to

me.

take a real interest in my welfare."

When Lopez left London not a word had been said between him
and his father-in-law as to money. Mr. Whar'-'^n was content with
such silence, not wishing to make any promise tts '^o immediate in-
come from himself, pretending to look at thu r- <tter as though
he should say that, as his daughter had made I r he. self her own bed,
she must lie on it, such as it might be. And this silence certainly
suited Ferdinand Lopez at Ihe time. To tell the truth of him, —
though he was not absolutely pennyless, he v^as altogether pro-
perty less. He had been speculating in loney without capital,
and though he had now and again beei. successful, he had also
now and again failed. He had contrived that his name should be
mentioned here and there with the names of well-known wealthy
commercial men, and had for the last twelvemonths made up a
somewhat intimate alliance with that very sound commercial man,
Mr. Mills Happerton. But his dealings with Mr. Sextus Parker
were in truth much more confidential than those with Mr. Mills
Happerton, and at the present moment poor Sexty Parker was
alternately between triumph and despair as things went this way
or that.

It was not, therefore, surprising that Ferdinand Lopez should
volunteer no statements to the old lawyer about money, and that
he should make no inquiries. He was quite confident that Mr.
Wharton had the wealth which was supposed to belong to him,
and was willine to trust to his power of obtaining a fair portion of
it OS soon as he should in truth be Mr. Wharton's son-in-law.
Situated as he was, of course he must run some risk. And then,
too, he had spoken of himself with a grain of truth when he had
told the Duchess that he was not marrying for money. Ferdinand
Lopez was not an honest man or a good man. He was a self-
seeking, intriguing adventurer, who did not know honesty from
dishonesty when he saw them together. But he had at any rate
this good about him, that he did love the girl whom he was about
to marry. He was willing to cheat all the world, — so that he
might succeed, and make a fortune, and become a big and a rich
man ; but he did not wish to cheat her. It was his ambition now
to carry her up with him, and he thought how he might best teach
her to assist him in doing so, — how he might win her to help him
Ui his cheating. cspeciaUy in regard to her own father. For to

162

THE PRIME MINISTER.

I' '5

himself, to his own thinking, that which we call cheating waH not
dishonesty. To his thinking there was something bold, grand,
picturesque, and almoat beautiful in the battle which such a one
as himself must wage with the world before he could make his
way up in it. He would not pick a pocket, or turn a false card,
or, as ne thought, forge a name. That which he did, and desired
to do, took with him the name of speculation. When he persuaded
poor Sexty Parker to hazard his all, knowing well that he induced
the unfortunate man to believe what was false, and to trust what
was utterly untrustworthy, he did not himself think that he was

going beyond the lines of fair enterprise. Now, in. his marriage,
e had in truth joined himself to real wealth. Gould he only com-
mand at once that which he thought ought to be his wife's share
of the lawyer's money, he did not doubt but that he could make a
rapid fortune. It would not do for him to seem to be desirous of
the moaey a day before the time; — but, when the time should
come, would not his wife help him in his great career P But before
she could do so she must be made to understand something of the
nature of that career, and of the need of such aid.

f course there arose the question where they should live* But
hi. was ready with an immediate answer to this question. He had
been to look at a flat, — a set of rooms, — in the Belgitive Mansions,
in Pimlico, or Belgravia you ought more probably to call it. He

{>ropo8ed to take them funiished till they could look about at their
eisure and get a house that should suit them. Would she like a
flat P She would have liked a cellar with him, and so she told him.
Then they went to look at the flat, and old Mr. Wharton con-
descended to go with them. Though his heart was not in the
business, still he thought that he was boimd to look after his
daughter's comfort. *' They are very handsome rooms," said Mr.
Wharton, looking round upon the rather gorgeous fi-miture.

*' Oh, Ferdinand, are they not too grand? said-^ ^i'".

" Perhaps they are a little more than we quite '
sent," he said. " But I'll tell you, sir, just hav>
A man I know wanted to let them for one year, jno^
and offered them to me for £450, — if I could
advance, at the moment. And so I paid it."

** You have taken them, then ? " said Mr. Wharton.

" Is it all settled P" said Emily, almost with disappointment.

" I have paid the money, and I have so far taken them. But it
is by no means settled. You have only to say you don't like them,
and you shall never be asked to put your foot in them again."

" But I do Uke them," she whispered to him.

** Tha truth is, sir, that there is not the slightest difficulty in part-
ing with them. So that when the chance came in my way I thought
it best to secure the thing. It had all to be done, so to say, in an
hour. My friend, — as far as he was a friend, for I don't know
much about him — wanted the money and wanted to be off. So
here they are, and Emily can do as she likes." Of course the

f+fi

':^^

c just at -J j

*HE BEGINNING OP THE HONEYMOON.

168

rooms were regarded from that momeut as the home for the uext
twelve months of Mr. and Mrs. Ferdinand Ijope/..

And then they were married. The marriage was by no meann a
gay affair, the chief management of it falling into the hands of
Mrs. Dick Boby. Mrs. Dick indeed provided not only the break-
fast, — or saw rather that it was provided, for of course Mr. Wharton
paid the bill, — but the four bridesmaids also and all the company.
They were married in the church in Vera Street, then went back
to the house in Manchester Square, and within a couple of hours
were on their road to Dover. Through it all not a word was said
about money. At the last moment, — when ho was free from fear
as to any questions about his own affairs, — Lopez had hoped that
the old man would say something. " You will find so many thou-
sand pounds at your bankers ; " — or, " You may look to me for so
many hundreds a year." But there was not a word. Tho girl
had come to him without the assurance of a single shilling. In
his great endeavour to get her he had been successful. As he
thought of this in the carriage, he pressed his arm close round
her waist. If the worst were to come to the worst, he would tight
the world for her. But if this old man should be stubborn, close-
fisted, and absolutely resolved to bestow all his money upon his
because of this marriage, — ah ! — how should he be able to

son

bear such a wron^ as that P

Half-a-dozen times during that journey to Dover he resolved to
think nothing further about it, at any rate for a fortnight ; and yet,
before he reached Dover, he had said a word to her. •' I wonder
what your father nieans to do about money Y He never told you P"

"Not a word."

" It is very odd that he should never have said anything."

" Does it matter, dear ?"

" Not in the least. But of course 1 have to talk about every-
thing to you ; — and it is odd."

CHAPTEE :^XV.

THE BEGINNING OF THE HONEYMOON.

On the morning of his marriage, before he went to the altar, Lopez
made one or two resolutions as to his future conduct. The first
was that he would give himself a fortnight from his marriage day
in which he would ilot even think of money. He had made cer
tain arrangements, in the course of which he had caused Sextus
Parker to stare with surprise and to sweat with dismay, but which
nevertheless were successfully concluded. Bills were drawn to
run over to February, and ready money to a modeAte extent ^8.9

164

THE PfttME MINISTER.

forthcoming, and fiscal tranquillity waH insured for a certain shott
period. The confidence which Bextus Parker had once felt in his
friend's own resources was somewhat on the doclitie, but he still
believed in his friend's skill and genius, and, after due inquiry^
he belieyed entirely in his friond's father-in-law. Sextus Parker
still thought that things would come round. Ferdinand, — he always
now called his friend by his Christian name, — Ferdinand was beauti-
fully, seraphically confident. And Sexty, who had beon in a manner
magnetised by I^rdinand, was confident too — at certain periods of
the day. He was very confident when he had had his two or three
glasses of sherry at luncheon, and he was often delightfully con-
ndent with his cigar and brandy-and-water at night. But there
were periods in the morning in which he would shake with fear
and sweat with dismay.

But Lopez himself, having with his friend's assistance arranged
bis affairs comfortably for a month or two, had, as a first resolu-
tion, piomised himself a fortnight's freedom from all carkin^ cares.
His second resolution had been that at the end of the fortnight he
would commence his operations on Mr. Wharton. Up to the last
moment he had hoped, — had almost expected, — that a sum of
money would have been paid to him. Even a couple of thousand
^ounas for the time would have been of great use to him ; — but no
tender of any kind had been made. Not a word had been said.
Things could not of course go on in that way. He was not
going to play the coward with his father-in-law. Then he be-
woueht himself how he would act if his father-in-law were
stendy to refuse to do anything for him, and he assured himself
that in such circumstances he would make himself very dis-
agreeable to his father-in-law. And then his third resolution
had reference to his wife. She must be instructed in his ways.
She must learn to look at the world with his eyes. She must bo
taught the great importance of money, — not in a g;ripiDg, hard-
fist^, prosaic spirit ; but that she might participate in that feeling
of his own which had in it so much that was graad, so much that
was delightful, so much that was picturesque. He would never
ask her to be parsimonious, — never even to be ecoi*omical. He
would take a glory in seeing her well dressed and well i;ttended,
with her own carriage and her own jewels. But she must learn
that the enjoyment of these things must be built upon a convic-
tion that the most important pursuit in the world was the ac-
quiring of money. And she must be made to understand, first of
all, that she had a right to at any rate a half of her father's for-
tune. He had perceived that she had much influence with her
father, and she must be taught to use this influence unscrupu-
lously on her husband's behalf, *

We have already seen that under the pressure of his thoughts
he did break his first resolution within an hour or two of his
marriage. It is easy for a man to say that he will banish care, so
that he may e»joy to the full the delights of the moment. But

THK BKOINNINO OF THK HONF:YMOr)N.

166

thie is a powor which nono but a savago posHessos, — or perhaps au
Irinhman. Wo have learned the lesHon from the divines, the
philosopherH, and the poetti. PoHt equitem Hedet atra curu. Thus
was Ferdinand Lopez mounted liigh on his horso,— for he had
triumphed greatly in his marriage, and really felt that the world
could give him no delight bo groat as to havo hor beside him, and
her as his own. But the inky devil sat close upOn his shoulders.
Where would he be at the end of three months if Mr. Wharton
would do nothing for him, — and if a certain venture in guano, to
which he had tempted Sexty Parker, should not turn out the right
way P He believed in the guano and ho believed in Mr. Wharton,
but it is a terrible thing to have one's whole position in the world
hanging upon either an unwilling father-in-law or a probable rise
in tho vttli'o of manure ! And then how would he reconcile himself
to her if both father-in-law and guano should go against him, and
how should he endure her misery ?

The inky devil had forced him to ask the question even before
they had reached Dover. *' Does it matter ?" she had asked. Then
for the time he had repudiated his solicitude, and had declared that
no question of money was of much consequence to him, — thereby
making his future task with her so much the more dilhcult. After
that he said nothing to her on the subject o;i that their wedding
day, — but he could not prevent himself from thinking of it. Had
he gone to the depth of ruin without a wife, what would it have
mattered ? For years past he had boon at the same kind of work,
— but while he was unmarried there had been a charm in the very
danger. And as a single man he had succeeded, being sometimes
utterly impecunious, but still with a capacity of living. Now be
had laden himself with a burden of which the very intensity of his
love immensely increased the weight. As for not thinking of it,
that was impossible. Of course she must help him. Of course she
must be taught how imperative it was that she should help him at
once. •' Is there anything troubles you ? " she said, as she sat
leaning against him after meir dinner in the hotel at Dover.
'* What should trouble me on such a day as this ? "
" If there is anything, tell it me. I do not mean to say now, at
t^'is moment, — ^unless you wish it. Whatever may be your troubles,
11 shall Ibe my greatest happiness, as it is my first duty, to lessen
them if I can."

Tho promise was very well. It all went in the right direction.
It showed him that she was at any rate prepared to take a part in
the joint work of their life. But, nevertheless, she should be spared
for the moment. " When there is trouble, you shall be told e^ ry-
thing," he said, pressing his lips to her brow, ** but there is nc ; ''ng
tliat need trouble you yet." He smiled as he said this, but thei^ vas
something in the tone of his voice which told her that there would
be trouble.

When he was in Paris he received a letter from Parker, to whom
be had bepn obliged tp Entrust a running address, but from whoi:a

ii Jl

?•

166

THE PRIME MINISTER.

he had enforced a promise that there should be no letter- writing
unless under very pressing circumstances. The circumstances had
not been pressing. The letter contained only one paragraph of any
importance, and that was due to what Lopez tried to regard as
fidgety cowardice on the part of his ally. •* Please to bear in mind
that I can't and won't arrange for the bills for £1,500 due 3r«i
February." That was the paragraph. Who had asked him to
arrange for these bills ? And yet Lopez was well aware that he
intended that poor Sexty should " arrange *' for them, in the event
of hie failure to make arrangements with Mr. Wharton.

At last he was quite unable to let the fortnight pass by without
beginning the lessons which his wife had to learn. As for that first
intention as to driving his cares out of his own mind for that time,
he had long since abandoned even the attempt. It was necessary
to him that a considerable sum of money should be extracted from
the father-in-law, at any rate before the end of January, and a
week or even a day might be of importance. They had hurried on
southwards from Paris, and before the end of the first week had
passed over the Simplon, and were at a pleasant inn on the shores
of Oomo. Everything in their travels had been as yet delightful to
Emily. This man, of whom she knew in truth so little, had certain
good gifts, — gifts oi intellect, gifts of temper, gifts of voice and
manner ind outward'appearance, — which had hitherto satisfied her.
A husbxnd who is also an eager lover must be delightful to a young
bride. And hitherto no lover could have been more tender than
Lopez. Every word and every act, every look and every touch,
had been loving. Had she known the world better she might have
felt, perhaps, that something was expected where so much was
given. Perhaps a rougher manner, with some little touch of marital
self-assertion, might oe a safer commencement of married life,-sr
safer to the wife as coming from her husband. Artbur Fletcher by
this time would have asked her to bring him his slippers, taking
infinite pride in having his little behests obeyed by so sweet a
servitor. That also wouJd have been pleasant to her had her heart
in the first instance follox^jBd fiis image ; but now also the idolatry
of Ferdinand Lopez had baen very pleasant.

But the moment for tho first lesson had come. " Your fathei' has
not written to you since you started ? " he said.

" Not a line. He has not known our address. He is never veiy
good at letter- writing. Idid write to him from Paris, and I scribbled
a few words to Everett yesterday."

" It is very odd that he should never have written to me.''

" Did you expect him to write ? "

**To tell you the truth, I rather did. Not that I should have
dreamed of his coiTesronding with me had he spoken to me on a
certain subject, put as, on that subject, he never opened his
mouth to me, I almost thought he would write."

*' Do you mean about money ? " she asked in a very low voice.

"Well;— yes; I do mean about mqney. Things hitherto have

THE BEGINNING OF THE HONEYMpON.

167

gone 80 very strangely between us. Sit down, dear, till we have a
real domestic talk."

" Tell me everything," she said, as she nestled herself close to
his side.

"You know how it was at first between him and me. He
obj<*cted to me violently, — I mean openly, to my face. But he
based his objection solely on my nationality, — nationality and
blood. As to my condition in the world, fortune, or income, he
never asked a word. That was strange."

** I suppose he thought he knew."

" He could not have thought he knew, dearest. But it was not
for me to force the subject upon him. You can see that."

" I am sure whatever you did was right, Ferdinand."

" He is indisputably a rich man, — one wno might be supposed
to be able and willing to give an only daughter a considerable
fortune. Now I certainly had never thought of marrying for
money." Here she rubbed her face upon his arm. " I felt that it
was not for me to speak of money. If he chose to be reticent, I
could be so equally. Had he asked me, I should have told him that
I had no fortune, but was making a large though precarious income.
It would then be for him to declare what he intended to do. That
would, I think, have been preferable. As it is we are all in doubt.
In my position a knowledge of what your father intends to do
would be most valuable to me."

" Should you not ask him ? "

'' I believe there has always been a perfect confidence between
you and him ? "

" Certainly, — as to all our ways of living. But he never said a
word to me about money in his life."
f ** And yet, my darling, money is most important."

*' Of course it is. I know that, Ferdinand."

" Would you mind asking ? " She did not answer him at once,
but sat thinking. And he ^so paused before he went on with his
lesson. But, in order that the lesson should be efficacious, it would
be as well that he should tell her as much as he could even at this
first lecture. '• To tell ypu the truth this is quite essential to me
at present, — very much more than I had thought it would be when
we fixed the day for our marriage." Her mind within her recoiled
at this, though she was very careful that he should not feel any
such motion in her body. " My business is precarious."

"What is your business, Ferdinand?" Poor girl! That she
should have been allowed to marry a man, and then have to ask
such a question !

"It is generally commercial. I buy and sell on speculation.
The world, which is shy of new words, has not yet given it a
name. I am a good deal at present in the South* American trade."
She listened, but received no glimmering of an idea from his words.
" When we were engaged everything was as bright as roses
with me."

..1*4-

ill

I . >i\

"i '

:it; A

If >

168

THE PRIME MINISTER.

" Why did you not tell me this before, — bo that we might have
been more prudent ?•"

'* Such prudence would have been horrid to me. But the fact is
that I should not now have spoken to you at all, but that since we
left England I have had letters from a sort of partner of mine. In
our business things will go astray sometimes. It would be of great
service to me if 1 could learn whEtt are your father's intentions."

'* You want him to give you some money at once."

" It would not be unusual, dear, — when there is money to be
given. But I want you specially to ask him what he himself Would
propose to do. He knows already that I have taken a home for

you and paid for it, and he knows . But it does not signify

going into that."

"Tell me everything."

" He is aware that there are many expenses. Of course if he
were a poor man there would not be a word about it. I can with
absolute truth declare that had he been penniless it would have
made no diflferenee as to my suit to you. But it would possibly
have made some difference as to our after plans. He is a thorough
man of the world, and he must know all that. I am sure he must
feel that something is due to you, — and to me as your husband.
But he is odd-tempered, and, as I have not spoken to him, he
chooses to be silent to me. Now, my darling, you and I cannot
afford to wait to see who can be silent the longest."

'• What do you want me to do ? "

" To write to him."

"And ask him for money ? "

" Not exactly in that way. I think you should say that we
should be glad to know what he intends to do, also saying that a
certain sum of money would at present be of use to me." •

" Would it not be better from you P I only ask, Ferdinand. I
never have even spoken to him about money, and of course he
would know that you had dictated what I said."

" No doubt he would. It is natural that I should do so. I hope
the time may come when I may write quite freely to your fathei
myself, but hitherto he has haidly been courteous to me. I would
rather that you should write, — if you do not mind it. Write youi
own letter, and show it me. If there is anything too much or any-
thing too little I will tell you.''

And so the first lesson was taught. The poor young wife did not
at all like the lesson. Eyen within her own bosom she found no
fault with her husband. But she began to understand that the life
before her was not to be a life of roses. The first word spoken to
her in the train, before it reached Dover, had explained something
of this to her. She had felt at once that there would be trouble
about money. And now, though she did not at all understand
what might be the lature of those troubles, tho\igh she had derived
no information whatever from her husband's hints about the South
American trade, though she was as ignorant as ever of his affairs^

yet
a m
her
fon
niai
her
I
dial

THE BEGINNING OF TUE HONEYMOON.

169

yet she felt that the troubles would come soon. But never for
a moment did it seem to her that he had been unjust in bringing
her into troubled waters. They had loved each other, and there-
fore, whatever might be the troubles, it was right that they should
marry each other. There was not a spark of anger against him in
her bosom; — but she was unhappy.

He demanded from her the writing of the letter almost imme-
diately after the conversation which has been given above, and of
course the letter was written, — written and recopied, for the para-
graph about the money was, of course, at last of his wording. And
she could not make the remainder of the letter pleasant. The feeling
that she was making a demand for money on her father ran through
it all. But the reader need only see the passage in which Ferdinand
Lopez made his demand, — through her hand.

''Ferdinand has been speaking to me about my fortune." It
had gone much against the grain with her to write these words
" my fortune." " But I have no fortune," she said. He insisted
however, explaining to her that she was entitled to use these words
by her father's undoubted wealth. And so, with an aching heart,
she wrote them. " Ferdinand ha? been speaking to me about my
fortune. Of course I told him that i kncT^ nothing, and that as
he had never spoken to me about money before our marriage, I
had never asked about it. He eays tlyit it would be of great
service to him to know what are your intentions ; and also that he
hopes you may find it convenient to allow him to draw upon you
for some portion of it at present. He says that £3,000 would be
of great use to him in his business." That was the paragraph,
and the work of writing it was so distasteful to her that she could
hardly bring herself to form the letters. It seemed as though she
were seizing the advantage of the first moment of her freedom to
take a violent liberty with her father.

"It is altogether his own fault, my pet," he said to her. •• L,
have the greatest respect in the world for your father, but he has
allowed himself to fall into the habit of keeping all his affairs
secret from his children ; and, of course as they go out into thr,
"js^orld, this secrecy must in some degree be invaded. There is
precisely the same thing going on between him and Everett ; only
Everett is a great deal rougher to him than you arc likely to be.
He never will let Everett know whether ho is to regard himself as
a rich man or a poor man."
" He gives him an allowance."

' ' Because he cannot help himself. To you he does not do even
as much as that, because he can help himself. I -have chosen to
leave it to him and he has done nothing. But this is not quite
fair, and he must be told so. I don't think he could be tpld in
more dutiful language."

Emily did not like the idea of telling her father anything which
he might not like to hear ; but her husband's behests were to her
n\ these, her early married days, quito ininerativfi.

170

THE PRIME MINISTTIR.

:«, f

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE END OF THE HONEYMOON.

Mrs. Lopez had begged her father to address his reply to her at
Florence, where, — as she explained to him, — they expec^od to find
themselves within a fortnight from the date of her writing. They
had reached the lake aboirt the end of November, when the weather
had still been fine, but they intended to pass the winter months
of December and January within the warmth of the cities. That
intervening fortnight was to her a period of painful anticipation.
She feared to see her father's handwriting, feeling almost sure
that he would be bitterly angiy with her. During this time her
husband frequently epoke to her about the letter, — about her own
letter and her father's expected reply. It was necessary that she
should learn her lesson, and she could only do so by having the
subject of money made familiar to her ears. It wus not a part
of his plan to tell her anything of the means by vv'ldch he hoped
to make himself a wealthy man. The less she knev of that the
better. But the fact that her father absolutely owed to him a
large amount of money as her fortune could not be made too clear
to her. He was very desirous to do this in such a manner as not
to make her think that he was accusing her, — or that he would
accuse hei if the money were not forthcoming. But she must
learn the fact, and must be imbued with the conviction that her
husband would be the most ill-treated of men unless the money
were forthcoming. '* I am a little nervous about it too," said he,
alluding to the expected Ir^l —"not so much as to the money
itself, though ihf.t is impj^tifrt ; but as to his conduct. If he
chooses simply to ignore us u,ittir our marriage he will be behaving
very badly." She had no answer to make to this. She could not
defend her father, because hj doing so she would offend her hus-
band. And yet her whole hfe-long trust in her father could not
allow her to think it possible that he should behave ill to them.

On their arrival at Florence he went at once to the post-office,
but there was as yet no letter. The fortnight, however, which had
been named had only just run itself out. They went on from day to
day inspecting buildings, looking at pictures, making for themselves
a tasto in marble and bronze, visiting the lovely villages which
cluster on the hills round the city, — doing precisely in this respect
fs do all young married couples who devote a part of their honey-
X t on to Florence ; — but in all their little joumoyingB and in all
their work of pleasure the inky devil sat not only behind him but
behind her also The heavy care of lite was already beginning to
vork ^urrows on hex face. She would already sit, knitting her
)'-row, as she thought of coming troubles. Would not her father
certainly refuse ? And would not her husband then begin to be
Was Icving and less gracious to herself P

out
pos
his

us.

THE END OF THE HONEYMOON.

171

!► n

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3d to find
ig. They
e weather
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that she
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that the
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said he,
e money
;. If he
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"Is it from papa?" she said. He
it to her. "Open it and read it,

Every day for a week he called at the post-office when he went
out with her, and still the letter did not come. "It can hardly be
possible," he said at last to her, " that he should decline to answer
his own daughter's letter."

" Perhaps he is ill," she replied.

" If there were anything of that kind Everett would tell
us."

" Perhaps he has gone back to Herefordshire ? "
. "Of course his letter would go after him.. I own it is very
singular to me that he should not write. It looks as though he
wore determined to cast you oflF from him altogether bocause you
have married against his wishes."

" Not that, Ferdinand ; — do not say that ! "

" Well ; w^e shall see."

And on the next day they did see. He went to the post-office
before breakfast, and on this day he returned with a letter in his
hand. She was sitting waiting for him with a book in her lap,
and saw the letter at once,
nodded his head as he handed

Ferdinand. I have got to be so nervous about it, that I cannot do
it. It seems to be so important."

" Yes ; — it is important," he said with a grim &mile, and then
he opened the letter. She watched his face closely as he read it.
and at first she could tell nothing from it. Then, in that moment,
it first occurred to her that he had a wonderful command of his
features. All this, however, lasted but half a minute. Then he
chucked the letter, lightly, in among the tea-cups, and coipng to
her took her closely in his arms and almost hurt her b^> tl: -vio-
lence of his repeated kisses.

"Has he written kindly?" she said, as soon as she cc^id find
her breath to speak.

"By George, he's a brick after all. I own I did not thliik it.,
My darling, how much I owe you for all 1 e trouble I have given
you."

"Oh, Ferdinand I if he has been good to you I shall be so
happy."

"He has been awfully good. Ha, ha, ha!" And then he
began walking about the room as he laughed in an unnatural
way. "Upon ray word it is a pity we didn't say four thousand, or
live. Think of his taking me just at my word. It's a great doal
better than I expected ; that's all I can say. And at the piesent
moment it is of the utmost impoi*tance to me."

All this did not take above a minute or two, but during thpfc
minute or two she had been so bewildered by his manner as almost
to fancy that the expressions of his delig] i had been ironical. He
had been so unliko himself as she had ki>own him that she almost
doubted the realit> of his joy. But when she took the letter and
voad it, she found that his joy was true enough. The letter was
vory short, au^ was as follows j —

ll2

THE PRIME MINISTER .

i; *■

•'My dear Emily,

"What you have said under your husband's instruction
about money, I find upon consideration to be fair enough. I think
he should have spoken to me before his marriage ; but then again
perhaps I ought to have spoken to him. As it is, I am willing to
give him the sum he requires, and I will pay £3,000 to his account,
if he would tell me where he would have it lodged. Then I shall
think I have done my duty by him. What I shall do with the
remainder of any money that I may have, I do not think he in
entitled to ask.

*' Everett is well again, and as idle as ever. Your aunt Roby
is making a fool of herself at Harrogate. I have heard nothing
from Herefordshire. Everything is very quiet and lonely here.

*' Your affectionate father,

••A. Wharton.**

As he had dined at the Eldon every day since his daughter had
left him, and had played on an average a dozen rubbers of whist
daily, he was not justified in complaining of the loneliness of
London.

The letter seemed to Emily herseK to be very cold, and had not her
husband rejoiced over it so warmly she would have considered it to
bcj unsatisfactory. No doubt the £3,000 would be given ; but that,
as fpr as she could understand her father's words, was to be the
whole of her fortune. She had never known anything of her
father's affairs or of his intentions, but she had certainly supposed
that her fortune would be very much more than this. She had
learned in some indirect way that a large sum of money would
have gone with her band to Arthur Fletcher, could she have
brought herself to marry that suitor favoured by her family. And
now, having learned, as she had learned, that money was of vital
i'uportance to her husband, she was dismayed at what seemed to
her to bj parental parsimony. But he was overjoyed, — so much so
that for a while he lost that restraint over himself which was
hfbitual to him. He ate his breakfast in a state of exultation, and
tHiked,--.Tiot alluding specially to this £3,000, — as though he had
the coiaiOind of almost unlimited means. He ordered a carriage
a>id drove her out, and bought presents for her, — things as to
which ^Ley -ad both before decided that they should not be bought
becau«.e of tie expense. " Pray don't spend your money for me,"
she said to him. "It is nice to have you giving me things, but it
would be nicer to me even than that to think that I could save you
expense "

But he was not in a mood to be denied. " You don't understand,"
he said. "I don't want to be saved from little extravagances of
this sort. Owing to circumstanceH your father's money was at this
moment of importance to me ; — but he has answered to the whip
and the money is there, and that trouble is over. We can enjoy our-
Splyes now. Other troubles will spring up, no doiibt, before long."

! I

THE END OF THE HONEYMOON.

173

She did not quite like being told that her father had '* answered
to the whip,'" -but she waH willing to believe that it waa a phrase
common among men to which it would be prudish.to make objection.
There was, also, something in her husband's elation which was dis-
tasteful to her. Could it be that reverses of fortune with reference to
moderate sums of money, such as this which was now coming into
his hands, would always affect him in the same way ? Waa it not
almost unmanly, or at any rate was it not undignified ? And yet
she tried to make the best of it, and lent herself to his holiday
mood as well as she was able. " Shall I write and thank papa r"'
she said that evening.

** I have been thinking of that," he said. ** You can write if you
like, and of course you will. But I also will write, and had better
do so a post or two before you. As he has come round I suppose I
ought to show myself civil. What he says about the rest of his
money is of course absurd. I shall ask him nothing about it, but
no doubt after a bit he will make pennanent arrangements."
Everything in the business wounded her more or less. She now
perceived that he regarded this £3,000 only as tbe first instalment
of what he might get, and that his joy was due simply to this tem-
porary success. And then he called her father absurd to her face.
For a moment she thought that .she would defend her father ; but
she could not as yet bring hjerself to question her husband's words
even on such a subject as that.

He did write to Mr. Wharton, but in doin^ so he altogether laid
aside that flighty manner which for a while had annoyed her.
He thoroughly understood that the wording of the letter might be
very important to him, and he took much trouble with it. It must
be now the great work of his life to ingratiate himself with thie old
man, so that, at any rate at the old man's death, he might possess
at least half of the old man's money. He must take care that there
should be no division between his wife and her father of such a
nature as to make the father think that his son ought to enjoy any
special privilege of primogeniture or of male inheritance. And if
it could be so managed «hat the daughter should, before the old
man's death, become his favourite child, that also would be well.
He was therefore very careful about the letter, which was as
follows ; —

" My dear Mr. Wharton,

"I cannot let your letter to Emily pass without thanking
70U myself for the very liberal response made by you to what was
of course a request from myself. Let me in the first place assure
you that had you, before our marriage, made any inquiry about
my money affairs I would have told you everything with accuracy ;
but as you did not do so I thought that I should seem to intrude
upon you, if I introduced the subject. It is too long for a letter,
but whenovor you may like to allude to it, you will find that I will
be quite open with you.

!'l

174

THE PRIME MINISTER.

" I am enfj^aged in business which often requires the use of
a considerable amount of capital. It has so happened that
even since we were married the immediate use of a sum of money
became essential to me to save mo from sacrificing a cargo of guano
which will be of greatly increased value in three months' time, but
which otherwise must have gone for what it would now fetch.
Your kindness will see me through that difficulty.

*' Of course there is something precarious in such a business
as mine ; — but I am endeavouring to make it loss so from day to
day, and hope very shortly to bring it into that humdrum groove
which best befits a married man. Should I ask further assistance
from you in doing this, perhaps you will not refuse it if I can
succeed in making the matter clear to you. As it is I thank you
sincerely for what you have done. I will ask you to pay the
£3,000 you have so kindly promised, to my account at Messrs.
Hunky and Sons, Lombard Street. They are not regular bankers,
but I have an account there.

"We are wandering about and enjoying ourselves mightily in
the properly romantic manner. Emily sometimes seems to think
that she would like to give up business, and Londcn, and all sub-
lunary troubles, in order that she might settle herself for life under
an Italian sky. But the idea does not generally remain with her
very long. Already she is beginning to show symptoms of home
sickness in regard to Manchester Sqij^arr*.

** Yours always most faithfully,

* ' FEi.^ DiNAND Lopez . "

ii IB i

To this letter Lopez received no reply ; — nor did he expect one.
Between Emily and her father a few letters passed, not very long ;
nor, as regarded those from Mr. Wharton, were they very interest-
ing. In none of tbem, however, was there any mention of money.
But early in January Lopez received a most pressing, — we might
almost say an agonizing letter from his friend Parker. The gist of
the letter was to make Lopez understand that Parker must at once
sell certain interests in a coming cargo of guano, — at whatovor
sacrifice, — unless he could be certified as to that money which must
be paid in February, and which he, Parker, must pay, should
Ferdinand Lopez be at that moment unable to meet his bond. The
answer sent to Parker shall be given to the reader.

**My dear old awfully silly, and absurdly
IMPATIENT Friend,
** You are always like a toad under a harrow, and that
without the slightest cause. I have money lying at Hunky's
more than double enough 'or the bills. Why can't you trust a
man ? If you won't trust me in saying so, you can go to Mills
Happerton and ask him. But, remember, I shall be very much
annoyed if you do so, — and that such an inquiry cannot but be
injurious to me. I/, however, you won't believe me, you can go

THE duke's misery.

176

and ask. At any rate don't meddle with the gnuno. We Hhoiild
lose over ill, 000 each of us, if you were to do so. By George, a
man should neither marry, nor leave Ijondon for a day, if he has
to do with a fellow so nervous as you are. As it is I think I shall
be back a week or two before my time is properly up, lest you and
one or two others should think that I have levanted altogether.

"I have no hesitation in saying that more fortunes are lost in
business by trembling cowardice than by any amount of imprudence
or extravagance. My hair stands on end when you talk of parting
with guano in December because there are bills which have to be
met in February. Pluck up your heart, man, and look around, and
see what i^ done by men with good courage.

"Yours always,

"Eehdinand Lopez."

These were the only communications between our married couple
and their friends at home with which 1 need trouble my readers.
Nor need I tell any further tales of their Ikoneymoon. If the time
was not one of complete and unalloyed joy to Emily, — and we
must fear that it was not, — it is to be remembered that but very
little complete and unalloyed joy is allowed to sojourners in this
vale of tears, even thou^ they have been but two months married.
In the first week in Pebruary they appeared in the Bel grave
mansion, and Emily Lopez took possession of her new home with a
heart as full of love for her husband as it had been when she walked
out of the church in Vere Street, though it may be that some of her
sweetest illusions had already been dispelled.

CHAPTER XXYII.

THE duke's misery.

We must go back for a while to Gatherum Castle and see the
guests whom the Duchess had collected there for her Christmas
festivities. The hospitality of the Duke's house had been main-
tained almost throughout the autumn. Just at the end of October
they went to Matching, for what the Duchess called a quiet month,
— which, however, at the Duke's urgent request became six weeks.
But even here the house was full all the time, though from de-
ficiency of bedrooms the guests were very much less numerous.
But at Matching the Duchess had been uneasy and almost cross.
Mrs. Finn had gone with her husband to Ireland, and she had
taught herself to fancy that she could not live without Mrs. Finn.
And her husband had insisted upon having round him polidcians of

176

TFIE PRfMK MINISTER.

ii II

11 ;

r u

I I 'I

his own sort, men who really prr^ferrod work to archery, or oven to
huntine, and who discussed the evils of direct taxation absolutely
in the drawing-room. The Duchess was assured that the coiintry
could not be governed by the support of such men as these, and
was very glad to get back to Gatherum, — whither also came
Fhineas Finn with his wife, and the St. Bungav people, and Bar-
rington Erie, and Mr. Monk, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, with
Lord and Ladjr Cantrip, and Lord and Lady Dnimmond, — Lord
Drummond being the only representative of the other or coalesced
party. And Major Pountney was there, having been urgent with
the Duchess, — and having fully explained to his friend Captain
Gunner that he had acceded to the wishes of his hostess only on
the assurance of her Grace that the house would not be again
troubled by the presence of Ferdinand Lopez. Such assurances
were common between the two friends, but were innocent, as, of
course, neither believed the other. And Lady Bosina was again
there, — with many others. The melancholy poverty of Lady
Hosina had captivated the Duke. ' ' She shall come and live here,
if you like," the Duchess had said in answer to a request from her
husband on his new friend's behalf, — '* I've no doubt she will be
willing." The place was not crowded as it had been before ; but
still about thirty guests sat down to dinner daily, and Locock,
Millepois, and Mrs. Pritchard were all kept hard at work. Nor
was our Duchess idle. She was always making up the party, —
meaning the coalition, — doing something to strengthen the but-
tresses, writing little letters to little people, who, little as they
were, might become big by amalgamation. " One has always to
be binding one's fagot," she said to Mrs. Finn, having read her
JEsop not altogether in vain. '* Where should we have been with-
out you ? " she had whispered to Sir Orlando Drought when that
gentleman was leaving Gatherum at the termination of his second
visit. She had particularly disliked Sir Orlando, and was aware
that her husband had on this occasion been hardly as gracious as
he should have been, in true policy, to so powerful a colleague.
Her husband had been peculiarly shy of Sir Orlando since the day
on which they had walked together in the park, — and, consequently,
the Duchess had whispered to him. "Don't bind your fagot too
conspicuously," Mrs. Finn had said to her. Then the Duchess
had fallen to a seat almost exhausted by labour, mingled with re-
grets, and by the doubts which from time to time pervaded even
her audacious spirit. "I'm not a ^od," she said, " or a Pitt, or
an Italian with a long name beginning with M., that I should be
able to do these things without ever making a mistake. And yet
they must be done. And as for him, — he does not help me in the
least. He wanders about among the clouds of the multiplication
table, and thinks that a mUjority will drop into his mouth because
he does not shut it. Can you tie the fagot any better?" " I
think I would leave it untied," said Mrs. Fini). "You would not
do anything of the kind. You'd be just as fussy as I am." And

\.:.

•■-»:-~---^

THE DUKK S MISERY.

177

,8 aware

thus the gurae weh carried on at Oathorum Cawtle from week to
week.

" But you won't leave him?" This was naid to Phineas Finn
by his wife a day or two before ChriHtmaa, and the question was
intended to ank whether Phiueub thought of giving up his phice.

"Not if I can help it."

'•You like the work."

" That has but little to do with the question, unfortunately. I
certainly like having someihin^ to do. I like earning money."

"I don't know why you like that, especially," said the wife
laughing.

*' I do at any rate, — and, in a certain sense, I like authority.
But in serving with the Duke I find a lack of that sympathy which
one should have with one's chief. He would never say a word to
me unless I spoke to him. And when I do speak, though he is
studiously civil, — much too courteous, — I know that he is bored.
He has nothing to say to me about the country. When he has
anything to communicate, ho prefers to write a minute for Wai-
burton, who then writes to Morton, — and so it reaches me."

" Doesn't it do as well ?"

'* It may do with me. There are reasons which bind me to him
which will not bind other men. Men don't talk to me about it,
because they know that I am bound to him thi'ough you. But I
am aware )f the feeling which exists. You can't be really loyal
to a king if you never see him, — if he be always locked up in some
almost divine recess."

" A king may make himself too common, Phineas."

" No doubt. A king has to know where to draw the line. But
the Duke draws no intentional line at all. He is not by nature
gi'egarious or communicative, and is therefore hardly fitted to be
the head of a ministry."

" It will break her heart if anything goes wrong."

" She ought to remember that Ministries seldom live very long,"
said Phineas. "But she'll recover even if she does break her heart.
She is too full of vitality to be much repressed by any calamity.
Have you heard what is to be done about Silverbridge r* "

" The Duchess wants to get it for this man, Ferdi.nand Lopez."

' ' But it has not been promised yet ? "

"The seat is not vacant," said Mrs. Finn, " and I don't know
when it will be vacant. I think there is a hitch about it, — and I
think the Duchess is going to be made very angry."

Throughout the autumn the Duke had been an unhappy man.
While the absolute work of the Session had lasted he had found
something to console him; but now, though he was surrounded
by private secretaries, and though dispatch-boxes went and came
twice a day, though there were dozens of letters as to which he
had to give some instruction, — yet, there was in truth nothing for
him to do. It seemed to him that all the real work of the Govern-
ment had been filched from him by his colleagues, and that he was

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178

THE PRIME MINISTER.

stuck up in pretended authority, — a kind of wooden Prime
Minister, from whom no real mmistration was demanded. His
first fear had been that he was himself unfit ; — ^but now he was
uneasy, fearing that others thought him to be unfit. There was
Mr. Monk with his budget, and Lord Drummond with his three or
four dozen half rebellious colonies, and Sir Orlando Drought with
the House to lead and a ship to build, and Fhineas Finn with his
scheme of municipal Home Rule for Ireland, and Lord Bamsdeu
with a codified Statute Book, — all full of work, all with something
special to be done. But for him,< — he had to arrange who should
attend the Queen, what ribbons should be given aw«y, and what
middle-aged yoang man should move the address. He sighed as
he thought of those happy days in which he used to fear that his
mind and body would ooth give way under the pressure of decimal
coinage.

But Fhineas Finn had read the Duke's character rightly in
saying that he was neither gregarious nor communicatiye, and
therefore but little fitted to rule Englishmen. He had thought
that it was so himself,- and now from d&j to day he was becomug
more assured of his own deficiency. He could not throw himseff
into cordial relations with the Sir Orlando Droughts, or eyen with
^e Mr. Monks. But, though he bad never wished to be put into
his present high ofiice, now that he was there he dreaded the
sense of failure which would follow his descent from it. It is this
feeling rather than genuine ambition, rather than the love of
power or patronage or pay, which induces men to cling to place.
The absence of real work, and the quantity, of mock work, both
alike made the life wearisome to him ; but he could not endure the
idea that it should be written in history that he had allowed him-
self to be made a faineant Frime Minister, and. then had failed eyen
in that. History would forget what he Lad done as a working
Minister in recording the feebleness of the Ministry which would
bear his name.

The one man with whom he could talk f^ly, and from whom
he could take advice, was now with him, here at his Oastle. He
was shv at first even with the Duke of St. Bungay, but that shyness
he could generally overcome, after a few words. But though he
was always sure of his old friend's sympathy and of his old friend's
wisdom, yet he doubted his old friend's capacity, to understand
hunself. The young Duke felt the old Dukd to be thicker-skinned
than himself and therefore unable to appreciate the thorns which
so sorely worried his own flesh. " They talk to me about a policy,"
said tile host. They were doseted at this time in the Frime
Minister's own sanctuin, and there yet remained an hour before
they need dress for dinner.

" Who talks about a policy P"

"Sir Orlando Drought especially." For the Duke of Omnium
had never forgotten me arrogance of that advice given in the
park.

THE DUKE S MISERY.

179

)oden Prime
aanded. His
t now he was
b. There was
Ji his three or
Drought with
Finn with his
Lord Eamsdeii
rith something
ge who should
way, and what
He sighed as
) fear that his
sure of decimal

cter rightly in
lunicative, and
Le had thought
, was becoming
b throw himself
ta, or even with
I to be put into
he dreaded the
m it. It is this
tan the love of
o cling to place,
lock work, both
i not endure the
id allowed him-
L had failed even
te as a working
xy which would

and from whom
his Oastle. He
but that shyness

But though he
f his old friend's
y to understand

Ihicker-skinned
le tiioms which

laboutapoUcy,"

le in the Prime

an hour before

^uke of Omnium
given in the

" Sir Orlando is of course entitled to speak, though I do not
know that he is likely to say anything very well worth the
hearing. What is his special policy ? "

" If he had any, of course I would hear him. It is not that
he wants any special thing to be done, but he thinks that I should
get up some special thmg in order that Parliament may be
satisfied."

" If you wanted to create a majority that might be true. Just
listen to him and have done with it."

*' I cannot go on in that way. I cannot submit to what amounts
to complaint from the gentlemen who are acting with me. Nor
woidd they submit long to my silence. I am beginning to feel
that I have been wrong."

" I don't think you have been wrong at all."
** A man is wrong if he attempts to carry a weight too great for
his strength."

" A certain nervous sensitiveness, from which you should fr«e

yourself as from a disease, is your only source of weakness. Think

abaut your business as a shoemaker thinks of his. Do your best, and

then let your customers judge for themselves. Caveat emptor.

A man should never endeavour to price Mmself , but should accept

the price which others put on him,— only being careful that he

shomd learn what that price is. Tour policy would be to keep

your government together by a strong majority. After all, the

making of new laws is too often but an unfortunate necessity laid

on us by the impatience of the people. A lengthened period of

quiet and therefore good gove'^ment with a minimum of new laws

would be the greatest benefit the country could receive. When I

recommended you to comply with the Queen's behest I did so

because I thought that you might inaugurate such a period more

certainly than any otiier one man." This old duke was quite

content with a state of things such as he described. He had been

a Cabinet Minister for more than half his life. He liked being a

Cabinet Minister. He thought it well for the country generculy

that his party should be in power, — and if not his party in its

entirety, then as much of his party as might be possible. He

did not expect to be written of as a Pitt or a Somers ; but he

thought that memoirs would speak of him as a useful nobleman, —

and he was contented. He was not only not ambitious himself,

but the effervescence and general turbulence of ambition in other

men was distasteftd to him. Loyalty was second nature to him,

and the power of submitting to defeat without either shame or

sorrow had become perfect with him by long practice. He would

have made his brother duke such as he was nimsdf, — had not his

brother duke been so lamentably thin-skinned.

" I suppose we must try it for another Session F" said the Duke
of Omnium with a lachrymose voice.

" Of course we must, — and for others after that, I both hope and
trust," said the Duke of St. Bungay getting up. •• If I don't go

180

THE PBIMB MINIflTER.

up-stairs I shall be late, and then her Grace will look at me with
unforgiving eves."

On the following day after lunch the Prime Minister took a
walk with Lady Bosina De Gooroy. He had fallen into a habit of
walking with Lady Bosina almost every day of his life, till the
people in the Castle began to believe that Lady Bosina was the
mistress of some deep policy of her own. For there were many
there who did in truth think that statecraft could never be absent
from a minister's mind, day or night. But in truth Lady Bosina
chiefly made herself agreeable to the Prime Minister by never
making any most distant allusion to public affairs. It might
be doubted whether she even knew that the man who paid her so
much honour was the Head of the British Government as well as
the Duke of Omnium. She was a tall, thin, shriveUed-up old
woman, — not very old, fifty perhaps, but looking at least ten years
more, — very melancholy, and sometimes very cross. She had
been notably religious, but that was gradually wearing off as she
advanced in years. The rigid strictness of Sabbatarian practice
requires the full ener^ of middle life. She had been left entirely
alone in the world, with a very small income, and not many friends
who were in any way interested in her existence. But sne knew
herself to be Lady Bosina De Oourcy, and felt that the possession
of that name ought to be more to her than money and friends, or
even than brothers and sisters. '* The weather is not frightening
you," said the Duke. Snow had fallen, and the paths, even where
they had been swept, were wet and sloppy.

" Weather never frightens me, your Grace. I always have
thick boots ; — I am very particular about that ; — and cork soles."

" Oork soles are admirable."

" I think I owe my life to cork soles," said Lady Bosina enthu-
siastically. "There is a man named Sprout in Silverbridge who
makes them. Did your Grace ever try him for boots ? "

" I don't think I ever did," said the Prime Minister.

" Then you had better. He's very good and very cheap too.
Those London tradesmen never think they can chaige you enough.
I find I can wear Sprout's boots the whole winter through and
liien have them resoled. I don'.t suppose you ever think of such
things?" »!»' i ,

** 1 like to have my feet dry."

'* I have got to calculate what they coAt." They then passed
Major Poun&ey, who was coming and going between the stables
and the house, ard who took off his hat and who saluted the host
and his companion with perhaps more flowing courtesy than was
necessary.^ *' I never have found out what that gentleman's name
is yet," said Lady Bosina.

"Pountney, I think.. I believe they call him Major Pountney."

** Oh, Pountney I There are Pountneys in Leicestershire. Per-
haps he is one of thorn t "

"I don't know where he comes from," said the Duke, — ••nor

THE duke's misery.

181

ok at me with

[inister took a
into a habit of
is life, till the
Kosina vraM the
ere were many
never be absent
h Lady Eosina
lister by never
irs. It might
jvho paid her so
,ment as well as
urivelled-up old
b least ten years
ross. She had
wxing off as she
atarian practioe
een left entirely
aot many friends
But she knew
at the possession
y and mends, or
J not frightening
aths, even where

I always have
ind cork soles."

, Bosina enthu-
Silverbridge who
>0t8 ? "
tster.

very cheap too.
kige you enough,
fiter through and
^er think of such

jey then passed

Ibween the stables

saluted the host

jurtesy than was

^ntleman's name

[ajor Pountney."
jstershire. Per-

le Duke,— •• nor

to tell the truth where he goes to." Lady Rosina looked up at
bim with an interested air. " He seems to be one of those idle
men who get into people's houses heaven knows why, and never do
anything.
*' I suppose you asked him P " said Lady Bosina.
*' The Duchess did, I dare say."

*' How odd it would be if she were to suppose that you had
asked him."

" The Duchess, no doubt, knows all about it." Then there was
a little pause. " She is obliged to have all sorts of people," said
the Duke apologetically.

*' I suppose so, — when you have so many coming and going. I
am sorry to say that my time is up to-morrow, so that I shall
make way for somebody else."

"I hope you won't think of going, Lady Bosina, — unless you
are engaged elsewhere. We are delighted to have you."

*• The Duchess has been very kind, but "

" The Duchess I fear is almost too much engaged to see as much
of her guests individually as she ought to do. To me your being
here is a great pleasure.'

" Tou are too good to me,— much too good. But I shall have
stayed out my time, and I think, Duke, I will go to-morrow. I
am very methodical, you know, and always aot by rule. I have
walked my two miles now, and I vnll go in. If you do want boots
with cork soles mind you go to Sprout's. Dear me ; there is that
Major Pountney again. That is four times he has been up and
down that path since we havo been walking here."

Lady Bosina went in, and the Duke turned back, thinking of
his j*iend and perhaps thinking of the cork soles of which she had
to be so carefm and which were so important to her comfort. It
could not be that he fancied Lady Bosina to be clever, nor can we
imagine that her conversation satisfied any of those wants to which
he and all of us are subject. But nevertheless he liked Lady
Rosina and was never bored by her. She was natural, and she
wanted nothing from him. When she talked about cork soles she
meant cork Bolea. And then she did not tread on any of his
numerous corns. As he walked on he determined that he would
induce Ms wife to persuade Lady Bosina to stay a little lon^r at
the Castle. In meditating upon this he made another turn m the
grounds and again came upon Major Pountney as that gentleman
was returning from the stables. ** A very cold afternoon, he said,
feeling it to oe ungracious to pass one of his own guests in his
own grounds without a word of salutation.

«« Very cold indeed, your Grace, — ^very cold." The Duke had
intended to pass on, but the Major managed to stop him by standing
in the pathway. The Major did not in the least know his man.
He had heard that the Duke was shy, and therefore thought that
he was timid. He had not hitherto been spoken to by the Duke, —
a condition of things which ho attribati;*) to the Duke s shyness and

i^l

182

THE PRIMK MINISTEit.

timidity. But, with much thought on the subject, he had resolved
that he would have a few words with his host, and had therefore
passed backwards and forwards between the house and the stables
rather frequently. " Very cold, indeed, but yet we've had beau-
tiful weather. I don't Imow when I have enjoyed myself so much
altogether as I have at Gatherum Castle." The Duke bowed, and
made a little but a vain e£Port to get on. " A splendid pile I " said
the Major, stretching his hand gracefully towards the building.

" It 18 a big house," said the Duke.

" A noble mansion ; — perhaps the noblest mansion in the three
kingdoms," said Major Pountiiey. " I have seen a great many of
the best country residences in England, but nothing that at all
equals Gkttherum." Then the Duke made a little effort at pro-
gression, but was still stopped by the daring Maior. " By-the-Dye,
your Ghrace, if your Grace has a few minutes to spare, — just half a
minute, — I wish you would allow me to say something." The
Duke assumed a look of disturbance, but he bowed and walked on,
allowing the Major to walk by his side. *' I have the greatest
possible desire, my Lord Duke, to enter public life."

" I thought you were already in the army," said the Duke.

*' So I am ; — was on Sir Bartholomew Bone's staff in Canada for
two years, and have seen as much of what I call home service as
any man going. One of my chief objects is to take up the army."

" It seems that you have taken it up."

"I mean in Parliament, your Grace. I am very fairly off as
regards private means, and would stand all the racket of the
expense of a contest myself, — ^if there were one. But the difficulty
is to get a seat, and, of course, if it can be privately managed, it is
very comfortable." The Duke looked at him again, — this time
without bowing. But the Major, who was not observant, rushed on
to hie de%truction. " We all know that Silverbridge w'll soon be
vacant. Let me assure your Grace that if it might be consistent
with your Grace's plans in other respects to turn your kind counte-
nance towards me, you would find tnat you would have a supporter
than whom none would be more staunch, and perhaps I may say
one, who in the House would not be the least useful ! " That
portioi^ of the Minor's speech which referred to the Duke's kind
countenance had been learned by heart, and was thrown trippingly
off the tongue with a kind of twang. The Major had perceived
that he had not been at once interrupted when he began to open the
budget of his political aspirations, and had allowed himself to mdulge
in pleasing auguries. *' Nothing b.<ik and nothing have," had been
adopted as the motto of his life, and more than once he had ex-
pressed to Captain Gunning his conviction that, — '* By George, if
you've only cheek enough, mere is nothing you cannot get." On
this emergency the Major certainly was not deficient in cheek. " If
I might be aUowed to consider myself your Grace's candidate. I
should indeed be a happy man,'* said the Major.

" t think, sir," said the Duke, " that your proposition is the

THE DUKE 8 IIISERT.

188

roposition is the

most iinbecomin^ and the most impertiDent that ever was addressed
to me." The Major's mouth fell, and he stared with all his eyes as
he looked up into the Duke's face. "Qood afternoon," said the
Duke, turning quickly round and walking away. The Major stood
for a while transfixed to the place, and, cold as was the weather,
was bathed in perspiration. A keen sense of having " put his foot
into it " almost crushed him for a time. Then he assured himself
that, after all, the Duke " could not eat him," and with that con-
solatory reflection he crept back to the house and up to his own
room.

To put the man down had of course been an eas^ task to the
Duke, but he was not satisfied with that. To the Major it seemed
that the Duke had passed on with easy indifference ; — but in truth
he was very far from being easy. The man's insolent request had
wounded mm at man^^ points. It was grievous to him that he
should have as a guest in his own house a man whom he had been
forced to insult. It was grievous to him that he himself should not
have been held in personal respect hi^h enough to protect him from
such an insult. It was grievous to lum that he should be openly
addressed,— addressed by an absolute stranger, — as a borough-
mon^ring lord, who would not scruple to give away a seat in
Parhament as seats were given away m former days. And it was
especially grievous to him that all these misfortunes should have
come upon him as a part of the results of his wife's manner of
exercising his hospitahty. If this was to be Prime Minister he
certainly would not be Prime Minister much longer ! Had any
aspirant to political life ever dared so to address Lord Brook, or
Lord De Terrier, or Mr. Mildmay, the old Premiers whom he
remembered? He thought not. They had managed differently.
They had been able to defend themselves from such attacks by
personal dignity. And would it have been possible that any man
should have dpjred bo to speak to his undo, the late Duke P He
thought not. As he shut himself up in his own room he grieved
inwardly with a deep grief. After a while he walked off to his
wife's voom, still perturoed in spirit. The perturbation had indeed
increased from mmute to minute. He would rather ^ve up politics
altogether and shut himself up in absolute seclusion uan find
himself subject to the insolence of any Pountney that might address
him. With his wife he found Mrs. Finn. Now for this lady person-
ally he entertained what for him was a warm regard. In various
matters of much importance he and she had been brought together,
and she had, to his thinking, invariably behaved well. And an
intimacy had been established which had enabled him to be at ease
with her, — so that her presence was often a comfort to him. But
at the present moment he had not wished to find any one with his
wife, and felt that she was in his way. " Perhaps I am distui'bing
you," he said in a tone of voice that was solemn and almost
funereal.

" Not at all," said the Duchess, who was in high spirits. " I

184

THE PBIME HINISTElt.

i£i

want to g^t yolir promise now about Silverbridee. Don't mind
her. Of course she knows everything." To be told that anybody
knew eyerything was another snook to him. " I have just got a
letter from Mr. Lopez." Gould it be right that his wife should be
corresponding on such a subiect with a person so little known as
this Mr. Lopez ? " May I tell him that he shall have your interest
when the seat is vacant P "

" Certainly not," said the Duke, with a scowl that was terrible
even to his wife. ' ' I wished to speak to you, but I wished to speak
to you alone."

" I beg a thousand pardons," said Mrs. Finn, preparing to go.

"Don^ stir, Marie," said the Duchess; "he is gomg to be
cross."

'* If Mrs. Finn will allow me, with every feeling of the most
perfect respect and sincerest regard, to ask her to leave me with
vou for a few minutes, I shall be obliged. And if, with her usual

hearty kindness, she will pardon my abruptness " Then he

could not go on, his emotion being too great ; but he put out his
hand, and taking hers raised it to his lips and kissed it. The
moment had become too solemn for any mrther hesitation as to
the lady's ^oing. The Duchess for a moment was struck dumb,
and Mrs. Fmn, of course, left the room.

" In the name of heaven, Plantagenet, what is the matter P"

" Who is Major Pountney P"

** Who is Major Pountn^ !^ How on earth should I know P He
is Major Pountney. H!e is about everywhere."

<< Do not let him be asked into any house of mine again. But
that is a trifle."

'* Anytiung about Major Pountney must, I should tMnk, be a
trifle. Have tidings come that the heavens are going to iaUP
Nothing short of that could make you so solemn."

** In the first place, Glencora, let me ask you not to speak to me
again about the se&t for Silverbridge. I am not at present prepared
to argue the matter with you, but I have resolved that I will know
nothmg about the election. As soon as the seat is vacant, if it
should be vacated, I shall take care that my determination be
known in Silverbridge."

*' Why should you abandon your privileges in that way P It is
sheer weakness."

'* The interference of any peer is unconstitutional."

'* There is Braxon," said me Duchess energetically, " where the
Marquis of Grumber returns the member re^arly, in spite of all
their Beform bills ; and Bamford, and Cobblersborough ; — and look
at Lord Lumley with a whole county in his pocket, not to speak of
two boroughs I What nonsense, Plantagenet ! Anything is con-
stitutional, or anjrthing is unco'istitutional, just as you choose to
look at it." It was dear that the Duchess had really studied the
subject carefully.

•• Very well, my dear, let it be nonsense. I only beg to assure

THB duke's MtSBBY.

185

you that it is my intention, and I reqnent you to act aooordingly. And
^here is another thing I have to say to you. I shall be sorry to
interfere in any way with the pleasure which you may derive n-om
society, but as long as I am burdened with the omce which has
been impoped upon me, I will not again entertain any guests in
my own house."

'* Plantagenet I "

" Tou cannot trim the people out who are here now ; but I beg
that they may be allowed to go as the time comes, and that their
places may not be filled by fuicher inyitations."

" But further invitations have ^ne out ever so long ago, and
have been accepted. You must be ill, my dear."

"Ill at ease, — yes. At any rate let none others be sent out."
Then he remembered a kindly purpose which he had formed early
in the day, and fell back upon that. "I shoidd, however, be glad
if you would ask Lady Bosina De Courcy to remain here." The
Duchess stared at him, really thinking now that something was
amiss with him. " The whole thing is a failure and I will have no
more of it. It is degrading me." Then without allowing her a
moment in which to answer him, he mardied back to his own
room.

But even here his spirit was not as yet at rest. That Major
must not go unpunished. Though he hated all fuss and noise he
must do something. So he wrote as follows to the Major ; — '* The
Duke of Omnium trusts that Major Pountney will not find it
i convenient to leave Gatherum Castle shortly. Should Major
Pountney wish to remain at the Oastle over the night, the Duke of
Omnium hopes that he will not object to be served with his dinner
and with his breakfast in his own room. A carriage and horses
will be ready for Major Pouritney's use, to take him to Silverbridge,
as soon as Major Pountney may express to the servants his wish to
that efiisot.

" Gratberum CMtle, Deoembtf , 1&— ."

Thij9 note the Duke sent by the hands of his own servant, having
said enough to the man m to the carriage and the possible dinner
in the Major's bedroom, to make the man understand almost exactly
what had occurred. A note from the Major was brought to tihe
Duke Wiiilo he was dressing. The Duke having glanced at the
note th:cew it into the fire; and the M^jor t^at evening eat his
dinuer at the Palliser'b Arms Iiiu at Silverbridge.

186

TIIE PRIME MINI8TBB.

CHAPTER XXVni.

THE DUCHESS IS MUCH TROUBLED.

It is bardlj possible that one man Ahould turn another out of his
house without many people knowing it ; and when the one person
is a Prime Miuister and the other such a Maior as Major Pountney,
the affair is apt to be talked about very widely. The Duke of course
never opened his mouth on the subject, except in answer to ques-
tions from the Duchess ; but all the servants knew it. " Pritonard
tells me that you have sent that wretched man out of the house
with a flea in his ear," said the Duchess.

" I sent him out of the house, certainly.*'

*' He was hardly worth your anger."

^ " He is not at all worth my anger ; — but I could not sit down to
dinner with a man who had insulted me."

"What did he say, Plantageiiet P I know it was something
about Silverbridge." To this question the Duke gave no answer,
but in respect to Silverbridge he was stern as adamant. Two days
after the depailiure of the Major it was known to Silverbridge
generally that in the event of there being an election the Duke's
agent would not as usual suggest a nominee. There was a para-
graph on the subject in the County paper, and another in the
London " Evening Pulpit." The Duke of Omnium,— that he might
show his respect to the law, not only as to the letter of the law,
but as to the spirit also, — had made it known to his tenantry in
and round Silverbridge generally that he would in no way influence
their choice of a candidate in the event of an election. But these
newspapers did not say a word about Major Pountney.

The clubs of course knew aU about it, and no man at any club
ever knew more tiian Captain Crunner. Soon after Christmas he
met his friend the Major on the steps of the new military club, The
Active Service, which was declared by many men in the army
to have left aU the other military clubs "absolutely nowhere.
" Halloa, Punt ! " he said, " you seem to have made a mess of it at
last down at the Duchess's."

" 1 wonder what you know about it."

" You had to come away pretty quick, I take it."

"^ Of course I came away pretty quick." So much as that the
Major was aware must be known^ There were details which he
could deny safely, as it would be impossible that they should be
supported by evidence, but there were matters which must be
admitted. "I'll bet a fiver that beyond that you know nothing
about it."

" The Duke ordered you off, I take it."

" After a faehiou he did. There are circumstances in which a
man cannot help himself." This was diplomatical, because it left

THE DtTOHRBS 19 MUCH TBOUDLRO.

187

ot sit down to

tho Captain to suppose that the Duke was the man who oould not
help himself.

" Of course I was not there," said Gunner, ** and I can't abso-
lutely know, but I suppose you had been interfering with the
Duchess about SiWerbnage. Glencora will bear a great deal, — but
since she has taken up politics, by Qeorge, you had better not
touch her there." At last it came to be believed that the Major
had been turned out by the order of the Duchess, because he had
ventured to put himself forward as an opponent to Ferdinand
Lopez, and the Major felt himself really grateful to his friend the
Captain for this arrangement of the story. And there came at last
to be mixed up with tne story some half-understood inuendo that
the Minor's jealousy against Lopez had been of a double nature, —
in reference both to tne Duchess and the borough, — so that he
escaped from much of that disgrace which natural^ attaches itself
to a man who has been kicked out of another man's houto. There
was a mysterv ; — and when there is a mystery a man should never
be condemned. Where there is a woman in the case a man oannot
be expected to tell U e trj^. As for calling out or in any way
punisning Uie Prime Minister, that of course was out of the ques-
tion. And BO it went on till at last the Major was almost proud of
what he had done, and talked about it willingly with mysterious
hints, in which practice made him perfect.

But with the Duchess the affa ■ was very serious, so much so
that she was driven to call in advi ^r not only fh)m her constant
friend, Mrs. Finn, but afterwarr* <m Barrington Erie, from
Phineas Finn, and lastly even fron >uke of St. Bungay, to whom

she was hardly willine to subject hoib , the Duke being the special
friend of her husband. But the matter became so important to her
that she was unable to trifle with it. At Gktherum the expulsion
of Major Pountney soon became a forgotten aflTair. When the
Duchess learned the truth she quite approved of tibe expulsion,
only hinting to Barring^n Erie that the act of kicking out should
have been more absolutely practical. And the loss of Silverbridge,
though it hurt her sorely, could be endured. She must write to
her friend Ferdinand Lopez, when the time should come, exoosing
herself as best she might, and must lose the exquisite delight of
making a Member of Parliament out of her own nand. The news-
papers, however, had taken that matter up in the proper spirit,
and political capital might to some extent be made of it. The loss
of Silverbridge, though it bruised, broke no bones. But the Duke
had again expressed himself with .unusual sternness respecting her
ducal hospitalities, and had reiterated the declaration of his inten-
tion to live out the remainder of his period of office in republican
simplicity. "We have tried it and it has failed, and let there be
an end of it," he said to her. Simple and direct disobedience
to Buoh an order was as little in her way as simple or direct
obedience. She knew her^ husband well, and knew how he could
be managed and how he could not bo managed. When he declared

188

THE PRIMK MINI8TRR.

that there should be an " end of it/' — tneaiiiiig an end of the very
■ystem by whioh she hoped to perpetuate his i)owur, Hhe did not
dare to ar^e with him. And yet he was so wrong I The trial had
been no failure. The thing had been done and well done, and had
suooeeded. Was failure to be presumed because one impertinent
puppy had found his way into the house Y And then to abandon
the system at once, whether it had failed or whether it had suc-
oeedod, would be to call the attention of all the world to an acknow-
ledged failure, — to a failure so disreputable that its acknowledgment
must lead to the loss of everything I It was known now, — so argued
the Duchess to herself,— that she had devoted herself to the work
of cementing and consolidating the Coalition by the graceful hospi-
tality which the wealth of herself and her husband enabled her to
dispense. She had made herself a Prime Ministress by the manner
in which she onened her saloons, her banqueting halls, and her
gardens. It haa never been done before, and now it had been well
done. There had been no failure. And yet everything was to be
broken down because his nerves had received a shock !

" Let it die out," Mrs. Finn had afgd. *' The people will come
here and will ^ away, and then, when you are up in London, you
will soon fall into your old ways." But this did not suit the new
ambition of the Duchess. She had so fed her mind with daring
hopes that she could not bear that " it should die out." She had
arranged a course of things in her own mind by which she should
oome to be known as the great Prime Minister's wife ; and she
had, perhaps imoonsoiously, applied the epithet more to herself
than to her husband. She, too, wished to be written of in memoirs,
and to make a niche for herself in history. And now she was told
that th.e was to let it *' die out ! "

'* I suppose he is a little bilious," Barrington Erie had said.
"Don't you think he'll forget all about it when he gets up to
London P " The Duchess was sure that her husband would not
forget anything. He never did forget anything. '* I want him to
be told," said the Duchess, " that everybody thmks that he is doing
very well. I don't mean about politics exactly, but as to keeping
the purty together. Don't you diink that we have succeeded?"
Barrington Erie thought that upon the whole they had succoeded ;
but suggested at the same time that there were seeds of weakness.
*' Sir Orlando and Sir Timothy Beeswax are not sound, you know,"
said Barrington Erie. " He can't make them sounder by shutting
himself up like a hermit," said the Duchess. Barrington Erie,
who had peculiar privileges of his own, promised that u he could
by any means make an occasion, he would let the Duke know that
tneir side of the Coalition was more than contented with the way
in which he did his work.

** You don't think we've made a mess of it P" she said to Phineas,
asking him a question. " I don't think that the Duke has ipade a
mess of it, — or you," said Phineas, who had come to love the
Duchess because nis wife loved her. " But it won't go on for ever,

■?•"

THE DUC1IE88 18 MUCH TROIIBLRO.

189

DuohesB." " You know what I've done," said the DuchoM, who
took it for granted that Mr. Finn knew all that hii wife knew.
"Has it answered P" Phineas was silent for a moment. "Of
course you will tell me the truth. You won't be bo bad as to
flatter me now that I am so much in earnest." " I almost think,"
said Phineas, " that the time has gone by for what one may call
drawing-room influences. They used to hie very great. Old Lord
Brock used them extensively, though by no means as your Qrace
has done. But the spirit ox the world has changed since then."
" The spirit of the world never changes," said the Duchess, in her
soreness.

But her strongest dependence was on the old Duke. The party
at the Oastle was almost broken up when she consulted him. She
had been so far true to her husband as not to ask another guest to
the house since his command; — but they who had been asked
before came and went as had been arranged. Then, when the
place was nearly empty, and when Looock and Millepois and
Pritchard were wondering jimong themselves at this general col-
lapse, she asked her husband's leave to invite their old friend aoain
for a day or two. " I do so want to see him, and I think he'll
come," said the Duchess. The Duke gave his permission with a
ready smile, — not because the proposed visitor was his own confi-
dential friend, but because it suited his spirit to grant such a
request as to any one after the order that he had ^ven. Had she
named Major Pountney, I think he would have smiled and acceded*

The Duke came, and to him she poured out her whole soul.
*' It has been for him and for his honour that I have done it ; —
that men and women might know how raaUy gracious he is, and
how good. Of course, there has been money spent, but he can
afford it without hurting the children. It has been so necessary
that with a Coalition people should know each other ! There was
some little absurd row here. A man who was a mere nobody, one
of the travelling butterfly men that till up spaces and talk to girls,
got hold of him and was impertinent. He is so thin-skinned that
he could not shake tho creature into the dust as you would have
done. It annoyed him, — that, and, I think, seeing so many strange
faces, — so that he came to me and declared, that as long as he re-
mained in office he would not have another person in the house,
either here or in London. He meant it literally, and he meant me
to understand it literally. I had to get special leave before I
could ask so dear an old friend as your Qrace."

" I don't think he would object to me," said the Duke,
laughing.

" Of course not. He was only too glad to think you would
come. But he took the request as beinsr quite the proper thing.
It will kill me if this is to be carried oub. After all that I have
done, I could show myself nowhere. And it will be so in-
jurious to him! Coula not you tell him, Duke? No one else
in the world can tell him but you. Nothing unfair has been

190

THE PRIME MINISTER.

attempted. No job has been done. I have endeavoured to make
his house pleasant to people, in order that they might look upon
him with grace and favour. Is that wrong P Is that unbecommg
a wife P"

The old Duke patted her on the head as though she were a little
girl, and was more comforting to her than her other counsellors.
He would say nothing to her husband now ; — but they must both,
be up in London at the meeting of Parliament, and then he would
tell his friend that, in his opinion, no sudden change should be
made. " This husband of yours is a very peculiar man ; " he said
smiling. ** His honesty is not like the honesty of other men. It
is more downright ; — more absolutely honest ; less capable of
bearing even the shadow which the stain from another's dishonesty
might throw upon it. Give him credit for all that, and remember
that' you cannot find everything combined in the same person.
He is very practical in. some things, but the question is, whether
he is not too scrupulous to be practical in all things." At the
close of the interview the Duchess kissed him and promised to be
guided by him. The occurrences of the - last few weeks had
softened the Duchess much.

CHAPTEE XXIX.

THE TWO CANDIDATES FOR SIIiVBRBKIDOE:

On his arrival in Loudon Ferdinand Lopez found a letter waiting
for him from the Duchess. This came into his hand immediately
on his reaching the rooms in Bel grave Mansion, and was of course
the first object of his care. " That contains my fate," he said to
his wife, putting his hand down upon the letter. He had talked
to her much of the chance that had come in his way, and had
shown himself to be very ambitious of the honour offered to him.
She of course had sympathised with him, and was wUling to think
all good things both of the Duchess and of the Duke, if they would
between them put her husband into Parliament. He paused a
moment, still holding the letter under his haiid. "You would
hardly think that I should be such a coward that Idon't like to
open it,*' he said.

" You've got to do it."

** Unless I make you do it for me,*' he said, holding out the
letter to her. *• You will have to learn how weak I am. Wheiti-
I ani really anxious I become like a child."

"I do not think you are ever weak," she said, caressing him.
'* If there were a thing to be done you would do it at once. But
I'll open it if you like.' Then he tore off the envelope witl\ an air

TH£ TWO CANDIDATES FOR SILVERBBIDOE.

191

of oomio importance id stood for a few minutes while he
read it.

" What I first perceive is that there has been a row about it," he
said.

" A row about it ! What sort of a row P "

" My dear Mend the Duchess has not quite hit it off with my
less doar friend the Duke."

*• She does not say so ?"

" Oh dear, no ! My friend the Duchess is much too discreet for
that; — but I can see that it has been so."

" Are you to be the new member P If that is arrangvvi I don't
care a bit about the Duke and Duchess."

" These things do not settle themselves quite so easily as that.
I am not to have the seat at any rate without fighting for it.
There's the letter."

The Duchess's letter to her new adherent shall be given, but it
must first be understood that many different ideas had passed
through the writer's mind between the writing of the letter and
the order given by the Prime Minister to his wife concerning the
borough. She of course became aware at once that Mr. Lopez
must be informed that she could not do for him what she had sug*
gosted that she would do. But there was no necessity of writing at
the instant. Mr. Grey^ had not yet vacated the seat, and Mr.
Lopez was away on his travels. The month of January was
passed in comparative quiet at the Castle, and during that time it
became known at Silverbridge that the election would be open.
The Duke would not even make a suggestion, and would neither
express, nor feel, resentment should a membor be returned alto-
gether hostile to his Ministry. By degrees the Duchess accus-
tomed herself to this condition of affairs, and as the consternation
caused by her husband's very imperious conduct wore off, she
began to ask herself whether even yet she need ^uite give up the
game. She could not make a Member of Parhament altogel^er
out of her own hand, as she had once fondly hoped she might do ;
but still she might do something. She would m nothing cisobey
her husband, but if Mr. Lopess were to stand for Silverbridge, it
could not but be known in th.e borough that Mr. Lopez was her
friend. Therefore she wrote the following letter ; —

*• Gatherum, January, 18—.

•' My deab Mr. Lopez,

" I remember that you said that you would be home at this
time, and therefore I write to you about the borough. Things are
changed since you went away, and, I fear, not changed for your
advantage.

"We understand that Mr. Ghrey wiU apply for l^e Ohiltorn
Hundreds at the end of March, and that the election will take
place in April. No candidate will appear as favoured from hence.
We used to run a favourite, and our favourite would sometimee

192

THE raiME MINISTEB.

win, — would sometimes even have a walk over ; but those good
times are gone. All the good times are going, I think. There is
no reason that I know why you should not stand as well as any
one else. Tou can be early m the field ; — because it is only now
known that there will be no Gatherum interest. And I fancy
it had already leaked out that you would have been the favourite
if there had been a favourite ; — which mi^ht be beneficial.

<' 1 need hardly say that I do not wish my name to be men-
tioned in the matter.

*• Sincerely yours,

"Glenooha Omnium.

" Sprugeon, the ironmonger, would, I do not doubt, be proud to
nominate you.'*

'* I don't understand much about it," said Emily.

" I dare say not. It is not meant that any novice should under-
stand much about it. Of course you will not mention her Grace's
letter."

•♦ Certainly not."

« She intends to do the very best she. can for me. I have no
doubt that some understrapper from the Castle has had some com-
munication with Mr. Sprugeon. The fact is that the Duke won't
be seen in it, but that tne Duchess does not mean that the borough
shall quite slip through their fingers."

"ShaUyoutryit?^'

'* If I do I must send an agent down to see Mr. Sprugeon on the
sly, and the soener I do so the better. I wonder what your father
will say about it ? "

** He is an old Conservative."

*' But would he not like his son-in-law to be in Parliament P"

"I don't know that he would care about it very much. He
seems always to laugh at people who want to get into Parliament.
But if you have set your heart upon it, Ferdinand "

** I have not set my heart on spending a great deal of money.
When I first thought of Silverbridge the expense would have been
almost nothing. It would have been a walk-over, as the Duchess
calls it. But now there will certainly be a contest."

" Give it up, if you cannot afford it."

" Nothing venture nolhing have. You don't think your father
would help me in doing it P It would add almost as much to your
position as to mine." Emily shook her head. She had always
heard her father ridicule the folly of men who spent more thau
they could afford in the vanity of writing two letters after thoir
name, and she now explained tnat it had always been so with him.
'* You would not mind asking him," he said.

" I wil'. ask him if you wish it, certainly." Ever since their
marriage he had been teaching her, — intentionally teaching her, —
that it would be the duty of both of them to get all they could

THE TWO CANDIDATES FOR 8ILVERBRIDOE.

193

hose good
There is
rell as any
\ only now
id I fancy
e favourite

to be men-

Omnitjm.
be proud to

Lould under-
ber Grace's

. I have no

d some com-

I Duke won't

the borough

ugeon on the
your father

rliament ?"
much. He
Parliament.

your father

luch to your

I had always

lit more thau

frs after their

BO with him.

from her father. She had learned the lesson, but it had been very
distasteful to her. It had not induced her to think ill of her hus-
band. She was too much engrossed with him, too much in love
with him for that. But she was beginning to feel that the world
in general was hard and greedy and uncomfortable. If it was
proper that a father should give his daughter money when she was
married, why did not her father do so without waiting to be asked ?
And yet, if he were unwilling to do so, would it not be better to
leave him to his pleasure in the matter F But now she began to
perceive that her father was to be r^;arded as a milch cow, and
that she was to be the dairy-maid. !^r husband at times would
become terribly anxious on the subject. On receiving the {>romise
of £3,000 he had been elated, but sinoe that he had continually
talked of what more her father ought to do for them.

« Perhaps I had better take the bull by the horns," he said,
" and do it myself. Then I shall find out whether he really has
our interest at heart, or whether he looks on you as a stranger
because you've gone away from him."

" I don't think he will look upon me as ajstranger."

•* We'll see," said Lopez.

It was not long before he made the experiment. "^He had called
himself a coward as to the opening of the Duchess's letter, but he
had in truth always courage for perils of this nature. On the day
of their arrival they dined with Mr. Wharton in Manchester
Square, and certainly the old man had received his daughter witii
great delight. He had been courteous also to Lopez, and Emily,
amidst the pleasure of his welcome, had forgotten some of her
troubles. The l^ree were alone together, and when Emily had
asked after her brother. Mr. Wharton had laughed and said that
Everett was an ass. " You have not quarrellcKl with him P " she
said. He ridiculed the idea of any quarrel, but again said that
Everett was an ass.

After dinner Mr.- Whartoh and Lopez were left together, as the
old man, whether alone or in company, always sat for half an hour
sipping port wine after the manner oi his forefathers. Lopez had
already determined that he would not let the opportunity escape
him, and began his attack at once. " I have been invited, sir/*
he said with his sweetest smile, " to stand for Silverbridge."

" You too ! " said Mr. Wharton. But, though there was a
certain amount of satire in the exclamation, it had been good-
humoured satire.

" Yes, sir. We all get bit sooner or later, I suppose."

'* I never was bit."

*' Your sagacity and philosophy have been the wonder of the
world, sir. There can be no doubt that in my profession a seat in
the House would be of the greatest possible advantage to me. It
enables a man to do a great many things which he could not
touch without it."

" It may be so. I don't know anything about it."

194

THE PRIME MIMISTEB.

" And then it is a great honour."

** That depends on how you get it, and how you use it ; — very
much also on whether you are fit for it."

** I shall get it honeutly if I do get it. I hope I may use it well.
And as for my fitness, I must leave that to be ascertained when 1
am there. I am sorry to say there will probably be a contest."

*' I suppose so. A .seat m Parliament without a contest does
uot drop into every young man's mouth."

" It very nearly dropped into mine." Then he told his father-
in-law almost all the particulars of the offer which had been made
him, and of the manner in which the seat was now suggested to
him. He somewhat hesitated in the use of the name of the
Duchess, leaving an impression on Mr. Wharton that the offer
had in truth come from the Duke. " Should there be a contest,
would you help me ? "

" In what way ? I could not canvass at Silverbridge, if you
mean that."

" I was not thinking of giving you personal trouble."

" I don't know a sou], in the place. I shouldn't know that there
was such a place except that it returns a member of Parliament."

** I meant;9(rith money, sir."

"To pay the election bills! No; certainly not. Why should
I?"

" For Emily's sake."

" I don't think it would do Emily any good, or you either. It
would certainly do me none. It is a kind of luxury that a man
should not attempt to enjoy imless he can afford it easily."

♦•A luxury!"

**Yes, a luxury; just as much as a four-in-hand coach or a
yacht. Men go mto Parliament because it gives them feishion,
position, and power."

" I should ^o to serve my country."

"Success in your profession I thought you said was your
object. Of course you must do as you please. If you ask me for
advice, I advise you net to try it. But certainly I will not help
you with money. That ass Everett is quarrelling with me at this
moment because I won't give him money to go and stand some-
where." - . .

"NotatSilverbridge!"

** I'm sure I can't say. But don't let me do him an injury. To
give him his due, he is more reasonable than you, and only wants
a promise from me that I will pay electioneering bills for him at
the next general election. I have refused him, — though for reasons
v/hich I need not mention I think him better fitted for Parliament
than you. I must certainly also refrise you. I cannot imagine
any circumstances which would induce me to pay a shilling towards
gettinjg you into Parliament. If you won't drink any more wine
we'll jjoin Emily up-stairs."

This had been very plain speaking, and by no means comfortable

THE TWO GANDIDAT£S FOR SILVESBRIDGE.

105

to Lopez. What of peraonal discourtesy there had been in the
lawyer's words, — and they had not certainly been flatterinff, — he
could throw off from him as meaning notmng. As he could not
afford to quarrel with his father-in-law, he thought it probable
that he might have to bear a good deal of incivility from the old
man. He was quite prepared to bear it as long as he cou^d see a
chance of a reward ; — though, should there be no such chance he
would be ready to avenge it. But there had been a decision in the
present refusal which made him quite sure that it would be vain
to repeat his request. ** I shivll nud out, sir," he said, " whether
it may probably be a costly atlaLr. and if so I shall give it up.
You are rather nard upon me as to my iv.otives."

" I only repeated what you told me yourself."

" I am quite sure of my own intentioua, aud know that I need
not be ashamed of them."

" Not if you have plenty of money. It all depends on that.
If you have plenty of money, and your flajicy goes that way, it is
all very well. Come, we'll go up-stairs."

The next day he saw Everett Wharton, who welcomed him back
with warm affection. " Hell do nothing for me ; — nothing at all.
I am almost beginning to doabt whether he'll ever speak to mo
again."

"Nonsense!"

" I tell you everything, you know,*' said Everett. " In January
I lost a little money at whist. They got plunnng at the club, and
I was in it. I had to tell him, of course. He keeps me so short
that I can't stand any blow without going to him like a school-
boy."

"Was it much?"

" No ; — to him no more than half-a-crown to you. I had to ask
him for a hundred and fifty."

"He refused it!"

" No ; — he didn't do that. Had it been ten times as much, if I
owed the money, he would pay it. But he blew me up, and talked
about gambling, — and — ana **

" I should have taken that as a matter of course."

" But I'm not a gambler. A man now and then may fall into
a thing of that kind, and if he's decently well off and don't do it
often he can bear it."

" 1 thought your quarrel had been altogether about Parliament."

"Oh no! He has been always the same about that. He told
me that I was going head -foremost to the dogs, and I couldn't
stand that. I shouldn't be surprised if he hasn't lost more at cards
than I have during the last two years." Lopez made an offer to
act as go-between, to effect a reconciliation ; but Everett docliued
the offer. " It would be making too much of an absuidity," he
said. " When he wants to see me, I suppose he'll send for me."

Lopez did dispatch an agent down to Mr. Sprugeon at Silver-
bridge, and the agent found that Mr. Sprugeon was a very discreet

196

THE PBIME MINI8TEB.

:r/i ;

:i!

man. ICr. Sprugeon at first knew little or nothing, — soemed
hardly to be aware that there was a member of Parliament for
Silverbridge, and declared himself to be indifferent as to the parlia-
mentary onaracter of the borough. But at last he melted a little,
and by degrees, oyer a glass of hot brandy and water with the
agent at the Falliser Arms, confessed to a shade of an opinion
that the return of Mr. Lopez for the borough would not be dis-
agreeable to some penK>n or persons who did not live qmte a
hundred miles away. The instructions given by Lopez to his
agent were of the most cautious kind. The agent was merely to
feel the gpround, make a few inquiries, and do nothing. His chent
did not intend to stand ujiless he could see the way to almost
certain success with very little outlay. Lut the agent, perhaps
liking the job, did a little outstep his employer's orderb. Mr.
Sprugeon, when the frost of his first modesty had been thawed,
introduced the agent to Mr. Sprout, the maker of cork soles, and
Mr. Sprugeon and Mr. Sprout oetween them had soon decided that
Mr. Fer£nand Lopez should be run for the borough as the
" Castle " candidate. " The Duke won't interfere," said Sprugeon ;
"and, of course, the Duke's man cf business can't do anytliing
openly; — but the Duke's people wil^ know." Then Mr. Sprout
told tho agent that there was already another candidate m the
field, and in a whisper communicated the gentleman's name.
When the agent got back to London, he gave Lopez to understand
that he must certainly put himself forward. The borough expected
him. Sprueeon and Sprout considered themselvea pledged to bring
him forward and support him, — on behalf of the Oastle. Sprugeon
was quite sure that the Oastle influence was predor .i>,ant. The
Duke's name had never been mentioned at Silverbridge, — hardly
even that of the Duchess. Since the Duke's declaration * * The Castle
had token the part which the old Duke used to play. The agent
was quite sure that no one could get in for Silverbridge without
having the Castle on his side. 1^ doubt the Duke's declaration
had had the ill effect of bringing up a competitor, and thus of
causing expense. That could not now be helped. The agent was
of opinion that the Duke had had no alternative. The agent
hinted that times were changing, and that though dukes were
still dukes, and could still exercise ducal influences, they were
driven by these chants to act in an altered form. The proclama-
tion had been especially necessary because the Duke was Prime
Minister. The agent did not think that Mr. Lopez should be in
the least angry with the Duke. Everything would be done that
the Castle could do, and Lopez would be no doubt returned, —
though, unfortunately, not without some expense. How much
would it cost ? Any accurate answer to such a question would be
impossible, but probably about £600. It might be £800 ;— could
not possibly be above £1000. Lopez winced as he heard these
sums named, but he did not decline the contest.
Then the name of the opposition candidate was whispered to

" YES ; — A LIE f

197

Lopez. It was Arthur Fletcher ! Lopez started, and asked some
question as to Bir. Fletcher's interest in the neighbourhood. The
Fletchers were connected with the De Couroys, and as soon as
the declaration of the Duke had been made known, the De Oourcy
interest had aroused itself, and had invited that rising young
barrister, Arthur Fletcher, to stand for the borough on strictly
conservative views. Arthur Fletcher had acceded, and a printed
declaration of his purpose and political principles had been just
published. " I have beaten him once,*' said Lopez to himself,
" and I think I can beat him again."

CHAPTER XXX.

"yes;— A LiEr*

" So you went to Happerton after all," said Lopez to his ally, ICr.
Sextus Parker. " You couldn't believe me wnen I told you the
money was all right ! What a cur you are ! "

" That's right ;— abuse me."

" Well, it was horrid. Didn't I tell you that it must necessarily
injure me with the house ? How are two fellows to get on toother
unless they can put some trust in each other P Even if I did run
you into a difficulty, do you reaUj think I'm ruffian enough to tell
you that the money was there if it were untrue ? "

Sexty looked like a our and felt like a cur, as he was being thus
abused. He was not angry with his friend for calling lum bad
names, but only anxious to excuse himself. '* I was out of sorts,"
he said, " and so d d hippish I didn't know what I was about."

** Brandy and soda I " suggested Lopez.

" Perhaps a little of that ; — though, by Jove, it isn't often I do
that kind of thing. I don't know a fellow who works harder for
his wife and children than I do. But when one sees such things
all round one, — a fellow utterly smashed here who had a string of
hunters yesterday, and another fellow buying a house in Piccadilly
and pulling it down because it isn't big enough, who was contented
with a little box at Homsey last summer, one doesn't quite know
how to keep one's legs."

" \S you want to Team a lesson look at the two men, and see
where the di£Perence lies. The one has had some heart about him,
and the other has been a coward."

Parker scratehed his head, balanced himself on the hind legs of
his stool, and tacitly acknowledged the truth of all that his enter-
prising friend said to him. " Has old Wharton come down well ? "
at last he asked.

" I have never said a word to old Wharton about money," Lopez

198

THE PRIME MINISTER.

replied, — "excopt an to the cost of this election I was telling
you of."

" And he wouldn't do anything in that P "

" He doesn't approve of the thing itself. I don't douht but that
the old gentleman and I shall undei stand each other before long."

" You've got the length of his foot."

' ' Bui I don't mean to drive him. I can get along without that.
He's an old man, and he can't take his money along witL bim
when he goes the great journey."

'• There's a brother, Lopez, — isn't there P "

*' Yes, — there's a brother ; but Wharton has enough for two ,
ard if he were to put either out of his will it wouldn't be my wife.
Old men don't like parting with their money, and he's like other
old men. If it were not so I shouldn't bother myself coming into
the city at all."

•* Has he enough for that, Lopez P "

** I suppose he's worth a quarter of a million."

" By Jove ! And where did he get it P "

" Perseverance, sir. Put by a shilling a day, and let it have its
natural increase, and see what it will come to at the end of fifty
years. I suppose old Wharton has been putting by two or three
thousand out of his professional income, at anr rate fbr the last
thirty years, and never for a moment for^tting its natural
increase. That's one way to make a fortune."

" It ain't rapid enough for yon and me, Lopez."

" No. That was the ofd-fashioned way, and the most sure. But,
as you say, it is not rapid enough ; and it robs a man of the power
of enjoying his money when he has made it. But it's a very good
thing to be closely connected with a man r ho has already done that
kind of thhig. There's no doubt about the money when it is there.
It does not take to itself wings and fly away."

" But the man who has it sticks to it uncommon hard."

•♦ Of course he does ; — but he can't take it away with him."

'* He can ^^ve it to hospitals, Lopez. That's uie devil I "

" Sexly, my boy, I see you have taken an outlook into human
life whion does you credit. Yes, he can leave it to hospitals. But
why does he leave it to hospitals P"

" Something of being afraid about his soul, I suppose."

" No ; I don't believe in that. Such a man as this, who hus
been hard-fisted all his life, and who has had his eyes thoroughly
open, who has made his own money in the sharp intoroourse of
man to man, and who keeps it to the last gasp, — he doesn't believe
that he'll do his soul any good by giving it to hospitals when he
can't keep it himself any longer. His mind has freed itself from
those cobwebs long since. He give.^ his money to hospitals because
the last pleasure of which he is capable is that of spiting his rela-
tions. And it is a great pleasure to an old man, when his relation^)
havft been disgusted with him for being old and loving his money.
I rather think I should do it myself."

" YES ; — A LIE 1 "

199

"I'd give myself a chance of going to heaven, I think," said
Parker.

*' Don't you know that men will rob and cheat on their death-
beds, and say thoir prayers all the time Y Old Wharton won't
leave his money to hospitals if he's well handled by those about
him."

•' And you'll handle him well ; — eh, Lopez ?"

" I won't quanel with him, or tell him that he's a curmudgeon
because he doesn't do all that I want him. He's over seventy, and
he can't carry h's money with him."

All this left ho vi''/id an impression of the wisdom of his friend
on the mind of Sextus Parker, that in spite of the harrowing feard
by which he had been tormented on more than one occasion
already, he allowed himself to be persuaded into certain fiscal
arrangements, by which Lopez would find himself put at ease with
reference to money at any rate for the next four months. He had
at once told himself that this election would cost him £1,000.
When various .lums were mentioned in reference to such an affair,
safety could alone be found in taking the outside sum ; — ^perhaps
might generally be more surely found by adding fifty per cent, to
that. He knew that he was wrong about the election, but he
assured himself that he had had no alternative. The misfortune
had been that the Duke should have made his proclamntion about
the borough immediately after the offer made by the Duchess.
Ho had been almost forced to send the agent down to inquire ; —
and the agent, when making his inquiries, had compromised him.
He must go on with it now. Perhaps some idea of the pleasant-
ness of increased intimacy with the Duchess of Omnium encou-
raged him in this way of thinking. The Duchess was up in town
in February, and Lopez left a card in Carlton Terrace. On the
very next day the card of the Duchess was left for Mrs. Lopez at
the Belgrave Mansions.

Lopez went into the city every day, leaving home at about eleven
o'clock, and not returning much before dinner. The young wife
at first found that she hardly knew what to do with her time.
Her aunt, Mrs. Boby, was distasteful to her. She had already
learned from her husband that he had but little respect for
Mrs. Eoby. "You remember the sapphire brooch," he had said
once. *' That was part of the price I had to pay for being allpwf d
to approach you." He was sitting at the time with his arm round
her waist, looking out on beautiful Bcenery and talking of his old
difficulties. She could not find it in her heart to be angry with
him, but the idea brought to her mind was disagreeable to her.
And she was thoroughly angry with Mrs. Eoby. Of course in
these days Mrs. Eoby came to see her, and of course when she was
up in Manchester Square, she went to the house round the comer,
— but there was no close intimacy between the aunt and the niece.
And many of her father's friends, — whom she regarded as the
Herefordshire set,— were very cold to her. She had not made her-

200

THE PRIME MINIRTER.

IHl

■w \

■■',*> i

Helf a glory to Ilurofordshire, and, — as all thesA people said, — hod
brokeu the heart of the bent Ho«*"furdshire young man of the day.
This made a sreat falling-oil > acquaintanoe, which was the

aiore felt as ane had never been, as a girl, devoted to a large circle
of dearest female friends. She whom she had loved best had been
Marv Wharton, and Mary Wharton had refused to be her brides-
maid almost without an expression of regret. She saw her father
occasionally. Onoe he came and dined with them at their rooms,
ou which occasion Lopez struggled hard to make up a well- sounding
party. There were Koby from the Admiraltv, and the Happertons,
and Sir Timothy Beeswax, with whom Lopez had become acquainted
at Gatherum, and old Ltord Mon^ober. But the barrister, who
had dined out a good deal in his time, perceived the effort. Who,
that ever with £ificulty scraped his dinner guests together, was
able afterwards to obliterate the signs of the struggle ? It was,
however, a hrst attempt, and Lopez, whose courage was good,
thought that he might do better before long. If he could ^t into
the House and make Ms mark there people then would dme with
him fast enough. But while this was going on Emily's life was
rather dull. He had provided her with a brougham, and every-
thmg around her was even luxurious, but there came upon her
gradually a feeling that by her maiTiage she had divided herself
from her own people. She did not for a moment allow this feeling
to interfere with her loyalty to him. Had she not known that this
division would surely take place ? Had she not married him
because she loved him better than her own people P So she sat
herself down to read Dante, — for they had studiea Italian together
during their honeymoon, and she had found that he knew the
laiiiB^ge well. And she was busy with her needle. And she
already began to anticipate the happiness which would come to
her when a child of his should be lying in her arms.

She was of course much interested about the election. Nothing
could as yet be done, because as yet there was no vacancy ; but
still the subject was discussed daily between them. " Who do j^ou
think is going to sUuad against me f " he said one day with a smile.
" A very old friend of yours." She knew at once who the man
was, and the blood came to her face. " I think he might as well
have left it alone, you know," he said.

'* Did he know ? " she asked in a vchisper. «

*'Kj) v7 ; — of course he knew. He is doing it on purpose. But
I beat him once, old girl, didn't I? And I'll beat him again."
She liked him to call her old girl. She loved the perfect intimacy
with which he treated her. But there was something which grated
against her feelings in this allusion by him to the other man who
had loved her. Of course she had told him the whole story. She
had conceived it to be her duty to do so. But then the thing should
have been over. It was necessary, perhaps, that he should tell her
who was his opponent. It was impossible that she should not
know when the fight came. But she did not like to hear him boast

" YES ; — A LIE I ••

201

that ho had beaten Arthur Flotoher once, and that he would >)eut
him again. By doing 80 he likened the sweet fragrance of her
love to the dirty turmoil of an electioneering contest.

He did not understand, — how should he P — that though she had
never loved Arthur Fletcher, had never been able to bring herself
to love him when all her friends had wished it, her feelings to him
were nevertheless those of affectionate friendship ; — that she re-
garded him as being perfect in his way, a thorough gentleman, a
man who would not for worlds tell a he, as most generous among
the generous, most noble among the noble. When the other
Whartons had thrown her off, he had not been cold to her. That
very day, as soon as her husband had left her, she looked again at
that little note. " I am as I always have been ! " And she
remembered that farewell down by the banks of the Wye. " You
will always have one, — one besides him, — who will love you best
in the world." They were dangerous words for her to remember ;
but in recalling them to her memory she had often aflsiu*ed herself
that they should not be dangerous to her. She was too sure of her
own heart to be afraid of danger. She had loved the one man and
had not loved the other ; — but yet, now, when her husband talked
of beating this man again, she could not but remember the words.

She did not think, — or rather had not thought, — that Arthur
Fletcher would willingly stand against her husband. It had
occurred to her at once that he must first have become a candidate
without knowing who would be his opponent. But Ferdinand had
assured her as a matter of fact that Fletcher had known all about
it. " I suppose in politics men are different," she said to herself.
Her husband had evidently supposed that Arthur Fletcher had
proposed himself as a candidate for Silverbridge, with the express
object of doing an injury to the man who had carried off his love.
And she repeated to herself her husband's words, " He is doing
it on purpose." She did not like to differ from her husband, but
she could hardly bring herself to believe that revenge of this kind
should have recommended itself to Arthur Fletcher.

Some little time after this, when she had been settled in London
about a month, a letter was brought her, and she at once recog-
nised Arthur Flet.cher's writing. She was alone at the time, and
it occurred to hei;at first that perhaps she ought not to open any
communication from him without showing it to her husband. But
then it seemed that such a hesitation would imply a doubt of the
man, and almost a doubt of herself. Why should she fear what
any man might write to her ? So she opened the letter, and read
it, — with infinite pleasure. It wat* ac foUows ; —

** My dear Mrs. Lopez,

" I think it best to make an explanation to you as to a
certain coincidence which might possibly be misunderstood unless
explained. I find that your husband and I are to be opponents
at Silverbridge. I wish to say that I had pledged myself to the

202

THK PRIMK MINtSTBR.

fill

borough bnfore I had heatd his name as oonnectml with it. I have
very old assooiations with the Doighbourhood, and was invited to
stand by friends who had kcown me all my life as soon as it was
understood that there would be an open contest. I cannot retiro
now without breaking faith with my party, nor do I know that
there is any reason why I should do so. I should not, however,
have come forward had I known that Mr. Lopea was to stand. I
think you had bettor tell him so, and tell him also, with my com-
pliments, that I hope we may fight our political battle with mutual
good-fellowship and good-feeling.

" Tours verj sincerely,

•' Arthxtr Flbtohbr."

Emily was very much pleased by this lettar, and yet she wept
over it. She felt that she understood accurately all the motives
that were at work within the man's breast when he was writing it.
As to its truth, —of course the letter was gospel to her. Oh, — if
the man could become her husband's fiiend now sweet it would
be I Of course she wished, thoroughly wished, that her husband
should succeed at Silverbridge. But she could understand that
such a contest as this might be carried on without personal animo-
sity. The letter was so Uke Arthur Fletcher, — so good, so noble,
BO gene. jXlb, so true I The moment her husband came in she
showed it to him with delight. '* I was sure," she said as he
was reading the letter, " that he had not known that you were to
stand. *

" He knew it as well as I did," he replied, and as he spoke there
came a dark scowl scross his brow. " His writing to you is a
piece of infernal impudence."

" Oh, Ferdinand ! "

*' You don't understand, but I do. He deserves to be horse-
whipped for daring to write to yon, and if I can come across him
he snail have it."

*' Oh,— for heaven's sake ! "

*' A man who was your rejected lover, — who has been trying to
marry you for the last two years, presuming to commence a cor-
respondence with you without your husband's sanction 1 "

** He meant you to see it. He says I am to t411 you."

*' Psha ! That is simple cowardice. He meant you not to tell
me ; and then when you had answered him without telling me, ho
would have had the whip-hand of you."

•• Oh, Ferdinand, what evil thoughts you have ! **

" You are a child, my dear, and must allow me to dictate to you
what you ought to think in such a matter as this. I tell you he
knew all about my candidature, and that what he has said here to
the contrary is a mere lie ; — yes, a lie." He repeated the word
because he saw that she shrank at hearing it ; but he did not
understand why she shrank, — that the idea of such an accusation
against Arthur Fletcher was intolerable to her. *' I have never

YM ; — A LIE I "

208

. I have
nvited to
as it wcti
not wtito
:bow that
bow«T«r.
stand. I
tny oom-
Lth mutual

ITOHBR

,t she ^«P*
lie motives

I writing it.
». Ob,--if
set it would
ler husband
irstand that
lonal animo-
[)d, so noble,
came in she
p said as he
you wore to

epoke there
to you is a

to be horse-
18 across him

een trying to
menoe a cor-
ml"
•u."

ou not to tell
jUing me, he

heard of such a thing/* he continued. "Do you suppone it is
common for men who haye besn thrown oyer to write to tho ladies
who have nrjeoted them immediately after their marriage ? "

" Do not the oiroumRtancen justi^ it P"

"No; — they make it intinitely worse. He should have felt
himself to be debarred fiom writing to you, both as being my wife
and as being the wife of the man whom he intends to oppose at
Silverbridge."

This he said with so much anger that he fhghtened her. *' It
is not my fault," she said.

" No ; it is not your fault. But you should regard it as a great
fault committed by him."

"What am I to do P"

" Give me the letter. You, of course, can do nothing."

" You will not quarrel with him P "

"Certainly I will. I have quarrelled with him already. Do
you think I will allow any man to insult my wife without quarrdl-
iing with him P What I shall do I cannot yet say, and whatever
I maydo, vou had better not know. I never thought much of
these Herefordshire swells who believe themselves to be the very
cream of the earth, and now I think less of them than ever."

He was then silent, and slowly she took herself out of the room,
and went away to dresR. All this was very terrible. He had
never been rough to her before, and she could not at all understand
why he had been so rough to her now. Surely it was impossible
that he should be jealous because her old lover had written to her
such a letter as that which she had shown him ! And then she
was almost stunned by the opinions he had expressed about
Fletcher, opinioos which she knew, — ^was sure that she knew, — to
be absolutely erroneous. A liar! Ob, heavens! And thfln the
letter itself was so ingenuous and so honest ! Anxious as she wa<i
to do all that her husband bade her, she could not be guided by
him in this matter. And then she remembered his wor£ : " You
must allow me to dictate to you what you ought to think."
Could it be that marriage meant as much as that, — that a husbard
was to claim to dictate to his wife what opinions she was to fon^
about this and that person, — about a person she had known so
well, whom he had never known P Surely she could only think in
accordance with her own experience and her own intelligence !
She was certain that Arthnr Fletcher was no liar. Not even
Ler own husVand oould make i.>r think that.

dictate to you
1 1 tell you he
as said here to

ated the word

it he did not

an accupation

I have never

204

THK. PRIME MINISTEB.

CHAPTER XXXI.

*' yes;— WITH A HORSEWHIP IN MY HANI)

>»

Emily Lopez, when she crept out of ber own rooiu and joined her
husband juBt before dinner, was hardly able to speak to him, so
thoroughly was she dismayed, and troubled, and horrified, by the
manner in which he had taken Arthur Fletcher's letter. While
she had been alone she had thought it all over, anxious if possible
to bring herself into sympathy with her hujsband; but the more
she thought of it the more evident did it become to her that he
was altogether wrong. He was so wrong that it seemed to her
that she would be a hypocrite if she pretended to agree with
him. There were half-a-dozen accusations conveyed against Mr.
Fletcher by her husband's view of the matter. He was a liar,
giving a false account of his candidature ; — and he was a coward ;
and au enemy to her, who had laid a plot by which he had hoped
to make her act fraudulently towards her own husband, who had
endeavoured to creep into a correspondence with her, .^.nd so to
compromise her! All this, which her husband's miud had so
easily conceived, was not only impossible to her, but so horrible
that she could not refrain from dis^st at her husband's con-
ception. The letter had been left with him, but she remembered
every word of it. She was sure that it was an honest letter,
meaning no more than had been said, — simpl;^ intending to explain
to her that he would not willingly have stood in the way of a friend ,
whom he had loved, bv interfering with her husband's prospects.
And yet she was told that she was to think as her husband bade
her think ! She could not think so. She could not say that she
thought so. If her husband would not credit her judgment, let the
matter be referred to her father. Ferdinand would at any rate
acknowledge that hor father could understand such a matter even
if she could not.

During dinner he said nothing on the subject, nor did she.
They were attended by a page in buttons whom he had hired to
wait upon her, and the meal passed off almost in silence. She
looked up at him frequently and saw that his brow was still black.
As soon as they were alone she spoke to him, having studied
during dinner what words she would first say: ** Are you going
down to the club to-night P " He had told her that the matter of
this election had been taken up at the Progress, and that possibly
he might have to meet two or three persons there on this evening.
There had been a proposition that the club should bear a part of
the expenditure, and he was very solicitous that such an arrange-
ment should be made.

"No," said he, "I shall not go out to-night. I am not suffi-
ciently light-hearted."

*• What makes you heavy-hearted, Ferdinand P"

YES ; WITH A HORSEWHIP IN MY HAND.

205

** I should have thought you would have known."

« I suppose I do know, — but I don't know why it should. I
don't know why you should be displeased. At any rate, I have
done nothing wrong."

"No;-'-iiot as to the letter. But it astonishes me that you
should be so — so bound to this man that ■"

" Bound to him, Ferdinand !"

"No; — you are bound to me. But that you have so much
regard for him as not to see that he has grossly insulted you."

" I have a regard for him."

** And you dare to tell me so ? "

" Dare ! What should I be if I had any feeling which I did not
dare to tell youP There is no harm in regarding a man with
friendly feelings whom I have now known since I was a child, and
whom all my family have loved."

•* Your family wanted you to marry him ! "

" They did. But I have manied you, because I loved you. But
I need not think badly of an old friend, because I did not love him.
Why should you be angry with him ? What can you have to be
afraid of ? " Then she came and sat on his knee ana caressed him.

*' It is he that shall be afraid of me," said Lopez. ** Let him
give the borough up if he means what he says^"

'< Who could ask him to do that ? "

♦• Not you, — certainly."

« Oh, no."

** I can ask him."

*' Could you, Ferdinand ? "

** Yes ; — ^with a horsewhip in my hand."

" Indeed, indeed you do not know him. Will you do this; —
will you tell my father everything, and leave it to him to say
whether Mr. Fletcher has behaved badly to you ? "

*• Certainly not. I will not have any interference from your
father between you and me. If I had listened to your father you
would not have been here now. Your father is not as yet a friend
of mine. When he comes to know what I can do for myself, and
that I can rise higher than these Herefordshire people, then per-
haps he may become my friend. But I will consult him in
nothing so peculiar to myself as my own wife. And you must
understand that in coming to me all obligation from you to him
became extinct. Of course he is your father; but in such a
matter as this he has no more to say to you than any stranger."
After that he hardly spoke to her ; but sat for an hour with a book
in his hand, and then rose and said that he would go duwn to the
club. *' There is so much villainy about," he said, ** that a man
if he means to do anything must keep himself on the watch."

When she was alone she at once burst into tears ; but she soon
dried her eyes, and putting down her work, settled herself to think
of it all. What did it mean ? Why was he thus changed to her ?
Could it be that he was the same Ferdinand to whom she had

206

THE PBIME MINISTEB.

given herself, without a doubt as to his personal merit P Every
word that he had spoken since she had shown him the letter from
Arthur Fletcher had been injurious to her, and offensive. It
almost seemed as though he had determined to show himself to be
a tyrant to her, and had only put off playing the part till tho first
convenient opportimity after their honeymoon. But through all
this, her ideas were loyal to him. She would obey him in all
things where obedience was possible, and would love him better
than all the world. Oh yes ; — for was he not her husband ?
Were he to prove himself the worst of men she would still love
him. It had been for better or for worse ; and as she had repeated
the words to herself, she had sworn that if the worst should come,
she would still be true.

But she could not bring herself to say that Arthur Fletcher had
behaved badly. She could not lie. She knew well that his
conduct had been noble and generous. Then unconsciously and
involuntarily,— or rather in opposition to her own will and inward
efforts, — her mind would draw comparisons between her husband
and Arthur Fletcher. There was some peculiar gift, or grace, or
acquirement beloijiging without dispute to the one, and which the
other lacked. What was it ? She had heard her father say when
talking of gentlemen, — of that race of gentlemen with whom it had
been his lot to live, — that you could not make a silk purse out of
a sow's ear. The use of the proverb had offended her much, for she
had known weU whom he had then regarded as a silk purse and
whom as a sow's ear. But now she perceived that there had been
truth in all this, though she was as anxious as ever to think well
of her husband, and to endow him with all possible virtues. She
had once ventured to form a doctrine for nerself, to preach to
herself a sermon of her own, and to tell herself that tms gift of
gentle blood and of gentle nurture, of which her father thought so
much, and to which something of divinity was attributed down in
Hereforddiire, was after all out a weak, spiritless quality. It
could exist without intellect, without heart, and with very
moderate culture. It was compatible with many littlenesses and
with many vices. As for that love of ]|;Lonest, courageous truth
which her father was wont to attribute to it, she regarded his
theory as based upon legends, as in earlier years was the theory of
the courage, and constancy, and loyaltr^ of the knights of those
days. The beau ideal of a man which she then pictured to herself
was graced, first with intelligence, then with affection, and lastly
with ambition. She knew uo reason why such a hero as her fancy
created should be born of lords and ladies rather than of working
mechanics, should be English rather than Spanish or French.
The- man could not be her hero without education, without attri-
butes to be attained no doubt more easily by the rich than by the
poor ; but, with that granted, with those attained, she did not see
why she, or why the world, should go back beyond the man's own
self. Such had been her theoVies as to men and theii* attiibutes,

yes; — WITH A HORSEWHIP IN MY HAND.

207

Every
jr from
Lve. It
If to bo
fcho first
,u^h all
Q, iu all
a better
isband ?
(till love
repeated
Id come,

<jlier bad
tbat bis
>u8ly and
d iuward
- busband
grace, or
i^cb tbe
Bay wben
om it bad
Lise out of
cb, for sbe
ptirse and
had been
think well
:ueB. Sbe
preach to
his gift of
bought so
id down in
lality. It
witb very
aesses and
Bous truth
yarded bis
9 theory of
;8 of those
I to herself
and lastly
J her fancy
of working
)r Erencb.
hout attri-
tan by the
^d not see
man's own
attributes,

and acting on that, nhe had given herself and all her happiness
into the keeping of Ferdinand Lopez. Now, there was gradually
coming upon her a change iu her convictions, — a chanj^e that
was most unwelcome, that she strove to reject, — one which she
would not acknowledge that she had adopted even while adopting
it. But now, — ay, from the very hour of her marriage, — she had
commenced to learn what it was that her father had meant when
he spoLe of the pleasure of living with gentlemen. Arthur Fletcher
certainly was a gentleman. He would not have entertained the
suspicion which her husband bad expressed. He could not have
failed to believe such assertions as had been made. He could
never have suggested to his own wife that another man had
endeavoured to entrap her into a secret correspondence. She
seemed to bear the tones of Arthur Fletcher's voice, as those of
her husband still rane in her ear when he bade her remember that
she was now removed from her father's control. Every now and
then the tears would come to her eyes, and she would sit
pondering, listless, and low in heart. Then she w«)uld suddenly
rouse herself with a shake, and take up her book with a resolve
that she would read steadily, would assure herself as she did so
that her busband should still be her hero. The intelligence dt any
rate was there, and, in spite of bis roughness, the affection which
bhe craved. And ihe ambition, too, was there. But, alas, alas !
why shoiild such vile suspicions have fouled his mind ?

He was ?.ate that night, but when he came he kissed her brow
as she lay in bed, and she knew that his temper wai? a^^ain smooth.
She feigned to be sleepy, though not asleep, as she just put her
hand up to his cheek. She did not wish to speak to him again
that night, but she was glad to kuow that in the morning he would
smile on her. " Be early at breakfast," he said to her as he left
her the next morning, *' for I'm going down to Silverbridge
to-day."
Then she started up. • • To-day ! "

"Yes; — by the 11.20. There is plenty of time, only don't be
unusually late."

Of course she was something more than usually early, and when
she came out she found him reading his paper. " It's all settled
now," he said. "Grey has apjjlied for the Hundreds, and Mr.
Battler is to move for the new writ to-morrow. It has come rather
Budden at last, as these things always do after long delays. But
they say the suddenness is rather in my favour."
" "When will the election take place r "
" I suppose in about a fortnight ; — perhaps a little longer."
" And must you be at Silverbridge all that time P"
"Oh dear no. I shall stay there to-night, and perhaps to-
morrow night. Of course I shall telegraph to you directly I find
how it is to be. I shall see the principal inhabitants, and probably
make a speech or two."
" I do so wish I could hear you."

208

THE I>RIME MINISTER.

f i

" You'd find it awfully dull work, my girl. And I shall find it
awfully dull too. I do not imagine that Mr. Sprugeou and Mr.
Sprout will be pleasant companions. Well ; I shall stay there a
day or two and settle when I am to go down for the absolute can-
vass. I shall have to go with my hat in my hand to every blessed
inhabitant in that dirty little town, and ask them all to be kind
enough to drop in a paper for the most humble of their servants,
Ferdmand Lopez."

" I suppose all candidates have to do the same."

"Oh yes; — your friend, Master Fletcher, will have to do it."
She winced at this. Arthur Fletcher was her friend, but at the
present moment he ought not so to have spoken of him. "And
from aU I hear, he is just the sort of fellow that will like the doing
of it. It is odious to me to ask a fellow that I despise for any-
thing."

"Why should you despise them ? "

** Low, ignorant, greaser cads, who have no idea of the real
meaning of political piivileges ; — men who would all sell their
votes for thirty shillings each, if that game had not been made a
little too hot!"*'

" If they are like that I would not represent them."

" Oh yes, you would ; — when you came to understand the world.
It's a fine thmg to be in Parliament, and that is the way- to get in.
However, on this visit I shall only see the great men of the town,
— the Sprouts and Spnigeons."

" Shall you go to Castle Gatherum ? "

" Oh, heavens, no ! I may go anywhere now rather than there.
The Duke is supposed to be in absolute ignorance of the very names
of the candidates, or whether there are candidates. I don't sup-
pose that the word Silverbridge will be even whispered in his ear
till the thing is over."

" But you are to get in by his friendship."

"Or by hers ; — at least I hope so. I have no doubt that the
Sprouts and the Sprugeons have been given to understand by the
Lococks and the Pritchards what are the Duchess's wishes, and
that it has also been intimated in some subtle way that the Duke
is willing to oblige the Duchess. There are ever so many ways,
you know, of killing a cat."

" And the expense ?" suggested Emily.

" Oh, — ah ; the expense. When you come to talk of the expense
things are not so pleasant. I never saw such a set of meaningless
asses in my life as those men at the club. They talk and talk, but
there is not one of them who knows how to do anything. Now at
the club over the way they do arrange matters. It's a common
cause, and I don't see what right they have to expect that one man
should bear all the expense. I've a deuced good mind to leave
them in the lurch."

" Don't do it, Ferdinand, if you can't aflPurd it."

" I shall go on with it now. I can't help feeling that I've been

V^^^M

YES ; WITH A HORSEWHIP IN MY HAND.

200

kat I've been

a little let in among them. When the Uuuhesd Urst promised me
it was to be a simple walk oyer. Now that they've got their can-
didate, they go back from that and open the thing to any corner.
I can't tell you what I think of Fletcher for taking advantage of
such a chance. And then the political committee at the club coolly
say that they've got no money. It isn't honest, you know."

" I don't understand all tibat," said Emily sadly. Every word
that he said about Fletcher cut her to the heart ; — not because it
grieved her that Fletcher should be abused, but that her husband
should condescend to abuse him. She escaped from further con-
flict at the moipent by proclaiming her ignorance of the whole
matter ; but she knew enough of it to be well aware that Arthur
Fletcher had as good a right to stand as her husband, and that tier
husband lowered himself by personal animosity to the man. Then
Lopez took his departure. "Oh, Ferdinand, she said, "I do so
hope you may be successful."

" I don't think he can have a chance. From what people say.
he must be a fool to try. That is, if the Castle is true to me. ^
shall know more about it when I come back."

That afternoon she dined with her father, and there met Mrs.
Boby. It was of course known that Lopez had gone down to
Silverbridge, and Emily learned in Manchester Square that Everett
had gone with him. ** From all I hear, they're two fools for their
pains," said the lawyer.
♦'Why, papa P"

*' The Duke has given the thing up.'*
" But still his interest remains. '

" No such thing ! If there is an honest man in England it is
the Duke of Omnium, and when he says a thing he means it.
Left to themselves, the people of a little town like Silverbridge are
sure to return a Conservative. They are half of them small
farmers, and of course will go that way if not made to go the other.

If the club mean to pay the cost •"

" The club will pay nothing, papa."

" Then I can only hope that Lopez is doing well in his busi-
ness!" After that nottung further was said about the election,
but she perceivea that her fatiier was altogether o|)posed to the
idea of her husband being in Parliament, and that his sympathies
and even his wishes were on the other side. When Mrs. Boby
suggested that it would be a very nice thing for them all to have
Ferdinand in Parliament, — she always called him Ferdinand now,
—Mr. Wharton railed at her. " Why should it bo a nice thing P I
wonder whether you have any idea of a meaning in your head
when you say that. Do you suppose that a man gets £1,000 a year
by going into Parliament P"

'* Laws, Mr. Wharton ; how uncivil you are I Of course I know
tbat members of Parliament ain't paid.

"Where's the niceness then P If a man has his time at his com-
mand and has studied the art of legislation it may be nice, because

I -

210

THB PRIME MINISTER.

he will be doing his duty ; — or if he wants to get into the ^ovem-^
ment ruck like your brother-in-law, it may be nice ; — or if he be
an idle man with a large fortune it may be nice to have some place
to go to. But why it should be nice for Ferdinand Lopez I cannot
understand. Eyerett has some idea in his head when he talks
about Parliament, — though I cannot say that I agree with him."
It may easily be understood that after this Emily would say
nothing further in Manchester Square as to her husband's prospects
at Silyerbridge.

Lopez was at Silyerbridge for a couple of days, and then returned,
as his wife thought, by no means confident of success. He re-
mained in town nearly a week, and during that time he managed
to see the Duchess. He had written to her saying that he would
do himself the honour of calling on hei , and when he came was
admitted. But the account he gaye to his wife of the yisit did not
express much satisfaction. It was quite late in the eyening before
he told her whither he had been. He had intended to keep the
matter to himself, and at last spoke of it, — gaided by the feeling
which induces all men to tell their secrets tC' their wiyes, — because
it was a comfort to him to talk to some one who would not openly
contradict him. " She's a sly creature after all," he said.

" I had always thought that she was too open rather than sly,"
said his wife.

" People always try to get a character just opposite to what they
deserye. When I heccr that a man is always to be belieyed, I know
that he is the most dangerous liar going. She hummed and hawed
and would not say a word about the borough. She went so far as
to tell me that I wasn't to say a word about it to her."

*' Wasn't that best if her husband wished her not to talk of it P "

" It is all humbug and falsehood to the yery bottom. She knows
that I am spending money about it, and she ought to be on the
square with me. She ought to tell me what she can do and what
she can't. When I askea her whether Sprugeon might be trusted,
she said that she really wished that I wouldn't s^ anything more
to her about it. I call that dishonest and sly. I shouldn't at all
wonder but that Fletcher has been with the Duke. If I find that
out, won't I expose them both ?'*

CHAPTER XXXn.

"WHAT BUSINESS IS IT OF YOURS P **

Tnmos had not gone altogether smoothly with the Duchess
herself since the breaking up of the party at Qntherum Castle, —
nor perhaps quite smootmy with the Duke. It was now March.

" WHAT BUSINESS IS IT OP YOURS ? "

211

The House was again sitting, and they were both in London, — but
till they came to town they had remained at the Castle, and that
huge mansion had not been found to be more comfortable by either
of them as it became empty. For a time the Duchess had been
cowed by her husband's stern decision ; but as he again became
gentle to her, — almost seeming by his manner to apologize for his
unwonted roughness, — she plucked up her spirit and declared to
herself that she would not give up the battle. All that she did, —
was it not for his sakeP And why should she not have her
ambition in life as well as he his ? ^d had she not succeeded in
all that she had done P Could it be right that she should be asked
to abandon everything, to own herself to have been defeated, to be
shown to have failed before all the world, because such a one as
Major Pountney had made a fool of himself? She attributed it
all to Major Pountney ; — very wrongly. When a man's mind is
veering towards some decision, some conclusion which he has been
perhaps slow in reaching, it is probably a little thing which at last
fixes his mind and clenches his thoughts. The Duke had been
gradually teaching himself to hate the crowd around him and to
reprobate his wife's strate^, before he had known that there was a
Major Pountney under his roof. Others had offended him, and
first and. foremost among them his own colleague, Sir Orlando.
The Duchess hardly read his character aright, and certainly did
not understand his present motives, wheu she thought that all
might be forgotten as soon as the disagreeable savour of the Major
should have passed away.

But in nothing, as she thought, had her husband been so silly as
in his abandonment of Silverbridge. When she heard that the day
was fixed for declaring the vacancy, she ventured to ask him a
question. His manner to her lately had been more than urbane,
more than affectionate ; — it had almost been that of a lover. He
had petted her and caressed her when they met, and once even
said that nothing should really trouble him* as long as he had her
with him. Such a speech as that never in his life had he made
before to her ! So she plucked up her courage and asked her
question, — not exactly on that occasion, but soon afterwards;
" May not I say a word to Sprugeon about the election P "

" Not a word ! " And he looked at her as he had looked on that
day when he had told her of the Major's sins. She tossed her
head and pouted her lips and walked on without speaking; If it
was to be so, then indeed would she have failed. And, werefore,
though in his general manner he was loving to her, things were
not going smooth with her.

And things were not going smooth with him because there
had reached him a most troublous dispatch from Sir Orlando
Drought only two days before the Cabinet meeting at which
the points to be made m the Queen's speech were to oe decided.
It had been already agreed that a proposition should be made to
Parliament by the Government, for an extension of the county

212

THE PBIME BUNISTEB.

suffrage, with some slight redistribution of seats. The towns with
less than 20,000 inhabitonts were to take in some increased portions
of the country parishes around. But there was not enough of a
policy in this to satisfy Sir Orlando, nor was the conduct of the
Dill tnrough the House to bo placed in his hands. That W£3,s to be
intrusted to Mr. Monk, and Mr. Monk would be, if not nominally
the leader, yet the chief man of the Government in the House of
Commons. This was displeasing to Sir Orlando, and he had,
therefore, demanded from the Prime Minister more of a " policy.'
Sir Orlando's present idea of a policy was tbe building four bigger
ships of war than had ever been built before, — with larger guns,
and more men, and thicker iron plates, and, aboye all, with a |n>eater
expenditure of money. He had even gone so far as to say, though
not in his semi-official letter to the Prime Minister, that he thought
that "The Salvation of the Empire" should be the cry of the
Coalition P^i'ty* " Alter all," he said, " what the people care
about is the Salvation of the Empire ! " Sir Orlando was at the
head of the Admiralty ; and if glory was to be achieved by tiie
four ships, it would rest first on tne head of Sir Orlando.

Now the Duke thought that the Empire was safe, and had been
throughout his political life averse to increasing the army and
navy estimates. He regarded the four ships as altogether un-
necessary, — and when reminded that he might in this way con-
flBolidate the Coalition, said that he would rather do without the
Coalition and the four ships than have to do with both of them
together, — an opinion which was thought by some to be almost
trutorous to the party as now organised. The secrets of Cabinets
are not to be disclosed lightly, but it came to be understood, — as
what is done at Cabinet meetings generally does come to be under-
stood, — that there was something like a disagreement. The Prime
Minister, the Duke of St. Bungay, and Mr. Monk were altogether
against the four ships. Sir Orlando was supported by Lord
Drummond and another of his old friends. At the advice of the
elder Duke, a paragraph was hatched, in which it was declared
that her Majesty, " havins; regard to the safety of the nation and
the possible, though happify not probable, chances of war, thought
that the present strengtn of the navy should be considered." " It
will give him scope for a new gun-boat on an altered principle,"
said me Duke of St. Bungay. But the Prime Minister, could he
have had his own way, would have given Sir Orlando no scope
whatever. He would have let the Coalition have gone to the do^
and have fallen himself into infinite political ruin, but that he did
not dare that men should hereafter say of him that this attempt at
government had failed because he was stubborn, imperious, and
self-confident. He had known when he took his present place that
he must yield to others ; but he had not known how terrible it is
to have to yield when a principle is in question,— how great is the
suffering; when a man finds himself compelled to do that whidh
he thinks should not be done I Therefore, though he had been

** WHAT BUSINESS IS IT OF YOURS ? "

218

rn» with
portions
igh of a
3t of the
'ES to be
jminally
Souse of

he had,

policy.'
ir bigger
jer guns,
a greater
J, though
9 thought
ry of the
ople care
'as at the
)d hy the

•

had been
Birmy and
ether un-
way con-
Lthout the
h of them
be ahnost
Cabinets
jtood, — as
|be under-
ie Prime
[together
by Lord
ice of the
, declared
^ation and
', thought
)d." "It
>rmciple,
could he
no scope
the do^s
kat he did
Lttempt at
ious, and
olace that
ible it is
giat is the
itt which
Ihad been

strangely loving to hut wife, the time had not gone smoothly with
him.

In direct disobedience to her husband the Duchess did speak a
word to Mr. Sprugeon. When at the Castle she was frequently
driven through Silverbridge, and on one occasion had her carriage
stopped at the ironmonger's door. Out came Mr. Sprugeon, and
there were at first half-a-dozen standing by who could hear what
she said. Millepois, the cook, wanted to have some new kind of
iron plate erected in the kitchen. Of course she had provided
herself beforehand with her excuse. As a rule, when the cook
wanted anything done, he did not send word to the tradesman
by the Duchess. But on this occasion the Duchess was personally
most anxious. Se wanted to see how the iron plato would work.
It was to be a particular kind of iron plate. Then, having
watohed her opportunity, she said her word, " I suppose we shaU
be safe with Mr. Lopez." When Mr. Sprugeon was about to
reply, she shook her head and went on about the iron plato. This
would be quite enough to let Mr. Sprugeon understand that she
was still anxious about the borough. Mr. Sprugeon was an
intelligent man, and possessed of discretion to a certain extent.
As soon as he saw the little frown and the shake of the head, he
understood it all. He and the Duchess had a secret together.
Would not everything about the Castle in which a morsel of iron
was employed want renewing ? And would not the Duchess take
care that it should all be renewed by Sprugeon ? But then he
must be active, and his activity would be of no avail unless others
helped him. So he whispered a word to Sprout, and it soon became
known that the Castle interest was all ahve.

But imfortunately the Duke was also on the alert. ^ The Duke
had been very much in earnest when he made up his mind that
the old custom should be abandoned at Silverbridge and had
endeavoured to impress that determination of his upon his wife.
The Duke knew more about his property and was bettor ac-
quainted with ite details than his wife or others believed. He
hoard that in spite of all his orders the Castle interest was being
maintained, and a word was said to him which seemed to imply
that this was his wife's doings. It was then about the middle of
February, and arrangements were in process for the removal of
the fanmy to London. The Duke had abeady been up to London
for the meeting of Parliament, and had now come back to
Gatherum, purporting to return to London with his wife. Then
it was that it was hinted to him that her Grace was still anxious
as to the election, — and had manifested her anxiety. The rumour
hurt hiia, though he did not in the least believe it. It showed to
him, as he thought, not that his wife had been false to him, — as in
truth she had been, — but that even her name could -not be kept
free from slander. And when he spoke to her on the subject, he did
HO rather with the view of proving to her how necessary it was that
»Ue should keep herself altogether aloof from such matters, than

214

THE PRIME MINISTER.

with any wish to mftke further inquiry. But he elicited the whole
truth. "It is 80 hard to kill an old established evil," he said.

*' What evil have you failed to kill now ? "

" Those people at Silverbridge still say that I want to return a
member for them."

" Oh ; that's the evil ! You know I think that instead of
killing an evil, you have muidered an excellent institution."
This at any rate was very imprudent on the part of the Duohess.
After that disobedient word spoken to Mr. 8prugeon, she should
have been more on her guard.

•' As to that, Glenoora, I must judge for myself."

" Oh yes,— you have been jury, and judge, and executioner."

** I have done as I thought right to do. I am sorry that I should
fail to carry you with me in sum a matter, but even failing in that
I muHt do my duty. You will at any rate agree with me that
when I say the thing should be done, it should be done."

" If you wanted to destroy the house, and cut down all the trees,
and turn the place into a wilderness, I suppose you vould only
have to speak. Of course I know it would be wrong that I should
have an opinion. As ' man ' you are of course to have your own
way." She was in one of her most aggravating moods. Though
he might compel her to obey, he could not compel her to hold her
tongue.

" Glencora, I don't think you know how much you add to my
troubles, or you would not speak to me like that."

" What am I to say ? It seems to me that any more suic.dal
thing than throwing away the borough never was done. Who will
thank you P What additional support will you get Y How will it
increase your power ? It's like Kmg Lear throwing off his clothes
in the storm oecause his daughters turned him out. And you
didn't do it because you thought it right."

" YeSv I did," he said scowling.

' ' You did it because Major Pountney disgusted you. You
kicked him out. Why wouldn't that satisfy you without sacrificing
the borough? It isn't what I think or say about it, but that
everybody is thinking and saying the same thing."

" I choose that it luxall be so."

"Vervwell."

"And I don't choose that your name shall be mixed up in it.
They say in Silverbridge that you are canvassing for Mr. Lopez."

"Who says so?"

" I presume it's not true."

" Who says so, Plantageuet P"

" It matters not who has said so, if it be untrue. I presume it
to be false."

" Of course it is false." Then the Duchess remembered her
word to Mr. Spnigeon, and the cowardice of the lie was heavy on
her. I doubt whether she would have been so shocked by the
idea of a falsehood as to have been kept back from it had she

** WHAT BUSINESS IS IT OF YOURS ?

216

iho whole
Haid.

) return a

nstead oi

jtitution."

Duchess.

he should

itioner."
at I should
ing in that
;h me that

»>

LI the trees,
vTould only
at I should
) your own
B. Though
to hold her

add to my

Lore suic;dal
Who will
|How will it
his clothes
And you

you.

You

It sacritiomg
It, but that

ced up in it.
[r. Lopez."

presume it

kmbered her

fas heavy on

eked by the

it had she

before resolved that it would save her; but she was not in her

fraotioe a false woman, her courage being too hi^h for falsehood,
t now seemed to her that by this lie she was owning herself to be
quelled and brought into absolute subjection by her husbaq4. So
s^e burst out into truth. " Now I think of it I did say a word to
Mr. Sprugeon. I told him that — that I hoped Mr. liopez would
be returned. I don't know whether you call that canyassing."

"I desired you not to speak to Mr. Sprugeon," he thundered
forth.

" That's all very well, Plantagenet, but if you desire me to hold
my tongue altogether, what am I to do F "

" What business is this of yours F"

"I suppose I may have my political symj^athies as well as
another. JEteally you are becoming so autocratic that I shall have
to go in for women's rights."

" Tou mean me to understand then that you intend to put your-
self in opposition to me."

** What a fuss you make about it all I " she said. " Nothing that
one can do is right 1 Tou make me wish that I was a milkmaid
or a former's wife." So saying she bounced out of the room,
leaving the Duke sick at heart, low in spirit, and doubtful whether^
he were right or wrong in his attempts to manage his wife. Surely
he must be right in feeUn^ that in ms high office a clearer conduct
and cleaner way of walking was expected from him than frt>m
other men I Noblesse oblige ! To his uncle the privilege of re-
turning a member to Parliament had been a thin|j^ of course ; and
when uie radical newspapers of the day abused his uncle, his uncle
took that abuse as a thmg of course. The old Duke acted after
his kind, and did not care what others said of him. And he him-
self, when he first came to his dukedom, was not as he was now.
Duties, though they were heavy enough, were lighter then.
Serious matters were less serious. There was this and that matter
of public policy on which he was intent, but, thinking humbly of
himself, he had not yet learned to conceive that he must fit his
public conduct in all things to a straight rule of patriotic justice.
Now it was difierent with nim, and though the chfuige was painful,
he felt it to be imperative. He would fain have been as other
men, but he could not. But in this change it was so needful to
him that he should carry with him the full sympathies of one
person ; — that she who was the nearest to him of all should act
with him ! And now she had not only disobeyed him, but had
told him, as some grocer's wife might tell her husband, that he
was " making a fuss about it all ! "

And then, as he thought of the scene which has been described,
lie could not quite approve of himself. He knew that he was too
self-conscious, — that he was thinking too much about his own
conduct and the conduct of others to him. The phrase had been
odious to him, but still he could not acquit himself of " making a
fu88." Of one thing only was he sure, — that a grievous calamity

216

THE PRIME MINISTER.

I <:

had befallen him when circumstanoei compelled him to become the
Queen's FinLme Minister.

Ha said nothing further to his wife till they were in London
together, and then he was tempted to caress her again, to be loving
to ner, and to show her that ne had forgiven her. But she was
brusque to him, as though she did not wish to be forgiven.
" Cora,", he said, " do not separate yoursnlf from me."

" Separate myself! What on earth do you mean P I have not
dreamed of such a thing.'* The Duchess answered him as though
ho had alluded to some actual separation.

" I do not mean that. Qod forbid that a misfortune such as that
should ever happen I Do not disjoin yourself from me in all these
troubles."

** What am I to do when you soold me P Tou must know pretty
well by this time that I don't like to be scolded. ' I desired you
not to speak to Mr. Sprugeon ! ' " As she repeated his words she
imitated his manner and voice closely. " I shouldn't dream of
addressing the children with such magnificence of anger. * What
business is it of yours ! ' No woman likes that sort of thins, and
I'm not sure that I am acquainted with any woman who luces it
much less than — Qleucora, Duchess of Omnium." As she said
these last wr^ds in a low whisper, she curtseyed down to t^e
ground.

"You know how anxious I am," he boj^n, "that you should
share everything with me,— even in politics. But in all t^ngs
there must at last be one voice that shall be the ruling voice."

" And that is to be yours,— of course."

" In such a matter as this it must be."

" And, therefore, I like to do a little business of my own behind

four back. It's human natu*9. and you've got to put up with it,
wish you had a better wife. I dare say there are many who
would oe better. There's the Duchess of St. Bungay who never
troubles her husband about politics, but only scol£ him because
the wind blows from the east. It is just possible there might be
worse."

"Oh, Glencora!"

" You had better make the best you can of your bargain and
not expect too much from her. And don't ride over her with a
very high horse. And let her have her own' way a little if you
really believe that she has your interest at heart."

Aner this he was quite aware that she had sot the better of him
altogether. On that occasion he smiled and kissed her, and went
his way. But he was by no means satisfied. That he i^ould be
thwarted by her, ate into his very heart ; — and it was a wretched
thing to him that he could not make her imderstand his feeling in
this respect. If it were to go on he must throw up everything.
Buat cselum, fiat — proper subordination from his wife in regard to
public matters ! No wife had a fuller allowance of privilege, or
Tnore complete power in her hands, as to things fit for women's

BIIOWINO THAT A MAN SHOULD NOT HOWL.

217

)ooine th«

A London
be loving

t she wM
forgiven*

[ have not
as thoogb

loh as that
in fOl these

:now pretty
desired you
a words she
't dream of
et. 'What
I thing, and
irho likes it
Ajs she said
Lown to the

you should
n all things
r voice."

maQagement. But it was intolerable to him that she should seek
to interfere with him in matterp of a public nature. And she was
constantly doing so. She had always this or that aspirant for
office on hand; — this or that job to be carried, though the' jobs
were not perhaps much in themselves ; — this or that affair to be
mani^ed by her own political allies, such as Barriug^n Erie and
Phineas Finn. And in his heart he suspected hor of a design of
managing the Government in her own way, with her own particular
friend, Mrs. Finn, for her Prime Minister. If he could in no other
way put an eud to such evils as these, he must put an end to his
own political life. Buat csolum, fiat justitia. Now " justitia" to
him was not compatible with femimne interference in his own
special work.

It may therefore be understood that thing[S were not going very
smoothly with the Duke and Duchess ; and it may also be under-
stood why the Duchess had had very little to say to Mr. Lopez
about the election. She was aware that she owed something to
Mr. Lopez, Whom she had certainly encouraged to stand for the
borough, and she had therefore sent her card to his wife and was
prepared to invite them both to her parties ; — but just at present
she was a little tired of Ferdinand Lopez, and perhaps unjustly
disposed to couple him with that unfortunate wretch, Major
Pountuey. ,

OHAPTEB XXXin.

Ibargain and
Ir her with a
llittle if you

etter of him
BT, and went
ne ^ould be

a wretched
is feeling; in

everything.
1 in regard to
[privilege, or
Ifor women's

SHOWnrO THAT A MAN SHOULD NOT HOWL.

AuTiiUA Fletcher, in his letter to Mrs. Lopez, had told her that
when he found out who was to be his antagonist at Silverbridge,
it was too late for Him to give up the contest, ^e was, he said,
bound in faith to continue it by what had passed between himself
and others. But in truth he had not reached this conclusion
without some persuasion from others. He had been at Longbarns
with his brother when he first heard that Lopez intended to stand,
and he at once signified his desire to give way. The information
reached him from Mr. Frank Ghresham, of Oreshambury, a gentle-
man connected with the De Courcys who was now supposed to
represent the De Oourcy interest in the county, and who had first
suggested to Arthur that he should come forward. It was held at
Longbarns that Arthur was bound in honour to Mr. Gresham and
to Mr. Gresham's friends, and to this opinion he had yielded.

Since Emily Wharton's marriage her name had never been men-
tioned at Longbarns in Arthur's presence. "When he was away, —
and of course his life was chicny passed in London, — old Abrs.
Fletcher was tree enough in her abuse of the siUy creature who

218

THE PRIME MINISTER.

I^'i!' ;

had allowed herself to be taken out of her own rank by a Portuguese
Jew. But she had been made to understand by her elder son» the
lord of Longbams, that not a word was to be said when Arthur
was there. ** I think he ought to be taught to forget her/' Mrs.
Fletcher had said. But John in his own quiet but imperious way,
had declared that there were some men to whom such lessons
could not be taught, and that Arthur was one of them. "Is he
never to get a wife, then?" Mrs. Fletcher had asked. John
wouldn't pretend to answer that question, but was quite sure that
his brother would not be tempted into other matrimonial arrange-
ments by anything that could be said against Emily Lopez.
When Mrs. Fletcher declared in her extreme anger that Artnur
was a fool for his trouble, John did not contradict her, but declared
that the folly was of a nature to require tender treatment.

Matters were in this condition at Longbams when Arthur com-
municated to his brother the contents of Mr. Qresham's letter,
and expressed his own purpose of giving up Silverbridge. "I
don't quite see that," said John.

" No ; — and it is impossible that you should be expected to see
it. I don't quite know how to talk about it even to you, though I
think you are about the softest-hearted fellow out."

*' I don't acknowled^ the soft heart ; — but go on."

" I don't want to interfere with that man. I have a sort of
feeling that as he has got her he might as well have the seat too."

" The seat, as ^rou call it, is not there for his gratification or for
yours. The seat is there in order that the people of Silverbridge
may be represented in Parliament."

''Let them ^et somebody else. I don't want to put myself in
opposition to him, and I certainly do not want to oppose her."

"They can't chanee their candidate in that way at, a day's
notice. You would oe throwing Gresham over, and, if jiya ask
me, I think that is a thing you have no right to do. This objec-
tion of yours is sentimental, and there is nothing of which a man
should be so much in dread as sentimentalism. It is not your
fault that you oppose Mr. Lopez. You were in the field first, and
you must go on with it." John Fletcher, when he spoke in this
way, was, at Longbams, always supposed to be right ; and on the
present occasion he, as usual, prevailed. Then Arthur Fletcher
wrote his letter to the lady. He would not have liked to have had
it known that the composition and copjring of that little note had
coet him an hour. He had wished that she should understand his
feelings, and yet it was necessary that he should address her in
words that should be perfectly free from affection or emotion.. He
must let her know that, though he wrote to her, the letter was for
her husband as well as for herself, and he must do this in a manner
which would not imply any fear that his writing to her would be
taken amiss. The letter when completed was at any rate simple
and true ; and yet, as we know, it was taken very much amiss.

Arthur Fletcher had by no means recovered from the blow ho

1 , 1

SHOWING THAT A MAN SHOULD NOT HOWL.

219

a Portuguese
elder son, the
when Arthur
fet her," Mrs.
aperious way,
such lessons
lem. "Is he
asked. John
|uite sure that
)nial arrange-
Emily Lopez.
ir that Arthur
r, but declared
ment.

1 Arthur com-
(sham's letter,
erbridge. **I

jxpected to see
you, though I

have a sort of
) the seat too."
tification or for
)f Silverbridge

) put myself in
)po8e her."
'ay at" ,a day's
nd, if yo'ti ask
o. This objec-
[>f which a man
It is not your
field first, and
spoke in this
ht ; and on the
rthur Fletcher
:ed to have had
little note had
understand his .
address her in
emotion.. He
e letter was for
his in a manner
» her would be
my rate simple
much amiss,
the bl'^w ho

•m

had received that day when Emily had told him everything down
by the river side ; but then, it must be said of him, that he had
no intention of recovery. He was as a man who, having taken a
burden on his back, declares to himself that he will, for certain
reasons, carry it throughout his life. The man knows that with
the burden he cannot walk as men walk who are unencumbered, but
for those reasons of his he has chosen to lade himself, and having
done so he abandons regret and submits to his circumstances. So
had it been with him. He would make no attempt to throw off the
load. It was now far back in his life, as much at least as three
years, since he had first assured himself of his desire to make
Emily Wharton the companion of his life. From that day she had
been the pivot on which his whole existence had moved. She had
refused his offers more than once, but had done so with so much
tender kindness, that, though he had found himself to be wounded
and bruised, he had never abandoned his object. Her father and
all his own Mends encouraged him. He was continually told that
her coldness was due to the simple fact that she had not yet
learned to give her heart away. And so he had persevered, being
ever thoroughly intent on his purpose, till he was told by herself
that her love was given to this other man.

Then he knew that it behoved him to set some altered course
of life before him. He could not shoot his rival or knock him
over the head, nor could he carry off his girl, as used to be done
in rougher times. There was nothing now for a man in such a
catastrophe as this but submission. But he might submit and
shake off his burden, or submit and carry it hopelessly. He told
himself that he would do the latter. She had been his goddess,
and he would not now worship at another shrine. And then ideas
came into his head, — not hopes, or purposes, or a belief even in
any possibility, — but vague ideas, mere castles in the air, that a
time might come in which it might be in his power to serve her,
and to prove to her beyond doubting what had been the nature of
his love. Like others of his family, he thought ill of Lopez,
believing the man to be an adventurer, one who would too
probably fall into misfortune, however high he mi^ht now seem to
hold his head. He was certainly a man not standing on the solid
basis of land, or of Three per Cents, — those solidities to which
such as the Whartons and Fletchers are wont to trust. No doubt,
should there be such fall, the man's wife would have other help
than that of her rejected lover. She had a father, brother, and
cousins, who would also be there to aid her. The idea was, there-
fore, but a castle in the air. And yet it was dear to him. At any
rate he resolved that he would live for it, and that the woman
should still be his goddess, though she was the wife of another
man, and might now perhaps never even be seen by him. Then
there came upon him, immediately almost after her marriage, the
necessity of writing to her. The task was one which, of course,
he did not perform lightly.

220

THE PRIME MINISTER.

He never said a word of this to anybody else ; — but his brother
understood it ail, and in a somewhat silent fashion fully sym-
pathised with him. John could not talk to him about loye, or
mark passages of poetry for him to read, or deal with him at all
romantically ; but he could take care that his brother had the best
horses to ride, and the warmest comer out shooting, and that
evervthing in the house should be done for his brother's comfort.
As the squire looked and spoke at Longbams, others looked and
spoke, — so that ey^/ybody knew that Mr. Arthur was to be con-
tradicted in nothing. Had he, just at this period, ordered a tree in
the park to be cut down, it would, I think, haye been cut down,
without reference to the master ! But, perhaps, John's power was
most felt in the way in which he repressed the expressions of his
mother's high indignation. " Mean slut ! " she once said, speaking
of Emily in her eldest son's hearing. For the girl, to her think-
ing, had been mean and had been a slut. She had not known, —
po Mrs. Fletcher thought, — what birth and blood required of her.

" Mother," John Fletcher had said, " you would break Arthur's
heart if he heard you speak in that way, and I am sure you would
driye him from Longbams. Keep it to yourself." The old woman
had shaken her head angrily, but she had endeaycured to do as
she had been bid.

" Isn't your brother riding that horse a little rashly ? " Reginald
Ootgraye said to John Fletcher in the hunting-field one day.

" I didn't obserye," said John ; "but whatever horse he's on,
he always rides rashly." Arthur was mounted on a long, raking
thorough-bred black animal, which he had boaght himself about
a monui ago, and which, haying been run at steeplechases, rushed
at every fence as though he wore going to swallow it. His brother
had begged him to put some rou^-rider up till the horse could be
got to go quietly, but Arthur had persevered. And during the
whole of tms day the squire had been in a tremor, lest there
should be some accident.

" He used to haye a little morei judgment, I think," said Oot-
grave. " He went at that double just now as hard as the brute
could tear. K the horse hadn't done it all, where would he haye
been?"

** In the further ditch, I suppose. But you see the horse did do
it all."

This was all very well as an answer to Eeginald Ootgraye, — to
whom it was not ner^essary that Fletcher should explain the cir-
cumstances. But the squire had known as well as Gotgrave that his
brother had been riding rashly, and he had understood the reason
why. " I don't think a man ought to break his neck," he said,
"because he can't get everything that he wishes." The two
brothers were standing then together before the fire in the squire's
own room, having just come in from hunting.

" Who is going to break his neck ? "
They tell me that you tried to to-day," ^

«<i

'^^

SHOWING THAT A MAN SHOULD NOT HOWL.

221

is brother
oily sym-
it love, or
him at all
id the best
, and that
's comfort,
looked and
to be con-
jd a tree in
X cut down,
I power was
sions of his
Id, speaking
) her think-
>t known, —
red of her.
3ak Arthur's
re you would
le old woman
ired to do as

r?" Reginald

»ne day.
orsc he's on.
long, raking
dmself about
bases, rushed
r His brother
lorse could be
I during the
>r, lest there

Ik," said Oot-
1 as the brute
fould he have

horse did do

3otgrave,— to
t)lain the oir-

rave that his
Jid the reason
|ck," he said,

' The two
the squire's

** Because I was riding a pullins horse. I'll back "him to be
the biggest leaper and the qmckest norse in Herefordshire."

" I dare say, — though for the matter of that the chances are very
much against it. But a man shouldn't ride so as to have those
things said of him."

" What is a fellow to do if hfe can't hold a horse ? "
«' Get off him."
*• That's nonsense, John I "

*• No, it's not. You know what I mean very well. If I were to
lose half my property to-morrow, don't you think it would cut me
up a good deal ? "

•• It would me, I know."

•* But what would you think of me if I howled about it P"
** Do I howl ?" asked Arthur angrily.

'* Every man howls who is driven out of his ordinary course by
any trouble. A man howls if he goes about frowning always."
♦♦Dolfrown?"
•* Or laughing."
"Do I laugh?"
" Or galloping over the country like a mad devil who wants to

pjet rid of his debts by breaking his neck. JEquam memento .

You remember all that, don't you ? "
" I remember it ; but it isn't so easy to do it."
" Try. There are other things to be done in life except getting
iiLarried. You are going into Parliament."
"I don't know that."

** Gresham tells me there isn't a doubt about it. Think of that.

Fix your mind upon it. Don't take it only as an accident, but as

'the thing you're to live for. If you'll do that, — if you'll so

manage that there shall be somethmg to be done in Parliament

which only you can do, you won't ride a runaway horse as you did

that brute to-day." Arthur looked up into his brother's face

almost weeping. •* We expect much of you, you know. I'm not

a man to do anything except be a good steward for the family

property, and keep the old nouse from falling down. You're a

clever fellow, — so that between us, if we both do our duty, the

Fletchers may still thrive in the land. My house shall be your

house, and my wife your wife, and my children your children.

And then the honour you win shall be my honour. Hold up your

head, — and sell that beast." Arthur Fletcher squeezed his

brother's hand and went away to dress.

Vf}'

IMM

III

f
!(

il
I

222

THE PBIME MINISTER.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE SILVEBBBIDOE ELECTION.

About a month after this affair with the runaway horse Arthur
Fletcher went to Greshambury, preparatory to his hnal sojourn at
Silyerbridge, for the week previous to his election. Greshambury,
the seat of Francis Gresham, Esq., who -wf-js a great man in these
parts, was about twenty miles from Silyerbridge, and the tedious
work of canvassing the electors could not therefore be done from
thence ; — ^but he spent a couple of pleasant days with his old friend,
and learned what was being said and what was being done in and
about the borough. Mr. Gresham was a man, not as yet quite forty
years of age, very popular, with a lar^e family, of great wealth,
and master of the county hounds. His father had been an em-
barrassed man, with a large estate ; but this Gresham had married
a lady with immense wealth, and had prospered in the world. He
was not an active politician. He did not himself care for Par-
liament, or for the good things which political power can give ;
and was on this account averse to the Coalition. He thought that
Sir Orlando Drought and the others were touching pitch and had
defiled themselves. But he was conscious that in so thinking he
was one of but a small minority ; and, bad as the world around
him certainly was, terrible as had been the fall of the glory of
old England, he was nevertheless content to live without loud
grumbling as long as the farmers paid him their rent, and the
uibourers in his part of the country did not strike for wages, and
the land when sold would fetch tmrty years' purchase. He hs(d
not therefore been carefid to ascertain that Arihur Fletcher would
pledge himself to oppose the Coalition before he proffered his assist-
ance in this matter of the borough. It would not be easy to find
such a candidate, or perhaps possible to bring him in when found.
The Fle^<3hers had always been good . Conservatives, and were
proper people to be in Parliament. A Conservative in Parliament
IS, of course, obliged to promote a fi;reat many things which he
does not really approve. Mr. Gresham quite understood that.
You can't have tests and qualifications, rotten boroughs and the
divine right of kings, back again. But as the glorious institutions
of the cour.try are made to perish, one after the other, it is better
that they should receive the coup de ^ace tenderly from loving
hands than be roughly throttled by Badicals. Mr. Gresham would
thank his stars that he could still preserve foxes down in his own
country, instead of doing any of tms dirty work, — for let the best
be made of such work, still it was dirty, — and was willing, now as
always, to give his assistance, and if necessary to spend a little
mojioy, to put a Fletcher into Parliament and to keep a. Lopez
out.
There was to be a third candidate. That was the first news that

THE SILVESBRIDGG ELECriON.

228

e Arthur
ojourn at
tiambury,
1 in these
le tedious
ione from
old friend,
one in and
(juite forty
)at -wealth,
)en an em-
Lad married
world. He
re for Par-
• can give;
bought that
tch and had
thinking he
rorid around
Ithe glory ot
'rithout loud
>nt, and the

Fletcher heard. *' It will do us all the good iu the world," said
Mr. Gresham. "The rads iu the burough are not satisfied with
Mr. Lopez. They say they don't know him. As long as a certain
set could make it be believed that he was the Duke's nominee they
were content to accept him; — even though he was not proposed
directly by the Duke s people in the usual way. But the Duke
has made himself understood at last. Tou have seen the Duke's
letter F " Arthur had not seen the Duke's letter, which had only
been published in the " Silverbridge Gazette" of that -week, and
he now read it, sitting in Mr. Gresham's mag^strate's-room, as a
certain chamber in the house had been called since the da^^ i of the
present squire's great-grandfather.

The Duke's letter was addressed to his recognised man of
business in those parts, and was as follows ; —

" Carlton Terrace, — March, 187—.

** My deab Mr. Moreton." (Mr. Moreton was the successor of
one Mr. Fothergill, who had reigned supreme in those parts under
the old Duke.)

" I am afraid that my wishes with regard to the borough
and the forthcoming election there of a member of Parliament are
not yet clearly understood, although I endeavoured to declare
them when I was at Gatherum Castle. I trust that no elector will
vote for this or that gentleman with an idea thaii the return of any
special candidate will please me. The ballot will of course prevent
me or any other man from knowing how an elector mav vote ; —
but I beg to assure the electors generally that should they think
fit to return a member pledged to oppose the Government of which
I form a part, it -would not in any way change my cordial feelings
towards me town. I may i>erhaps be allowed to add that, in my
opinion, no elector can do ms dut^ except by voting for the can-
didate whom he thinks best quaJmed to serve the country. In
regard to the gentlemen who are now before the constituency, I
have no feeling for one rather than for the other ; and had I any
such feeling I should not wish it to actuate the vote of a single
elector. I should be glad if this letter could be published so as to
be brought under the eyes of the electors geudrally.

** Yours faithfully,

•* Omnium."

When the Duke said that he feared that his wishes were not
understood, and spoke of the inefficacy of his former declaration, he
was alluding of course to the Duchess and to Mr. Sprugeon. Mr.
Spnigeon guessed that it might be so, and, still wishing to have the
Buchess for his good Mend, was at once assiduous in explaining to
Ms friends in the borough that even this letter did not mean any-
tbing. A Prime Minister -was bound to say that kind of thing !
But the borough, if it wished to please the Duke, must return
Lopez iu spite of the Duke's letter. Such was Mr. Sprugeon's

#•

224

THE PRIME BONISTER.

doctrine. But he did not carry Mr. Sprout with him. Mr. Sprout
at once saw his opportunity, and suggested to Mr. Du Boung, the
local brewer, that he should come forward. Du Boung was a man
rapidly growing into provincial eminenpe, and jumped at thd offer.
Consequently there were three candidates. Du Boung came for-
ward as a Conservative prepared to give a cautious, but very
cautious, support to the Coalition. Mr. Du Boung, in his printed
address, saia very sweet thingts of the Duke generally. The
borough was blessed by tiie vicinity of the Duke. But, looking at
the present perhaps unprecedented crisis in affairs, Mr. Du Boung
was prepared to give no more than a very cautioup support to the
Duke's Government. Arthur Fletcher read Mr. Du Boung's
address immediately after the Duke's letter.
"The more the merrier," said Arthur.

"Just so. Du Boung will not rob you of a vote, but he will
cut the ground altogether from under the other man's feet. You
see that as far a^* actual political programme goes there isn't
much to choose tween any of you. You are all Government
men."

•' With a difference."

*' One man in these days is so like another," continued Gresham
sarcastically, " that it requires good eyes to see the shades of the
colours."

♦♦ Then you'd better support Du Boung," said Arthur.
" I think you've just a turn in your favour. Besides, I couldn't
really carry a vote myself. As for Du Boung, I'd sooner have him
than a foreign cad lue Lopez." Then Arttiur Fletcher frowned
and Mr. Gresham became confased, remembering the catastrophe
about the young lady whos6 story he had heard. *' Du Boung
used to be j>lain English as Bung before he got rich and made his
name beautiful," continued Gre^m, ** but I suppose Mr. Lopez
does come of foreign extraction."

••I don't know what he comes from," said Arthur moodily.
"They tell me he's a gentleman. However, as we are to have a
contest, I hope he mayn't win."

•• Of course you do. And he shan't win. Nor shall the great
Du Boung. You shall win, and become Prime Minister, and make
me a peer. Would you like papa to be Lord Greshambury ? " he
said to a little girl, who then rushed into the room.

"No, I wouldn't. I'd like papa to give me the pony which the
man wants to sell out in the yard."

"She's quite right, Fletcher," said the squire. "I'm much
more likely to be able to buy them ponies as simple Frank Gresham
than I should be if I had a lord's coronet to pay for."

This was on a Saturday, and on the following Monday Mr.
Gresham drove tho candidate over to Silverbridge and started him
on bis work of canvassing. Mr. Du Boung had been busy ever
since Mr. Sprout's brilliant suggestion had been mode, and Lopez
had been in the field even before him. Each one of the oandidat^js

THE SILVBltBRlDG^E ELECTION.

^25

It. Sprout
5oung, the
•was a man
it thd offer.
> came for-
\ but yery
liis printed
rally. The
, looldng at
. Du Boung
pport to the
Su Boung'B

but he will
sfeet. You
I there isnt

Government

tued Gresham
shades of the

huT. ,

[des.Icouldnt

oner have him
tcher frowned
le catastrophe
«* Du Boung
L and made his
ose Mr. Lopez

thur moodily,
are to have a

hall the great
ster. and make
lambury ? ne

any which the

«« I'm much
rank Gresham
, »»

Monday Mr.
_j>d started him
■been busy ever
lode, and Lopez

the oandidat^jfl

called at the house of every elector in the borough, — and every
man in the borough was an elector. When they had been at work
for four or five days each candidate assured the borough that he
had already received promises of votes sufficient to insure his
success, and each candidate was as anxious as ever,-— nay was more
rabidly anxious than ever, — to secure the promise of a single vote.
Hints were made by honest citizens of the pleasure Uiey would
have in supporting tnis or that gentleman, — ^for the honest citizens
assured one gentleman after the other of the satisfaction they had
in seeing so all-sufficient a candidate in the borough, — u the
smallest pecuniary help were given them, even a day's pay, so that
their poor children might not be injured by their goin^ to the poll.
But the candidates and their agents were stem in tibeir repUes to
such temptations. " That's a dodge of that rascal Sprout," said
Sprugeon to Mr. Lopez. "That's one of Sprout's men. If he
could get half-a-crown fi'om you it would be all up with us." But
though Sprugeon called Sprout a rascal, he laid the same bait both
for Du Boung and for Fletcher ; — but laid it in vain. Everybody
said that it was a very clean election. "A brewer standing,
and devil a glass of Deer ! " said one old elector who had re-
membered beUer things when the borough never heard of a
contest.

On the third day of his canvass Arthur Fletcher with his gang
of agents and followers behind him met Lopez with his gang in
the street. It was probable that they would so meet, and Fletcher
had resolved what he would do when such a meeting took place.
He walked up to Lopez, and with a kindly smile offered his hand.
The two men, though they had never been intimate, had known
each other, and Fletcher was determined to shew that he would
not quarrel with a man because that man had been his favoured
rival. In comparison with that other matter this affair of the can-
didature was 01 course trivial. But Lopez who had, as the reader
may remember, made some threat about a horsewhip, had come to
a resolution of a very different nature. He put his arms a-kimbo,
resting his hands on his hips, and altogether declined the proffered
civility. '*You had better walk on, he said, and then stood,
scowling, on the spot fill the other should pass by. Fletcher
looked at him for a moment, then bowed and passed on. At least
a dozen men saw what had takan place, and were aware that Mr.
Lopez had expressed his determi; ation to quarrel personally with
Mr. Fletcher, in opposition to Mr. Fletcher's expressed wish for
amity. .And before tboy had gone to bed that night all the dozen
knew the rf^ason why. Of course there was some >ne then at
Silverbridge clever enough to find out that Arthur Fletcher had
been in love with Miss Wharton, but that Miss Wharton had lately
been married to Mr. Lopez. No doubt the incident added a
pleasurable emotion to the excitement caused by the election at
Silverbridge generally. A personal quarrel is attractive every-
where. The expectation of such an ooourrenoe will bring togetbei

JSk:.

226

THE PRIMK MINISTER.

the whole House of CommonB. And of course this quarrel was
yery attractive in Bilverbridge. There were some Fletcherites and
Lopezites in the quarrel ; as there were also Du Boungiies, who
maintained that wnen gentlemen could not canyass ^ iihout quar-
relling in the streets they were manifestly unfit to repicsent such a
borough as Silyerbridge in Parliament ; — and that therefore Mr.
Du Boung should be returned.

Mr. Qresham was in the town that da;^, though not till after the
occurrence, and Fletcher could not ayoid speaking of it. " The
man must be a cur," said Qresham.

'* It would make no difference in the world to me," said Arthur,
struggling hard to prevent signs of emotion from showing them-
selves in his face, " were it not that he has married a lady whom I
have long known and whom I greatly esteem." He felt that he
could hardly avoid all mention of the marria^, and yet was deter-
mined that he would say no word that his brother would call
"howling."

"There has been no previous quarrel, or offence P" asked
Ghresham.

"None in the least." When Arthur so spoke he forgot alto-
gether the letter he had written ; nor, had he then remembered it,
would he have thought it possible that that letter should have given
offence. He had been the sufferer, not Loi>ez. This man had
robbed him of his happiness ; and, though it would have been
foolish in him to make a quarrel for a grievance such as that, there
might have been some excuse had he done so. It had taken him
some time to perceive that greatly as this man had injured him,
there had been no injustice done to him, and that therefore there
should be no complaint made by him. But that this other man
should complain was to him unintelligible.
^ "He is not worth yoiu* notice," said Mr. Qresham. "He is
simply not a gentleman, and does not know how to behave himself.
I am very sorry for the youns; lad^ ; — that's all." At this allusion
to Emily Arthur felt that his face became red with the rising
blood ; and he felt also that his friend should not have spoken thus
openly, — thus irreverently,— on so sacred a subject. But at the
moment ho said nothing further. As far as his canv&ss was con-
cerned it had been successful, and he was beginning to feel sure
that he would be the new member. He endeavoiured therefore to
drown his sorrow in this coming triumph.

But Lopez had been by no means gratified with his canvass or
with the conduct of the borough generally. He had already begun
to feel that the Duchess and Mjt. Sp^geon and the borough bad
thrown him over shamefully. Imiaiediately on his amval in
Silyerbridge a local attorney nad witii tllto^'blandest possible smile
asked him for a cheque for £500. Of couti^e there must be money
spent at once, and of course the money must come out of the
candidate's pocket. He had known all this beforehand, and
the demand for the money had come upon him as an iigury.

THK SILVERBRIDGE ELEOTION.

227

rel

was
tea and
B8, "who
t quar-
^ such a
316 Mr.

rfber the
"The

Arthur,
ig them-

whom I
t that he
as deter-
ould call

>» asked

rgot alto-
nbered it,
lave given
man had
lave heen
^hat, there
^en him
^•ed him,
)fore there
ithei man

** He is
re himself*
Is allusion
Mie rising
^oken thus
Jut at the
was con-
, feel sure
lerefore to

_^nvass or
lady begun
Irou^h had
Tamval iu
\ible smile
[be money
it of the
and gt
jury. ^®

gave the cboquo, but showed clearly by his manner that he re-
sented the aj)pli('.atiou. This did not tend to bind to him more
closely the services of those who were present when the demand
was made. And then, as he began his canvass, he found that he
could not conjure at all with the name of the Duke, or even with
that of the Duchess; and was told on the second day by Mr.
Sprugeon himself that he had better fight the battle " on his own
hook." Now his own hook in Silverbridge was certainly not a
strong hook. Mr. Spru^;eon was still of opinion that a good deal
might be done by judicious manipulation, and went so far as to
suggest that anotnor cheque for £500 in the hands of Mr. Wise, the
lawyer, would be eflFoctive. But Lopez did not give the other
cheque, and Sprugeon whispered to him that the Duke had been
too many for the Duchess. Still he had persevered, and a set of
understra|)pers around him, who would make nothing out of the
'dlection without his candidature, assured him from time to time
that he would even yet come out all right at the ballot. With such
a hope still existinrr he had not scrupled to affirm in his speeches
that the success of his canvass had been complete. But, on the
morning of the day on which he met FJ etcher in the street, Mr.
Du Boung had called upon him accompanied by two of the Dn
Boung agents and bv Mr. Spruseon himself, — and had suggested
that he, Lopez, should withdr&w m>m the contest, so that Du Boung
might be returned, and that the " liberal interests " of the borough
might not be sacrificed.

This was a heayy blow, and one which Ferdinand Lopez was not
the man to bear with equanimity. From the moment in which
the Duchess had mentioned the boroueh to him, he had regarded
the thing as certain. After a while he had understood that his
return must be accompanied by more trouble and greater expense
than he had at first anticipated ; — but still he had thought that it
was all but sure. He had altogether misunderstood the nature of
the influence exercised by the Duchess, and the nature also of the
Duke's resolution. Mr. Sprugeon had of course wished to have a
candidate, and had allured him. Perhaps he had in some degree
been ill-treated by the borough. But he was a man, whom the
feeling of injustice to himself would drive almost to frenzy, though
he never measured the amount of his own injustice to others.
When the proposition was made to him, he scowled at them all,
and declared that he would fight the borough to the last. " Then
you'll let Mr. Fletcher in to a certainty," said Mr. Sprout. Now
there was an idea in the borough that, although all the candidates
were ready to support the Duke's government, Mr. Du Boung and
Mr. Lopez were the two Liberals. Mr. Du Bouns was sitting in
the room when the appeal was made, and declared that he feared
that such would be the result. " I'll tell you what I'll do," said
Lopez ; " I'll toss up which of us retires." Mr. Sp>rout, c:} behalf
of Mr. Du Boung, protested against that propnosition. Mr. Du
Boung, who was a gentieman of great local influence, was in

It 'i if

:11 it*

228

THE PRIME MINISTER.

poBseefiion of fourth- tit'ths of the liberal interests of the borough.
Even were he to retire Mr. Jiopez could not get in. Mr. Sprout
declared that this was known to all the borough at large. He,
Sprout, was sorry that a. gentleman like Mr. Lopez should have
been brought down there under false ideas. He had all through
told Mr. Sprugeon that the Duke had been in earnest, but Mr.
Sprugeon had not comprehended the position. It had be^n a pity.
But anybody who understood the borough could see with one §|ye
that Mr. Lopez had not a chance. If Mr. Lopez would retire Mr.
Du Boung would no doubt be returned. If Mr. Lopez went to the
poll, Mr. Fletcher would probably be the new member. This was
the picture as it was painted by Mr. Sprout, — who had, even then,
heard something of the loves of the two oan(?idates, and who h 1
thought that Lopez would be glad to injure Arthur Fletcher's
chances of success. So far he was not wrong ; — ^but the sense of
the injury done to himself oppressed Lopez so much that he could
not ^^de himself by reason. The idea of retiring was very painful
to him, and he did not believe those men. He thought it to be
quite possible that they were there to facilitate the return cf Arthur
Fletcher. He had never even heard of Du Boung till he had cczne
to Silverbridge two or three days ago. He still could not believe
that Du Boung would be returned. He thought jver it all. for a
moment, and then he gave his answer. " I've Doen brought down
here to fight, and I'll fight it to the last," he said. " Then you'll
hand over the borough to Mr. Fletcher," said Sprout, getting up
and ushering Mr. De Boung out of the room.

It was after that, but on the same day, that Lopez and Fletcher
met each other in the street. The affair did not take a minute,
and then they parted, each on his own way. In the course of that
evening Mr. Sprugeon told his oandidate that he, Sprugeon,
could not concern himself any further in that election. He was
veiL-y sorry for what had occurred ; — ^very sorry indeed. It was no
doubt a pity that the Duke had been so firm. *' But," — and Mr.
Sprugeon shrugged his shoulders as he spoke, — " when a noble-
man like the Duke chooses to have a way of his own, he must
have it." Mr. Sprugeon went on to declare that any further
candidature would be waste of money, waste of time, and waste of
ener^, and then signified his intention of retiring, as far as this
election went, into private life. When asked, he acknowledged
that they who had been acting with him had come to the same
resolve. Mr. Lopez had in fact come there as the Duke's nominee,
and as the Duke had no nominee, Mr. Lopez was in fact " no-
where."

'* I don't suppose that any man was ever so treated before, since
niembers were first returned to Parliament," said Lopez.

** Well, sir ; — yes, sir ; it is a little hard. But, you see, sir, her
Grace meant the best. Her Grace did mean the best, no doubt.
It may be, sir, there was a littile misunderstanding ; — a little
misunderstanding at the Castle, sir." Then Mr. Sprugeon retired,

THE 8ILVERBRIDOE ELEOTION.

229

orougb.
Sprout
^. He,
tld have
throuKb
but Mr.
a a pity.
. one eye
jtire Mr.
nt to the
This was
pen then,
who h I
Fletcher's
e sense of
b he could
ry painful
it it to be
of Arthur
ihadccme
lot believe
it all for a
ught down
Jhen you'll
getting up

. Fletcher

a minute,

_se of that

Sprugeon,

, He was

It was no

I and Mr.

an a noble-
U, he must
\,nj further
id waste of
far as this
lowledged

the same
f 8 nominee,

fact " no-

Bfore, since

oe, sir, her

no doubt.

. ;— a Utile

eon retired,

and Tio^z understood that he was to see nothing more of the iron-
moneer.

Of course there was nothing for him now but to retire ; — to
shake the dust oti his feet and get out of Silverbridge ad quickly as
he could. But his friends had all deserted him and he did not
know how to retire. He had paii.^ £500, and he had a strong
opinion ..at a portion at least of the money should be returned to
him. He had a keen sense of ill-usage, and at the same time a
feeling that he ought not to run out of the borough like a whipt
dog, without showing his face to any one. But his strongeHt
sensation at this moment was one of hatred against Arthur
Fletcher. He was sure that Arthur Fletcher wruid be the new
member. He did not put the least trust in Mr. 1)^ Boung. He
had taught himself really to think that Fletcher had insulted him
by writing to his wife, and that a farther insult had been offered
to him by that meeting in the street. He had told his wife that be
would ask Fletcher to give up the borough, and that he would
make that request with a horsewhip in his hand. It was too late
now to say anything of the borough, but it might not be too late
lor the horsewhip. He had a great-desire to make good that
threat as far as the horsewhip was cRicemed, — havine an idea
tbat he would th'-2% lower Fletcher in his wife's eyes. It was not
that he was jealous, — not iealous according to the ordinary mean-
ing of the word. His wife s love to himself had been too recently
given and too warmly maintained for such a feeling as that. But
there was a rancorous hatred in his heart against the man, and a
conviction that his wife at any rato esteemed the man whom he
hated. And then would he not make his retreat from the borough
with more honour if before he left he could horsewhip his suc-
cessful antagonist F We, who know the feeling of Englishmen
generally better than Mr. Lopez did, would say — certainly not.
We would think that such an incident would by no means redound
to the credit of Mr. Lopez. And he himself, probably, at cooler
memento, would hiave seen the folly of such an idea. But anger
about the borough had driven him mad, and now in his wretched-
ness the suggestion had for him a certain charm. The man had
outraged all propriety by writing to his wife. Of course he would
be justified in horsewhipping him. But there were difficulties. A
raan is not horsewhipped simply because you wish to horsewhip
him.

Li the evening, as he was sitting alone, he got a nuio from Mr.
Sprugeon.' *' Mr. Sprugeon's complimencs. Doesn't Mr. Lopez
think an address to the electors should appear in to-morrow's
' Gazette,' — very short and easy ; — something like the following."
Then Mr. Sprugeon added a very '* short and easy letter " to the
electors of the borough of Silverbridge, in which Mr. Lopez was
supposed to tell them that although nis canvass promised to him
every success, he felt that he owed it to the borough to retire lest h^
should iiyure the borough by splitting the liberal interest with

2»0

THE IBIHE MINIBTKR.

their muoh respected fellow-townsman, Mr. Du Boung. In the
course of the evening he did copy that letter, and sent it out to the
newspaper office. He must retire, and it was better for him that
he should retire after some recognised fashion. But he wrote
another letter also, and sent it over to the opposition hotel The
other letter was as follows ;—

•• Sir,—

** Before this election began you were gitilty of gross im-
pertinence in writing a letter to my wife, — io hdr extreme annoy-
ance and to my most justifiable anger. Any gentleman would
think that the treatment vou had auready received at her hands
would have served to save her from such insult, but there are men
who will never take a lesson without a beating. And now, since
you have been here, vou have presumed to offer to shake hands
with me in the street, though you ought to have known that I
should not choose to meet you on friendly terms after what has
taken place. I now write to tell you that I shall carry a horse-
whip while I am here, and that if I meet you in the streets again
before I leave the town I shall use it.

# "Ferdinand Lopez.

" Mr. Arthur Fletcher."

This letter he sent at once to his enemy, and then sat late into
the night thinking of his threat and of the manner in which he
would follow it up. If he could only get one fair blow at Fletcher
his purpK}se, he thought, would be achieved. In any matter of
horsewhipping the truth hardly ever gets itself correctly known.
The man who has given the first blow is generally supposed to
have thrashed the other. What might follow, though it mi^ht be
inconvenient, must be borne. The man had insulted him by
writing to his wife, and the sympathies of the world, he thought,
would be with him. To give him his du.d, it muet be owned that
he had no personal fear as to the encounter.

That night Arthur Fletcher had gone over to Qreshambury, and
on the following morning he returned with Mr. Gke^iham. "For
heaven's sake look at that ! " he said, handing the letter to his
friend.

"Did you ever write to his wife?'* asked Gresham, when he
read it.

"Yes; — I did. All this is dreadful to me ; — dreadful. Well; —
you know how it used to be with me. I need not go into all that ;
need I?"

" Don't say a word more than you think necessary."

" When you asked me to stand for the place I had not heard that
he thought of being a candidate. I wrote and told her so, and
told her also that had I known it before I would not have come
here."

" J don't quite see that," said Grosh^m,

in.

TilK 8ILVERBIUDOK KLEOTION.

281

In the
b to the
im that
) vrote
L The

O80 im-
annoy-
1 would
)r hands
are men
>w, since
^e hands
a that I
rhat has
a hoTse-
ets again

LoFBZ.

late into
which he
; Fletcher
matter of
y known,
pposed to
knight be
' him by
thought,
ned that

[bury, and
««For
)r to his

when he

Well ;-
all that ;

leard that
jr so, and
lave come

" Perhaps not ;— perhaps I was a fool. But wo needn't go into
that. At any rate there was no insult to him. I wrote in the
simplest language."

"Looking ut it all round I think you had better not haye
written."

"You wouldn't say so if you saw the letter. Tm sure jrou
wouldn't. I had known her all my life. My brother is married
to her cousin. Oh heavens I we had been all but engaged. I
would have done anything for her. Was it not natural that I
should tell her P As far as the language was concerned the letter
waa one to be read at Ghuring Gross."

*' He says that she was annoyed and insulted."

** Impossible I It was a letter that any man might have written
to any woman."

"Well; — you have got to take care of you^ielf at any rate.
What wiU you do F"

"What ought I to do P"

"Go to the police." Mr. Qresham had himself once, when
young, tbrashea a man who had offended him, and had then
thounit himsel much aggrieved because the police had been called
in. But that had been twenty years ago, and Mr. Gresham's
opinions had been matured and, perhaps, corrected by age.

" No ; I won't do that," said Arthur Fletcher.

" That's what you ought to do."

" I couldn't do that."

" Then take no notioe of the letter and carry a fairly big stick.
It should be bi^ enough to hurt him a good deal, but not to
do him any senous damage." At that moment an agent came
in with news of the man's retirement from the contest. " Has he
left the town ? " asked Gresham. No ; — he had not left the town,
nor had he been seen by any one that morning. " Tou had better
let me go out and get the slick, before you show yourself," said
Gresham. And so tne stick was selected.

As the two walked down the street together, almost the first
thing they saw was Lopez standing at his hotel door with a cutting
whip in ms hand. He was at that moment quite alone, but on the
opposite side of the street there was a policeman,-— one of the
borough constables, — very slowly making his way along the pave-
ment. His movement, indeed, was so dow that any one watch-
ing him would have come to the conclusion that that particular
part of the High Street had some attraction for him at that special
moment. Alas, alas ! How age will alter the spirit of a man !
Twenty yearo since Frank Greabam would have thought any one
to be a mean miscreant who would have interposed a policeman
between him and his foe. But it is to be feared tnat while
selecting that stick he had said a word which was causing the
constable to loiter on the pavement !

But Gresham turned no eye to the pc lieeman as he walked on
with h vS friend, and Fletcher did not see tne man. " What an ass

HIM

;ii!

282

THE PRIME MINISTER.

he is ! " said Fletcher, — as he got the handle of the stick well into
his hand. Then Lopez advanced to them with his whip raised ;
but as he did so the policeman came across the street quickly, but
very quietly, and stood right before him. The man was so
thorough'/ m the way of the aggrieved wretch that it was out of
the question that hs snould touch Fletcher with his whip.

" Do you usually walk about attended by a policeman P'* said
Lopez, with all the scorn which he knew how to throw into his
voice.

" I didn't know that the man was here," said Fletcher. '

"You may tell that to the marines. All the borough shall
know what a coward you are." Then he turned round and
addresc^d the street, but still under the shadow, as it were, of the
policesDan's helmet. "This man who presumes to offer himself as
a candidate to represent Silverbridge m Parliament has insulted
my wife. And now, because he fears that I shall horsewhip him,
he goes about the street under the care of a policeman."

" This is intolerable," said Fletcher, turning to his Mend.

" Mr. Lopez," said Gresham, " I am sorry to say that I must
give you in char^ ; — unless you will undertake to leave the town
without interfering farther with Mr. Fletcher eitheir by word or
deed."

"1 will undertake nothing," said Lopez. "The man has in-
sulted my wife, and is a coward."

About t'^o (.)'olock on the afternoon of that day Mr. Lopez
appeared before the Silverbridge bench of magistrates, and was
there sworn to keep the peace to Mr. Fletcher for the next six
months. After that he was allowed to leave the town, and was
back in London, with his wife in Belgrave Mansions, to dinner that
evening.

On the day but one after this the ballot was taken, and at eight
o'clock on the evening of that day Arthur Fletcher was declared to
be duly elected. But Mr. Du Boung ran him very hard.

The numbers wei'e —

Fletcher
Du Boung

315

308

Mr. Du Boung's friends during these two last days had not
hesitated to make what use they could on behalf of their own
candidate of the Lopez and Fletcher quarrel. If Mr. Fletcher had
insulted the other man's wife, surely he could not be a proper
member for Silverbridge. And then the row was declared to have
been altogether discreditable. Two strangers had come into this
peaceful town and had absolutely quarrelled with sticks and whips
in the street, calling each other opprobrious names. Would it not
be better that they should elect their own respectable townsman ?
All this was nearly effective. But, in spite of all, Arthur Fletcher
was at last returned.

LUPEZ BACK IN LONDON.

288

CHAPTER XXXV.

LOPEZ BACK IN LONDON.

Lopez, as he returned to town, recovered something of his senses,
though he still fancied that Arthur Fletcher had done him a posi-
tive injury by writing to his wife. But something of that mad-
ness left him which had come from his deep sense of injury, both
as to the letter and as to the borough, and he began to feel that
he had been wrong about the horsewhip. He was very low in
spirits on this retmm journey. The money which he had spent
had been material to bim, and the loss of it tor the moment left
him nearly bare. While he had had before his eyes the hope of
being a member of Parliament he had been able to buoy himself
up. The position itself would have gone very far with Sexty
Parker, and would, he thought, have had some effect even with
his father-in-law. But now he was returning a beaten man.
Who is there that has not felt that fall from high hope to utter
despair which comes from some single failure ? As ne thought
of this he was conscious that his anger had led him into great
imprudence at Silver bridge. He had not been circumspect as it
specially behoved a man to be surroimded by such difficulties as
his. All his Hfe he had been- schooling his temper so as to keep
it under control, — soknetimes with great difficulty, but always with
a consciousness that in his life everything might depend on it.
Now he had, alas, allowed it to get the better of him. No doubt
he had been insulted ; — but, nevertheless, he had been wrong to
speak of a horsewhip.

His one great object must now be to conciliate his father-in-
law, and he had certainly increased his difficulty in doing this by
hil^ squabble down at Silverbridge. Of course the whole thing
would be reported in the London papers, and of course the story
would be told against him, as the respectabilities of the town had
been opposed to him. But he knew himself to be clever, and he
still hoped that he might overcome these difficulties. Then it
occurred to hitu that in doing this he must take care to have his
wife entirely on his side. He did not doubt her love ; he did not
in the least doubt her rectitude ; — but there was the lamentable
fact that she thought well of Arthur Fletcher. It might be that
he had been a little too imperious vnth his wife. It suited his
disposition to be imperious within his own household ; — ^to be
imperious out of it, if that were possible ; — but he was conscious
of having had a fall at Silverbridge, and he must for a while take
in some sail.

He had telegraphed to her, acquaintingher with his defeat, and
telling her to expect his return. '* Oh, Ferdinand," she said, "I
am 80 unhappy ubout this. It has made me so wretche<l ! "

'* Better luck next time," he said with his sweetest smile. '' it

284

THE PRIME MINISTER.

IS no good groaning over spilt milk. They haven't treated me
really well, — have they i"'

" I suppose not, — though 1 do not quite understand it all."

He was burning to abuse Arthur i^'lct^her, but he abstained.
He would abstain at any rate for the present moment. *' Dukes
and duchesses are no doubt very grand people," he said, " but
it is a pity they should not know now to behave honestly, as they
expect otners to behave to them. The Duchess has thrown me
over in the most internal way. 1 really can't understand it.
When 1 think of it 1 am lost m wonder. The truth, 1 suppose, is,
that there has been some quarrel between him and her."

"Who will get in h"

*' Oh, Du iioung, no doubt." He did not think so, but he could
not brmg himself to declare the success of his enemy to her. " The
people there know him. £our old triend is as much a stranger
there as 1 am. iSy-the-way he and I had a little row in the place."

" A row, ±'erdinand ! "

"You needn't look like that, my pet. I haven't killed him.
But he came up to speak to me in the street, and I told him what
1 thought about his writing to you." On hearing this Emily
looked very wretched. "1 could not restrain mvseli &om doing
that. Gome ; — you must admit that he shouldn't have written."

" He meant it in kindness."

"Then he shouldn't have meant it. Just think of it. Suppose
that I had been making up to any girl, — which by-the-bye I never
did but to one in my life, — ^then he put his arm round her waist
and kissed her, " and she were to have married some one else.
What would hkve been said of me if I had begun to correspond
with her immediately ? Don't suppose I am blaming you, dear."

** Certainly I do not suppose that," said BmHy.

" But you must admit that it were rather strong." He paused,
but she said not^in^. " Only I suppose you can bring yourself to
admit nothing against him. However, so it was. There was a
row, and a policeman came up, and they made me give a promise
that I didn't mean to shoot him or anything of that kind." As
she heard this she turned pale, but said nothing. " Of course I
didn't want to shoot him. I wished him to know what I thought
about it, and I told him. I hate to trouble you with all this, but
I couldn't bear that you shouldn't know it all."

"It is very sad I"

" Sad enough ! I have had plenty to bear I can tell you.
Everybody seemed to turn away from me there. Everybody
deserted me." As he said this he could perceive that he must
obtain her sympathy by recounting his own miseries and not
Arthur Fletcher's sins. "I was all alone and hardly knew how
to hold up my head against so much wretchedness. And then I
found myself called upon to pay an enormous sum for my
expenses."

"Ob, Ferdinand I"

*^i!

LOPEZ BACK IN LONDON.

286

tted me

1."

stained.
'♦ Dukes
d, ♦♦ but
, as they
own me
itand it.
)pose, is,

he could

.. ♦' The

stranger

le place."

Lied him.
him what
lis Emily
fom doing
Titten."

Suppose

ye I never

her waist

one else.

irrespond

>u, dear.'*

He paused,
yourself to
Lere was a
[a promise

id." As
fi course I
|l thought

this, but

tell you.

jiVeryDody

he must

and not

jnew how

[nd then I

for my

" Think of their demanding £dOO I "

"Did you pay it?"

" Tes, indeed. I had no alternatiye. Of course they took care
to come for that before they talked of my resigning. I believe it
was all planned beforehand. The whole thing seems to me to have
been a swindle from beginning to the end. By heaven, I'm
ahnost inclined to think that the Duchess knew all about it
herself!-'

" About the £600 ! "

" Perhaps not the exact sum, but the way in which the thing
was to be done. In these days one doesn't know whom to trust.
Men, and women too, have become so dishonest that nobbdy is safe
anywhere. It has been awfully hard upon me, — awfully hard. I
don't suppose that there was ever a moment in my life when the
loss of £500 would have been so much to me as it is now. The
question is, what will your father do for us P " Emily could not
but remember her husband's intense desire to obtain money from
her fatiier not yet three months < since, as though all the world
depended on his getting it,*— and his subsequent elation, as though
all his sorrows were over for ever, because the money had been
promised. And now, — almost immediately,— -he was again in the
same position . She endeavoured to judge mm kindly, but a feeling
of insecurity in reference to his affairs struck her at once and
made her heart cold. Everything had been achieved, then, by a
gift of £3000, — surely a small sum to effect such a result witn a
man living && her husband lived. And now the whole £3000 was
gone ; — surely a large sum to have vanished in so short a time !
Something of the, uncertainty of business she could understand,
but a busiiidss must be perilously uncertain if subject to such vicissi-
tudes as these ! But as ideas of this nature crowded themselves
into her mind she told herself again and again that she had taken
him for better and for worse. If the worse were already coming
she would still be true to her promise. " You had better tell papa
everything," she said.

*' Had it not better come from you P "

"No, Ferdinand. Of course I will do as you bid me. I will
do anything that I can do. But you had better tell him. His
nature is such that he will respect you more if it come from your-
self. And then it is so necessary that he should know all ;— all."
She put whatever emphasis she knew how to use upon this
word.

" Tou could tell him — all, as well as I."

" You would not bring yourself to tell it tome, nor could I un-
derstand it. He will understand everything, and if he thinks that
you have told him everything, he will at any rate respect you."

He sat silent for a while meditating, feeling always and most
acutely that he had been ill-used, — never thinking for an instant
that he had ill-used others. •' £3000, you know, was no fortune
for your father to give you!" Sho hp,d 140 answer to make, Imt

286

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

P'-

I'!

11::

I'
t ii

she groaned in spirit as she heard the aocusation. *' Don^t you
feel that yourself?"

"I know nothing about money, Ferdinand. If yon had told me
to speak to him about it before we were married I would have
done so."

" He ought to have spoken to me. It is marvellous how close-
fisted an old man can be. He can't take it with him." Then he
sat for half an hour in moody silence, during which she was busy
with her needle. After that he jumped v >, with a manner altogether
altered, — gay, only that the attempt wao too visible to deceive even
her, — an(| shook himself, as though he were ridding himself of his
trouble. "You are right, old girl. You are dways right, —
almost. I will go to your father to-morrow, and tell him every-
thing. It isn't so very much that I want him to do. Things will
all come right again. I'm ashamed that you should .ave seen me
in this way ; — ^but I have been disappointed about the election,
and troubled abouc that Mr. Fletcher. You shall not see me give
way again like this. Give me a kiss, old girl."

She kissed him, but she could not even pretend to recover
herself as he had done. *' Had we not better give up ttie
brougham?" she said.

** Certainly not. For heaven's sake do not speak in that way !
You do not understand things."
•' No; certainly I do not.

"It isn't that I haven't the means of living, but that in my
business money is so often required for instant use. And situated
as I am at present an addition to my capital would enable me to
do so much ! " She certainly did not understand it, but she had
sufficient knowledge of the world and sufiioient common sense to
be aware that their present rate of expenditure ought to be matter
of importance to a man who felt the loss of £500 as he felt that loss
at Silverbridge.

On the next morning Lopez was at Mr. Wharton's chambers
early, — so early that the lawyer had not yet reached them. He
had resolved, — not that he would tell everything, tor such
men never even intend to tell everything, — but that he would
tell a good deal. He must, if possible, afiPeot the mind of the
old man in two ways. He must ingratiate himself ; — and at the
same time make it understood that Emily's comfort in life would
depend very much on her father's generosity. The first must be
first accomplished, if possible, — and then the second, as to which
he could certainly produce at any rate beUef. He had not married
a rich man's daughter without an intention of getting the rich
man's money ! Mr. Wharton would understand that. If the
worst came to the worst, Mr. Wharton must of course maintain
his daughter, — and his daughter's husband ! But things had not
come to the worst as yet, and he did not intend on the present
occaaion to represent that view of his affairs to his father-in-law.
Mr. Wharton when he entered his chambers found Lopez seated

LOPEZ BACK IN LONDON.

287

there. He nvas himself at this moment very unhappy. He had
renewed his quarrel with Everett, —or Everett rather had renewed
the quarrel with him. There had been words between them about
money lost at cards. Hard words had been used, and Everett had
told his father that if either of them were a gambler it was not he.
Mr. Wharton had resented this bitterly and had driven his son
from his presence, — and now the quarrel made him very wretched.
He certainly was sorry that he had called his son a gambler, but
his t>on had been, as he thought, inexcusable in the retort which
he had made. He wa? » man to whom his friends gave credit for
much sternness ; — but still he was one who certainly had no happi-
ness in the world independent of his children. His datighter had
left him, not as he thought under happy auspices,^ — and he was
now, at this moment, soft-hearted and tender m his regards as to
her. What was there in tin, world for him but his children P And
now he felt himself to be alone and destitute. He was already
tired of whist at the Eldon. That which bad been a deU^ht to
him once or twice a weok, became almost loathsome when it was
renewed from day to day ; — and not the less when his son told him
that he also was a gambler. " So you have come back from Silver-
bridge P " he said.

*• Yes, sir ; I have come back, not exactly triumphant. A man
should not expect to win always." Lopez had resolved to pluck
up his spirit and carry himself like a man.

" You seem to have got into some scrape down there, besides
losiag your election."

*' Oh ; you have seen that in the papers already. I have come
to tell you of it. As Emily is concerned in it you ought to knot7."
** Emily concerned ! How is she concerned ? "
Then Lopez told the whole story,— after his own fashion, and
yet with no palpable lie. Fletcher had written to her a letter
which he had thought to be very offenoive. On hearing this, Mr.
Wharton looked very ^ave, and asked for the letter. Lopez said
that he had destroyed it, not thinking ibat such a document should
be preserved. Then he went on to explain that it had had refer-
ence to the election, and that he had tht.>ught it to be highly im-
proper that Fbtoher should write to hif wife on that or on any
other Bubject. " It depends very much l»xj the letter," said the
old man.
" But on any subject,— after what has passed."
" They were very old frieude."

*• Of coursu I wiU not argue with you, Mr. Wharton ; but I own
that it angered me. It angered me very much, — very much in-
deed. I tw>k it to be an insult to her, and when he accosted me in
the street down at Silverbridge I told him so. I may not have
been very wise, but I did it on her behalf. Surely you can under-
stand that such a letter might mak^a man angry."
"What did he say?"
"That he would do anything for her sake,— even retire from

288

THE PRIME MINISTER.

Silverbridgo if his frionds would let him." Mr. Wharton scratched
his head, and Lopez saw that he was perplexed. *' Should he have
offered to do anything for her sake, after what had passed P "

"I know the man so well," said Mr. Wharton, "that I cannot
and do not belieye him to haye harboured an improper thought in
reference to my child."

•* Perhapis it was an indiscretion only."

'* Perhaps so. I cannot say. And then they took you before
the r^agistrates P"

•• Y69 ;— in my anger I had threatened him. Then there was a
policeman and a row. And I had to swear that I would not hurt
him. Or course I have no wish to hurt him."

" I suppose it ruined your chance at Silverbridge P"

" I suppose it did." This was a lie, as Lopez had retired before
the row took place. " What I care for most now is that you should
not think that I have misbehaved myself."

The story had been told very well, and Mr. Wharton was almost
disposed to sympathize ^ ith his son-in-law. That Arthur Fletcher
had meant nothing that could be re^rded as offensive to his
daughter he was quite sure; — but it might be that in making an^
offer intended to be generous he had used language which the con- "
dition of the persons concerned made indiscreet. *' I suppose," he
said, " that you spent a lot of money at Silverbridge P " This gave
Lopez the opening that he wanted, and he described the maimer in
which the £500 had been extracted from him. '* You can't play
that game for nothing," said Mr. Wharton.

•' And just at preient I could very ill afford it. I should not
have done it had I net felt it a pity to neglect such a chance of
rising in the world After all, a seat in the British House of
Commons is an honour.''

** Yes ; — yes ; — yes."

"And the Duchess, when she spoke to me about it, was so certain."

" I will pay the £500," said Mr. Wharton.

" Oh, sir, that is generous ! " Then he got up and took the old
man's hands. " Some day, when you are at lioerty, I hope that
you will allow me to explain to you the exact state of my affairs,
when I wrote to you from Oomo I told you that I would wish to
do so. You do not object ?"

"No;" said the lawyer, — ^but with infinite hesitation in his
voice. " No ; I don't object. But I do not know how I could
serve them. I shall be busy just mow, but I will give you the
cheque. And if you and Emily have nothing better to do, come
and dine to-morrow." Lopez with real tears in his eyes took the
cheque, and promised to come on the morrow. "And in the
meantime I wish you would see Everett." Of course he promised
that he would see Everett. •

Again he was exalted, on this occasion not so much by the
acquisition of the money as by the growing conviction that his
father-in-law was a cow capable of being milked. And the quarrel

LOPEZ BACK IN LONDON.

289

between Evorett and his father might clouily bo useful to him.
He mip^ht either serve the old man by reducing Everett to proper
submission, or he mi^ht manage to creep into the empty space
which the son's defection would make in the father's heart and the
father's life. He might at any rate make himself necessary to the
old man, and become such a part of the household in Manchester
Square as to be indispensable. Then the old man would every day
become older and more in want of assistance. He thought that he
saw the way to worm himself into confidence, and, so on, Into

Eossession. The old man was not a man of iron as he had feared,
ut quite human, and if properly managed, soft and malleable.

He saw Sexty Parker in the city that day, and used his cheque
for £dOO in some triumphant way, partly cajoling and partly
bullying his poor victim. To Sexty also he had to tell his own
story about the row down at Silverbridge. He had threatened to
thrash the fellow in the street, and the fellow had not dared to come
out of his house without a policeman. Tes; — ho had lost his elec-
tion. The swindling of those fellows at Silverbridge had been too
much for him. But he flattered himself that he had got the better
of Master Fletcher. That was the tone in which he told the story
to his friend in the city.

Then, before dinner, he found Everett at the club. Everett
Wharton was to be found there now almost every day. His excuse
to himself lay in the political character of the institution. (Die
club intended to do great things, — ^to find liberal candidates for ail
the boroughs and counties in England which were not hitherto
furnished, and then to supply the candidates with money. Such
was the great purpose of me Progress. It had not as yet'^sent out
many candidates or collected much money. As yet it was, politi-
cally, almost quiescent. And therefore Everett Wharton, whose
sense of duty took him there, spent his afternoons either in the
whist-room or at the billiard-table.

The story of the Silverbridge row had to be told again, and was
told nearly with the same incidents as had been narrated to the
father. He could of course abuse Arthur Fletcher more roundly,
and be more cbntident in his assertion that Fletcher had insulted
his wife. But he came as quickly as he could to the task which he
had on hand. ** What's all this between you and your father P "

** Simply this. 1 sometimes play a game of whist, and therefore
he called me a gambler. Thqn I reminded him that he also some-
times played a game of whist, and I asked him what deduction
was to be drawn. '

" He is awfully angry with you."

•* Of course I was a fool. My father has the whip-hand of me,
because he has money and I have none, and it was simply kicking
against the pricks to speak as I did. And then too there isn't a
fellow in London has a nighev respect for his father than I have,
nor yet a "varmer affection. But it ic hard to be driven in that
way. Gambler is a nasty word."

TH£ PRIME MINISTKR.

ijl

"Yes, it is; very nasty. But I suppose a man does gamble
when he loses so much money that he has to ask his father to pay
it for him."

" If he does bo often, he gambles. I never asked him for money
to pay what I had lost before in my life."

•' I wonder you told him."

" I never lie to him, and he ought to know that. But he is just
the man *m be harder to his own son than to anybody else in the
world. What does he want me to do now P"

"I don't know that he wants you to do anything," said
Lopez.

'• Did he send you to me ? "

" Well ;— no ; I can't say that he did. I told him I should see
you as a matter of course, and he said something rough, — about
your being an ass."

"I dare say he did."

" But if you ask me," said Lopez, " I think he would take it
kindly of you if you were to go and see him. Come and dine to-
day, rust as if nothing had happened."

" I could not do that, — unless he asked me."

'* I can't say that he asked you, Everett. I would say so, in
spite of its bein^ a lie, if I didn t fear that your lather might say
something unkmd, so that the lie would be detected by Doth of
you."

" And yet you ask me to go and dine there I"

" Yes, I do. It's only going away if he does cut up rough.
And if lie takes it well, — why then, — the whole thing is done."

" If he wants me, he can ask me."

" You talk about it, my boy, just as if a father were the same as
anybody else. If I had a father with a lot of money, by George
he shomd knock me about with his stick if he liked, and I would
be just the same the next day."

" Unfortunately I am of a stifl'er nature," said Everett, taking
some pride to himself for his stiJS'ness, and being perhaps as litt
** stiff as any young man of his day.

,That evening, after dinner in Manchester Square, the conversa-
tion between the father-in-law and the son-in-law turned almost
exclusively on the son and brother-in-law. Little or nothing was
said about the election, and the name of Arthur ±'^ietcher was not
mentioned. But out of his full heart the father spoke. He was
wretched about Everett. Did Evetett mean to cut him ? "He
wants you to withdraw some name you called him," said Lopez.

" Withdraw some name,— as he might ask some hot-headed
fellow to do, of his own age, like himseu ; some fellow that he had
quarrelled with ! Does he expect his father to send him a written
apology ? He had been gamblinf:, and I told him that he was a
gambler. Is that too much for a father to say P" Lopez shrugged
his shoulders, and declared that it was a pity. " He mil break m^f
heart if he goes on like this," said the old man.

THE JOLLY BLAOKfiJRD.

241

1 gamble
Br to pay

►r money

he is just
,se in the

ig.

" said

" I asked him to come and dine to-day, but he didn't seem to
like it."

« Like it ! No. He likes nothing but that infernal dub."
When the evening was oyer Lopez felt that he had done a good
stroke of work. He had not exactly made up his,^ogind to keep the
father and son apart. That was not a part of his strategy, — at any
rate as yet. But he did intend to make himself necessary to the old
man, — to become the old man's son, and if possible the favourite
son. And now he thought that he had already done much towards
the achievement of his object.

ihould sea
h,— about

Id take it
d dine to-

say so, m
might say
by Doth of

up rough,
done."

he same as

jy George

id I would

ett, taking
pa as litt

conversa-
ned almost
othing was
ter was not
). He was
[m? "He
. Lopez.
„ot-headecl
ihathehad
a written
,„ he was a
[z shrugged
break m^

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE JOLLT BLAGKBIIID.

Thebe was great triumph at Longbams when the news of Arthur's
viotorv reached the place;— and when he arrived there hunself
with his friend, Mr. Gresham, he was received as a conquering
hero. But of course the tidings of " the row " had gone before
him, and it was necessary that both he and Mr. Gresham should
tell the story; — nor could it be told mivately. Sir Alured
Wharton was there, and Mrs. Fletcher. The old lady had heard
of the row, and of course required to be told all the particulars.
This was not pleasant to the hero, as in talking of the man it
was impossible for them not to talk of the man's wife. " What a
terrible misfortune for poor Mr. Wharton," said t^e old lady,
nodding her head at Sir Alured. Sir Alured sighed and said
nothing. 0€-*tainly a terrible misfortune, and one which affected
more or less th'3 whole family of Whartons !

** Do you mean to say that he was going to attack Arthur with
a whip P asked John Fletcher.

" I onljr know that he waa standing there with a whip in hik
hand," said Mr. Gresham.
" I think he would have had the worst of that."
"You would have laughed," said Arthur, ** to see me walking
majestically along the High Street with a cudgel which Gresham
had just bought for me as being of the proper medium size. I
don't doubt he meant to have a fight. And tneu you should have
seen the policeman sloping over and putting himself in the way.
I never quite understood where that policeman came from."

*' They are very well off for policemen in Silverbridge/' said
Qresham. "They've always got them going about."
'* He must be mad," said Jonn.

** Poor untbrtunate young woman ! " said Mrs. Fletcher, holding
up both her hands. " I iaaat say that I cannot bat blame Mr.

242

THE PRIME MINIHTKR.

Wharton. If ho had been firm, it never would have oome to that.
I wonder whether he ever sees him."

'• Of course he does," said John. " Why shouldn't he see him P
Tou'd.see him if he'd married a daughter of yours."

" Never!" exclaimed the old woman. " If I had had a child
so lost to all respect as that, I do not say that I woiild not have
seen her. Human nature might have prevailed. But I would
never willingly have put mypdlf into contact with one who had
80 degraded me and mine."

" I shall be very anxio^ic; co know what Mr. Wharton does about
his money," said John.

Arthur allowed himself but a couple of days among his friends,
and then hurried up to London to take his seat. When there he
was astonished to find how manv questions were asked him about
<< the row," and how much was known about it, — and at the same
time how little was really known. Everybody had heard that there
had been a row, and everybody knew that there had been a lady in
the q^se. But there seemed to be a general idea that t'le lady had
been in some way misused, and that Arthur Fletcher had oome
forward like a Paladin to protect her. A letter had been written,
and the husband, ogre-like, had intercepted the letter. The lady
was the most unfortunate of human beings, — or would have been
but for that consolation which she must have in the constancy of
her old lover. As to all these matters the stories varied; but
everybody was agreed on one point. All the world knew that
Arthur Fletcher nad gone to Silverbridge, had stood for the
borough, and had taken the seat away from his rival, — because that
rival had robbed him of his bride. How the robbery had been
effected the world could not quite say. The world was still of
opinion that the lady was violently attached to the man she had
not married. But Captain Gunner oxi)lained it all clearly to Major
Pountney by asserting that the poor girl had been coerced into the
marriage by her father. And thus .£*thur Fletcher found himself
almost as much a hero in London as at Longbams.

Flet.cher had not been above a week in town, and had become
heartily sick of the rumours which in various shapes made their
way round to his own ears, when he received an invitation from
Mr. Wharton to ^o and dine with him at a tavern called the Jolly
Blackbird. The mvitation surprised him, — that he should be asked
by such a man to dine at such a place, — but he accepted it as a
matter of course. He was indeed much interested in a bill for the
drainage of common lands which wa(^ to be discussed in the House
that night ; there was a good deal of common land round Silver-
bridge, and he had some idea of making his first speech, — but he
calculated that he might get his dinner and yet be back in time
for the debate. So he went to the Jolly Blackbird, — a very quaint,
old-fashioned law diiiing-house in the neighbourhood of Portugal
Street, which had managed not to get itself pulled down a dozen
years ago on behalf of the Law Courts whicn are to bless some

THE JULLY HLACKUIKD.

248

to that.

tebim?

a child
ot have

[ \90Uld

7ho had

les about

i friends,
there he
im about
the same
that there
a lady in
B lady had
had come
n written,
The lady
have been
instancy of
aried; but
knew that
,d for the
(Cause that
had been
as still of
an she had
}ly to Major
i into the
td himself

coming veneration. Arthur had never been there before and was
surprised at the black wainscoting, the black tables, the old-
fashioned grate, the two candles on the table, and the silent waiter.
" I wanted to see you, Arthur," said the old man pressing his hand
in a melancholy way, "but I couldn't ask you to Manchester
Square. They come in sometimes in the evoning, and it might
have been unpleasant. At your young mou's clubs they let
strangers dine. We haven't anything of that kind at the Eldon.
You'll find they'll give you a very good bit of fish here, and a
fairish steak." Arthur declared that he thought it a capital place,
— the best fun in the world. " And they've a very good bottle of
claret ; — better than we get at the Eldon, I think. I don't know
that I can say much for their champagne. We 11 try it. You
young fellows always drink champagne.'

" I hardly ever touch it," said Arthur. " Sherry and claret are
my wines."

'•Very well; — very well. I did want to see you, my boy.
Things haven't turned out just as we wished ; — have they ?'

" Not exactly, sir."

"No indeed. You know the old saying, ' God disposes it all.'
I have to make the best of it, — and so no doubt do you."

*' There's no doubt about it, sir," said Arthur, speaking in a low
but almost angry voice. They were not in a room by themselves,
but in a recess which separated them from the room. " I don't
know that I want to talk about it, but to me it is one of those
things for which there is no remedy. When a man loses his leg, he
hobbles on, and sometimes has a good time of it at last ; — but uiere
he is, without a leg."

"It wasn't my mult, Arthur."

"There has been no fault, but my own. I went in for the
ininning and got distanced. That's simply all about it, and there's
no more to be said."

" You ain't surprised that I should wish to see you."

" I'm ever so much obliged. I think it's very kind of you."

"I can't go in for a new life as you can. I can't take up
politics and Parliament. It's too late for me."

"I'm going to. There's a bill coming on this very night that
I'm interested about. You mustn't be angry if I rush off a little
befora ten. We are going to lend money to the parishes on the
security of the rates for draining bits of common land. Then we
shall sell the land and endow the unions so as to lessen the poor
rates, and increase the cereal products of the country. We tnink
we can bring 300,000 acres under the plough in three years,
which now produce almost nothing, and in five years would pay
all the expenses. Putting the value of the land at £25 an acre,
which is low, we shall have cre./'^d property to the value of seven
n)illion8 and a half. That's something, vc-i know."

" Oh, yes," said Mr. Wharton, who felt hiniaeii c^whe unable to
follow with any interest the aspirations of thu young legislator.

244

TliK PRIME MINISTER.

when

one
can

course it's oomplioated," continued Arthur, *'but
you come to look into it it comes out clear enough. It is
of the instances of the omnipotence of capital. Parliament
do such a thin^, not because it has any creative power of its own,
but because it has the command of unlimited capital." Mr.
Wharton looked at him, sighing inwardly as he reflected that
unrequited loye should have brought a clear-headed young bar-
rister into mists so ''iiick and labyrinths so mazy as these. " A
very good beef-steak indeed," said Arthur. " I don't know when
I ate a better one. Thank you, no; — I'll stick to the claret."
Mr. Wharton had ofiFered him Madeira. " Olaret and brown meat
always go well together. Pancake ! I don't object to a pancake.
A pancake's a very good thing. Now would you believe it, sir ;
they can't make a pauoake at the House."

*' And yet they sometimes fall very flat too," said the lawyer,
making a real lawyer's joke.

** It's all in the mixing, sir," said Arthur, carrying it on. " We've
mixture enough just at present, but it isn't of the proper sort; —
too much of the flour, and not enough of the egg."

But Mr. Wharton had still something to say, though he hardly
knew how to say it. " You must come and see us in the Square
after a bit."

• * Oh ; — of coTirse. "

" I wouldn't ask you to d'ne there to-day, because I thought we
should be less melancholy here ; — but you mustn't out us altogether.
You haven't seen Everett since you've been in town ?"

" No, sir. I believe he lives a good deal, — a ^d deal with —
Mr. Lopez. There was a little row down at Silverbridge. . Of
course it will wear ofl*, but just at present his lines and my lines
don't converge."

" I'm very unhappy about him, Arthur."

** There's nothing the matter !"

'* My girl has married that man. I've nothing to say against
him ; — but of course it wasn't to my taste ; and I feel it as a sepa-
ration. And now Everett has quarrelled with me."

' • Quarrelled with you ! "

Then the father told the story as well as he knew how. His son
had lost some money, and he had called his son a gambler ; — and
consequently his son would not come near him. *'It is bad to lose
them both, Arthur."

" That is so unlike Everett."

" It seems to me that everybody has changed, — except myself.
Who would have dreamed that she would have married tnat man ?
Not that I have anything to say against him except that he was
■ not of our sort. !Se has been very ^ood about Everett, and
is very good about him. But Everett will not come to me unlesu
I — withdraw the word ; — say that I was wrong to call him a
gambler. That is a propusitiou that no son should make to a
father."

THE JOLLY RLACKniRD.

245

b when
it one
jnt can
ts own,
" Mr.
ed that
net bar-

m when
claret."
wn neat
pancake,
e it, sir ;

) lawy«i>

••We've
)r sort ; —

he hardly
he Square

bought we
iltogether.

leal with —
jridge. . Of
niy liues

i,y against
as a sepa-

Hifl son
(bier ;— and
Ibad to lose

^ept myself,
tiiat man r*

it he was
rerett, and

me unless
call him a
make to a

"It is very unlike Byerett," repeated tho other. "Has he
written to that effect r'

" He has not written a word."

•• Why don't you see him yourself, and have it out with him F "
• Am I to ffo to that club after him P" said the father.
"Write to him and bid him come to you. I'll give up mv scat
if he don't come to you. Everett was always a quaint fellow, u
little idle, you know, — mooning about after ideas—"
" He's no fool, you know," said the father.
•• Not at all ; — only yaguo. But he's the last man in the world
to haye nasty yulgar ideas of his own importance as diittinguished
from yours.'

** Ijopez says "

•' I wouldn t quite trust Lopez."

" He isn't a bad fMlow in his way, Arthur. Of course he is not
what I would haye liked for a son-in-law. I needn't tell you that.
But he is kind and gentle-mannered, and has always been attached
to Eyerett. You know he sayed Eyerett's life at the risk of his
own.'* Arthur could not but sxoile as he peroeiyed how the old
man was being won round by the son-in-law, whom he had treated
so violently before the man had become his son-in-law. " By-the-
way, what was all that about a letter you wrote to him Y "
"Emily, — I mean Mrs. Lopez, — will tell you if you ask her."
" I don't want to ask her. I don't want to appear to set the
wife against the husband. I am sure, my boy, you would write
nothing that could affront her."

" I tnink not, Mr. Wharton. If I know myself at aL, or my
own nature, it is not probable that I should affront your daughter.

" No ; no ; no I know that, my dear boy. I was always sure
of that. Tak J some more wine."

"No more, thank you. I must be off because I'm so anxious
about this bill."

*• I couldn't ask Emily about this letter. Now that they are
married I haye to make the best of it, — ^for her sake. I couldn't
bring myself to say anything to her which might seem to accuse
him."

" I thought it right, sir, to explain to her that were I not in the
hands of other people I would not do anything to interfere with
her happiness by opposing her husband. My language was most
guarded."
•• He destroyed the letter."

•• I have a copy of it if it comes to that," said Arthur.
"It will be best, perhaps, .tc say nothing further about it.
Well ; — good-night, my boy, if you must go." Then Fletcher went
off to the House, wondering as he went at the change which had
apparently come oyer the character of his old friend. Mr. Wharton
had always been a strong man, and now he seemed to be as weak
as water. As to Eyerett, Fletcher was sure that there was some-
thing wrong, but he could not see his way to interfere himself.

246

THE PRIME MINISTER.

For the present he was divided from the family. Nevertheless he
told himself again and again that that division should not be per-
manent. Of all the world she must always be to him the dearest.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE HOBNS.

The first months of the session went on very much as the last
session had gone. The ministry did nothing brilliant. As far as
the outer world could see, they seemed to be firm enough. There
was no opposing party in the House strong enough to get a vote
against them on any subject. Outsiders, who only studied politics
in the columns of their newspapers, imagined the Coalition to be
very strong. But they who were inside, members themselves, and
the club quidnuncs who were always rubbing their shoulders
against members, knew better. The opposition to the Coalition
wa. within the Coalition itself. Sir Orlando Drought had not been
allowed to build his four ships, and was consequently eager in his
fears that the country would be invaded by the combined forces of
Germany and France, that India would be sold by those powers to
Bussia, that Canada would be annexed to the States, that a great
independent Eoman Catholic hierarchy would be established in
Ireland, and that Malta and Gibraltar would be taken away from
us ; — all which evils would be averted by the buildine of four big
ships. A wet blanket of so terrible a size was in itself pernicious
to the Cabinet, and heartrending to the poor Duke. But Sir
Orlando could do worse even than this. As he was not to build his
four ships, neither should Mr. Moi x be allowed to readjust the
county suffrage. When the skelet^m of Mr. Monk's scheme was
discussed in the Cabinet, Sir Orlando v/ould not agree to it. The
gentlemen, he said, who had joined the present Government with
him, would never consent to a measure which would be so utterly
destructive of the county interest. If Mr. Monk insisted on his
measure in its proposed form, he must, with very great regret,
place his resigTiation in the Duke's bauds, and he believed that his
friends would find themselves compelled to follow the same course.
Then our Duke consulted the old Duke. The old Duke's advice
was the same as ever. The Queen's Government was the main
object. The present ministry enjoyed the support of the country,
and he considered it the duty of the First Lord of the Treasury to
remain at'his post. The country was in no hurry, and the ques-
tion of suffrages in the counties might be well delayed. Then he
added a little counsel which might be called quite private, as it was
certainly intended for no other ears than those of his younger

THE HOHNS.

247

Meud. " Give Sir Orlando rope enough and he'll haug himself.
His own party are becoming tired of nim. If you quarrel with
him this session, Drummond, and Bamsden, and Beeswax, would
go out with him, and the Goyernment woiild be broken up ; but
next session you may get rid of hixn safely."

" I wish it were broken up," said the Prime Minister.
" Tou have your duty to do by the country and by th^ Queen,
and you mustn't re^rd your own wishes. Next session let ALonk
be ready with his biU again,— the same measure exactly. Let Sir
Orlando resign then if ne will. Should he do so I douot whether
any one womd go with him. Drummond does not like him much
better tiian you and I do." The poor Prime Minister was forced
to obey. The old Duke was his only trusted counsellor, and he
found himself constrained by his conscience to do as that counsellor
counselled him. When, howeyer, Sir Orlando, in his place as
Leader of the House, in answer to some question from a hot and
disappointed Radical, ayerred that the whole of her Majesty's
Goyernment had been quite in unison on this question of the
county suffrage, he was hardly able to restrain himself. " If there
be differences of opinion they must be kept in the background,"
said the Duke of St. Bungay. " Nothing can justify a direct false-
hood," said the Duke of Omnium. Thus it came to pass that the
only real measure which the Goyi^mment had in hard was one by
which Phineas Finn hoped so to increase the power of Irish muni-
cipalities as to make the Home Bulers belieye that a ceri»in amount
of Home Bule was being conceded to them. It was not a great
measure, and poor Phineas himself hardly belieyed in it. And
thus the Duke's ministry came to be called the Faineants.

But the Duchess, though she had been much snubbed, still per-
seyered. Now and again she would declare herself to be broken-
hearted, and would say that thing;8 might go their own way, that
she would send in her resignation, that she would retire into
priyato life and milk cows, that she would shake hands with no
more parliamentary cads and ** caddesses," — a word which her
Grace condescended to coin for her own use ; that she would spend
the next three years in trayelling about the world; and lastly
that, let there come of it whateyer might. Sir Orlando Drought
should neyer again be inyited into any house of which she was the
mistress. This last threat, which was perhaps the most indiscreet
of them all, she absolutely made good, — thereby adding yery
greatly to her husband's difficulties.

But by the middle of June the parties at the house in Carlton"
Terrace were as frequent and as large as ever. Indeed it was aU
party with her. The Duchess possessed a pretty little yilla down
at Hichmond, on the river, called The Horns, and gave parties
there when there were none iu Loudon. She had picnics, and
flower parties, and tea parties, and afternoons, and evenings, on
the lawn,— till half London was always on its way to Bichmond or
back again. How she worked ! And yet from day to day she

2.48

THE PRIME MINISTER.

'\l

swore that the world was ungrateful, aud that she would work no
more! I think that the world was ungrateful. Everybody went.
She was so far successful that nobody thought of despising her
parties. It was quite the thing to go to the Duchess's, whether at
Richmond or in London. But people abused her and laughed at
her. They said that she intrigued to get political support for hor
husband, — and, worse than that, they said that she failed. She
did not fail altogether. The world was not taken captive as she
had intended. Toung members of Parliament did not become
hotly enthusiastic in support of her and her husband as she had
hoped that they would do. She had not become an institution of
granite as her dreams had fondly told her might be possible ;— for
there had been moments in which she had almost thought that she
could rule England by giving dinner and supper parties, by ices
and champagne. But in a dull, phlegmatic way, they who ate the
ices and drank the champagne were true to her. There was a
feeling abroad that " Glencora " was a '* good sort of fellow " and
ought to be supported. And when the ridicule became too strong,
or the abuse too sharp, men would take up the cudgels for her, and
fight her battles ; — a little too openly, perhaps, as they would do
it under her eyes, and in her hearing, and would tell her what
they had done, mistaking on such occasions her good humour for
sympathy. 'There was just enough of success to prevent that
abandonment of her project which she so often threatened, but not
enough to make her triumphant. She was too clever not to see
that she was ridiculed. She knew that men called her Glencora
among themselves. She was herself quite alive to the fact that
she herself was wanting in dignity, and that with all the means at
her disposal, with all her courage and all her talent, she did not
quite play the part of the really great lady. But she did not fail
to tell herself that labour continued would at last be successful,
and she was strong to bear the buffets of the ill-natured. She did
not think that she brought first-class materials to her work, but she
believed, — a belief as erroneous as, alas, it is common, — that first-
rate results might be achieved by second-rate means. ' ' We had such
a battle about your Grace last nieht," Captain Gunner said to her.

*' And were you my knight ?

** Indeed I was. I never heard such nonsense."

** What were they saying ? "

* ' Oh, the old story ; — that you were like Martha, busying your-
self about many things."

** Why shouldn't I Dusy myself about many things ? It is a pity.
Captain Gunner, that some of you men have not something to
busy yourselves about." All this was unpleasant. She could on
such an occasion make up her mind to drop any Captain Gunner
who had ventured to take too much upon himself; but she felt
that in the efforts which she had made after popularity, she had
submitted herself to unpleasant familiarities ; — and though per-
sistent in her course, she was still angry with herself.

THB HOBNS.

249

When she had begun her campaign as the Prime MiniBter's wife,
one of her difficulties had been with regard to money. 4.n
abnormal expenditure became necessary, for which her husband's
express sanction must be obtained, and steps taken in which his
personal assistance would be necessary ; — ^but this had been done,
and there was now no further impediment in that direction. It
seemed to be understood that she was to spend what money she
pleased. There had been various contests oetweeu them, but in
erery contest she had gained something. He had been majesti-
cally indignant with her in reference to the candidature at Suver-
bridge, — out, as is usual with many of us, had been unable to
maintain his an^r about two things at the same time. Or,
rather, in the majesty of his anger about her interference, he ha«j
disdained to descend to the smaller faults of her extravagance. He
had seemed to concede everything else to her, on condition that he
should be allowed to be imperious in reference to the borough. In
that matter she had given way, never having opened her mouth
about it after that one unfortimate word to Mr. Sprugeon. But,
having done so, she was entitled to squander her thousands with-
out remorse, — and she squandered them. "It is your five-and-
twenty thousand pounds, my dear," she once said to Mrs. Finn,
who often took upon herself to question the prudence of all this
expenditure. This referred to a certain sum of money which had
been left by the old Duke to Mad&me Goesler, as she was then
called, — a legacy which that lady had repudiated. The money
had, in truth, been given away to a relation of the Duke's by the
joint consent of tho lady and of the Duke himself, but the Duchess
was pleased to refer to it occasionally as a still existing property.

** My five-and- twenty thousand pounds, as you" call it, would
not go very far."

"What's the use of money if you don't spend it ? The Duke
would go on collecfrljig it and buying more property, — which
always means more trouble, — not because he is avaricious, but be-
cause for the time that comes easier than spending. Supposing
he had married a woman without a shilling, he would still have
been a rich man. As it is, my property was more even than his
own. If we can do any good by spending the money, why
shouldn't it be spent ? "

" If you can do any good ! "

"It all comes round to that. It isn't because I like always to
live in a windmill ! I have come to hate it. At this moment I
would give worlds to be down at Matching with no one but the
children, and to go about in a straw hat and a muslin gown. I
have a fancy that I could sit under a tree and read a sermon, and
think it the sweetest recreation. But I've made the attempt to do
all this, and it is so mean to fail f "

" But where is to be the end of it ? "

" There shall be no end as long as he is Prime Minister. He
is the first man in England. Some people would say the first in

250

THE PBIME MINISTER.

Europe, — or in the world. A Prince should entertain like a
Prince."

" He need not be always entertaining."

"Hospitality should run from a man with his wealth and his
position, like water from a fountain. As his hand is known to be
frill, so it should be known to be open. When the delight of his
friends is in question he should know nothing of cost. Pearls
should drop from him as from a fairy. But I don't think you
understand me."

" Not when the pearls are to be picked up by Captain Gunners,
Lady Glen."

"I can't make the men any better, — nor yet the women. They
are poor mean creatures. The world is made up of such. I don't
know that Captain Gunner is worse than Sir Orlando Drought or
Sir Timothy Beeswax. People seen by the mind are exactly dinerent
to things seen by the eye. They grow smaller and smaller as you
come nearer down to them, whereas things become bigger. I re-
member when I used to think that members of the Cabinet were
almost gods, and now they seem to b ) no bigger than the shoe-
blacks, — only less picturesque. He told me the other day of the
time when he gave up going into power for the sake of taking me
abroad. Ah ! me ; how much was happening then, — and how
much has happened since that ! We didn't know you then."

** He has been a good husband to you."

" And I have been a good wife to him ! I have neyer had him for
an hour out of my heart since that, or ever for a moment forgotten
his interest. I can't Liye with him because he shuts himself up
reading blue books, and is always at his office or in the House ; —
but I would if I could. Am I not doing it all for him ? Tou
don't think that the Captain Gunners are particularly pleasant to
me ! Think of your life and of mine. You have had lovers."

•* One in my me, — when I was quite entitled to have on."

** Well ; I am Duchess of Omnium, and I am the wife of the Prime
Minister, and I had a larger property of my own Uian any other
young woman that ever was born ; and I am myself, too, — Glen-
cora M'Cluskie that was, and I've made for myself a character
that I'm not ashamed of. But I'd be the curate's wife to-morrow,
and make puddings, if I could only have my own husband and my
own children with me. What's the use of it all ? I like you better
than anybody else, but you do nothing but scold me." Still the
parties went on, and the Duchess laboured hard among her guests,
and wore her jewels, and stood on her feet all the night, night after
night, being civil to one person, bright to a second, confidential to
a uiird, and sarcastic to an unfortunate fourth ; — and in the mom
ing she would work hard with her lists, seeing who had come to
her and who had stayed away, and arranging wno should be asked
and who should be omitted.

In the meantime the Duke altogether avoided these things. At
first he had been content to show himself, and escape as soon

THE HORNS.

251

as possible ;— but now be was never seen at all in his own
house, except at certain huavy dinners. To Richmond he never
went at all, and in his own house in town very rarely even passed
through the door that led intx> the reception rooms. He had not
time for ordinary society. So said the Duchess. And many, per-
haps the majority of those who frequented "the house, really
believed that his official duties were too onerous to leave him time
for conversation. But in truth the hours went heavily with him
as he sat alone in his study, sighing for L^>me sweet parliamentary
task, and regretting the days in wmch he was privileged to sit in
the House of Commons till two o'clock in the morning, in the hope
that he might get a clause or two passed in his bill for decimal
coinage.

It was at the Horns at an afternoon party, given there in the
gardens by the Duchess, early in July, that Arthur Fletcher iirst
saw Emily after her marriage, and Lopez after the occurrence in
Silverbridge. As it happened he came out upon the lawn close
after thera, and found them speaking to the Duchess as they passed
on. She had put herself out of the way to be civil to Mr. and Mrs.
Lopez, feeling that she had in* some degree injured him in reference
to the election, and had therefore invited both him and his wife on
more than one occasion. Arthur Fletcher was there as a young
man well known in the world, and as a supporter of the l^uke's
Government.- The Duchess had taken up Arthur Fletcher, — as she
was wont to take up new men, and had personally become tired of
Lopez. Of course she had heard of the election, and had been told
that Lopez had behaved badly. Of Mr. Lopez she did not know
enough to care anything, one way or the other ; — but she still
encouraged him because she had caused him disappointment. She
had now detained them a minute on the terrace before the windows
while she said a word, and Arthiir Fletcher became one of the little
party before he knew whom he was meeting. *' I am delighted,"
she said, " that v^ou two Silverbridge heroes should meet together
here as Mends. It was almost incumbent on her to say some-
thing, though it would have been better for her not to have alluded
to their heroism. Mrs. Lopez p>:.t out her hand, and Arthur
Fletcher of course took it. Then the two men bowed slightly to each
other, raising their hats. Arthur paused a moment with them, as
they passed on from the Duchess, thinking that he would say
something in a friendly tone. But he was silenced by the frown on
the husband's face, and was almost constrained to go away without
a word. It was very difficult for him even to be silent, as her
greetiui^: had been kind. But -yet it was impossible for him to
ignore the displeasure displayed in the man's countenance. So he
touched his hat, and asking her to remember him affectionately to
her father, turned off the path and went away.

" Why did you shake ha^ds with that man ? " said Lopez. It
was the first time since their marriage that his voice had been that
of an angry man and an offended husband.

252

THE PBIME MINISTER.

" Why not, Ferdinand ? He and I are very old friends, and we
have not quarrelled."

" Tou must take up your husband's friendships and your hus-
band's quarrels. Did I not tell you that he had insulted you i' "

" He never insulted me."

' ' Emily, you must allow me to be the judge of that. He insulted
you, and then he behaved like a poltroon down at Silverbridge, and
I will not have you know him any more. When I say so I suppose
that will be enough." He waited for a reply, but she said notmng.
** I ask you to tell me that you will obey me in this."

*• Of course he will not come to my house, nor should I think of
going to his, if you disapproved."

" Going to his house ! He is unmarried."

" Supposing he had a wife I Ferdinand, perhaps it will be better
that you and I should not talk about him."

'* By Or ," said Lopez, '* there shall be no subject on which I

will be afraid to talk to my own wife. I insist on your assuring
me that you will never speak to him again."

He had taken her along one of the upper walks because it was
desolate, and he could there speak to her, as he thought, without
being heard. She had, almost unconsciously, made a faint attempt
to lead him down upon the lawn, no doubt feeling averse to private
conversation at the moment ; but he had persevered, and had re-
sented the little effort. The idea in his nund thal^ she was unwill-
ing to hear him abuse Arthur Fletcher, unwilling to renounce the
man, anxious to escape his order for 8|uch renunciation, added fuel
to his jealousy. It was not enough for him that she had rejected
this man and had accepted him. The man had been her lover, and
she should be made to denounce the man. It might be necessary
for him to control his feelings before old Wharton ; — but he knew
enough of his wife to be sure that she would not speak evil of him
or betray him to her father. Her loyalty to him, which he could
understand though not appreciate, enabled him to be a tyrant to
her. So now he repeated his order to her, pausing in the path,
with a voice unintentionally loud, and frowning down upon her as
he spoke. " You must tell me, Emily, that you will never speak
to him again."

She was silent, looking up into his face, not with tremulous eyes,
but with infinite woe written in them, had he been able to read the
writing. She knew that he was disgracing himself, and yet he was
the man whom she loved ! "If you bid me not to speak to him, I
will not ; — but he must know the reason why."

" He shall know nothing from you. You do not mean to say
that you would write to him P "
** Papa must tell him."

** I will not have it so. In this matter, Emily, I will be master,
— as it is fit that I should be. I will not have you talk to your
father about Mr. Fletcher."
" Why not, Ferdinand ? "

THE HORNS.

258

" Because I have so decided. He is ai. old family friend. I can
understand that, and do not therefore vish to interfere between
him and your father. But he has taken upon himself to write an
insolent letter to you as my wife, and to interfere in my affairs. As
to what should be done between you and him I must he the judge,
and not your father."

"And must I not speak to papa about it ?**
"No!"

" Ferdinand, you make too little, I think, of the associations and
affections of a whole life."

" I will hear nothing about affection," he said angrily.
" You cannot mean that, — that — you doubt me ? "
" C!eitaii>ly not. I think too much of myself and too little of
him." It did not occur to him to tell her that he thought too well
of her for that. " But the man who has offended me must be held
to have offended you also."

•* You might say the same if it were my father."
He paused at this, but only for a moment. " Oertainly I might.
It is not probable, but no doubt I might do so. If your father
were to quarrel with me, you would not, I suppose, hesitate be-
tween us r "
•* Nothing on earth could divide me from you."
" Nor me from you. In this very matter I am only taking your
part, if you did but know it." They had now passed on, and had
met other persons, haying made their way through a Uttle shrub-
bery on to a further lawn ; and E^e had noped, as they were sur-
rounded by people, that he would allow the matter to drop. She
^ad been unable as yet to make up her mind as to what she would
Bay if he pressed her hard. But if it could be passed by, — if nothing
more were demanded from her, — she would endeavour to forget it
all, saying to herself that it had come from sudden passion. But
he was too resolute for such a termination as that, and too keenly
alive to the expediency of making her thoroughly subject to him.
So he turned her round and took her back through the shrubbery,
and in the middle of it stopped her again and renewed his demand.
" Promise me that you wiU not speak again to Mr. Fletcher."
" Then I must tell papa."
"No ; — you shall tell him nothing."

" Ferdinand, if you exact a promise from me that I will not speak
to Mr. Fleicher or bow to him should circumstances bring us to-
gether as they did just now, I must explain to my father why I
have done so."
" You will wilfully disobey me ? "

" In that I must." He glared at her, almost as though he wore
going to strike her, but she bore his look without flinching. " I
have left all my old friends, Ferdinand, and have given myself
heart and soul to jou. No woman did so with a truer love or more
devoted intention of doing her duty to her husband. Your affairs
shall be my affairs."

254

TME PRIME MINISTKR.

"Well; yes; rather."

She was endeavouring to assure him of her truth, but could un-
derstand the sneer which was conveyed in his acknowledgment.
" But you cannot, nor can I for your sake, abolish the things which
have been."

"I wish to abolish nothing that has been. I speak of the
future."

" Between ou*^ family and that of Mr. Fletcher there has been
old 1 >nf'shi ) which is still very dear to my father, — the memory
of ■« \h (itill very dear to me. At your request I am willing to
put a* lat i ide from [me. There is no reason why I should ever
see an> of the "Fletchers again. Our lives will be apart. Should
we meet our gi* ruing would be very slight. The separation can be
effected without words. But if you demand an absolute promise, —
I must tell my father."

" We will go home at once," he said instantly, and aloud. And
home they went, back to London, without excnanging a word on
the jcnmey. He was absolutely black with rage, and she was oon-
tenv to remain silent. The promise was not jnven, nor, indeed, was
it exacted under the conditions which the wi& had imposed upon it.
He was most desirous to make her subject to his will in all tnings,
and quite prepared to exercise tyranny over her to any extent,— so
that her father should know nothing of it. He could not afford to
quarrel with Mr. Wharton. " You had better go to bed," he said,
when he got her back to town ; — and she went, if not to bed, at any
rate into her own room.

so.'

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

SIR ORLANDO RETIRES.

*' He is a horrid man. He came here and quarrelled with the
other man in my house, or rather down at Bichmond, and made a
fool of himself, and then quarrelled with his wife and took her
away. What fools, what asses, what horrors men are ! How
impossible it is to be civil and gracious without getting into a
mess. I am tempted to say that I will never know anybody any
more." Such was the complaint made by the Duchess to Mrs.
Finn a few days after the Richmond party, and from this it was
evident that the latter affair had not passed without notice.

** Did he make a noise about it ?" asked Mrs. Finn.

** There was not a row, but there waff enough of a quarrel to be
visible and audible. He walked about and talked loud to the poor
woman. Of course it was my own fault. But the man was clever
and I liked him, and people told me that he was of the right sort,"

mm ORLANDO RBTlItl<:8.

255

" The Duke heard of it P"

" No ; — and I hope he won't. It would be such a triumph for
him, after all the fuss at Silyerbrid^. But he never hears o^
anything. If two men fought a duel m his own diniog-room ho
would be the last man in London to know it."

"Then say nothing about it, and don't ask the men any more."

'•You may be sure I won't ask the man with the wife any
more. The other man is in Parliament and can*t be thrown over
so easily — and it wasn't his fault. But I'm getting so sick of it
all ! I'm told that Sir Orlando has complained to Plantagenet that
he isn't asked to the dinners."

"Impossible!"

*• Don't you mention it, but he has. V rbnrton has told me
so." Warburton was one of the Duke's pri atf ecretaries.

• * What did the Duke soy ? "

** I don't quite know. Warburton is oEv. of my familiars, but I
didn't like to ask him for more than he chose to tell me. War-
burton suggested that I should invite Sir Orlando at once ; but
there I was obdurate. Of course if Plantagenet tells me I'll ask
the man to come every day of the wee} ' — but it is one of those
things that I shall need to be told directiy. My idea is, you know,
that they had better get rid of Sir Orlando, — and that if Sir Orlando
chooses to kick over the traces, he may be turned loose without
any danger. One has little birds that give one all manner of
information, and one little bird has told me that Sir Orlando and
Mr. Boby don't speak. Mr. Eoby is not ver^ much himself, but
he is a good straw to show which way the wind blows. Planta-
genet certainly sent no message about Sir Orlando, and I'm afraid
the gentleman must look for ms dinners elsewhere."

The Duke had in truth expressed himself very plainly to Mr.
Warburton; but with so much indiscreet frettulness that the
discreet private secretary had not told it even to the Duchess.
" This kind of thing argues a want of cordiality that may be fatal
to us," Sir Orlando had said somewhat grandiloquently to the
Duke, and the Duke had made— almost no reply. "I suppose I
may ask my own guests in my own house," he nad said afterwards
to Mr. Warburton, " though in public life I am everybody's
slave." Mr. Warburton, anxious of course to maintain the unity
of the party, had told the Duchess so much as would, he thought,
induce her to give way ; but he had not repeated the Duke's own
observations, which were, Mr Warburton thought, hostile to the
interests of the party. The Duchess had only smiled and made a
little grimace, with which the private secretary was already well
acquainted. And Sir Orlando received no invitation.

In those days Sir Orlando was unhappy and irritable, doubtful
of further success as regllrded the Coalition, but quite resolved to
pull the house down about the ears of the inhabitants rather than
to leave it with gentle resignation. To him it seemed to be impos-
sible that the Coalition should exist without him. He too had had

256

THE PRIMK MINISTER.

"is

moments of high-vaulting ambition, in which he had almost felt
himself to be the great man required by the country, the one ruler
who could gather together in his grasp the reins of government
and drive the State coach single-handed safe through its difficulties
for the next half-dozen years. There are men who cannot con-
ceive of themselves that anything should be difficult for them, and
again others who cannot bring themselves so to trust themselves as
to think that they can ever achieve anything ^eat. Samples of
each sort from time to time rise high in pohtical life, carried
thither apparently by Epicurean concourse of atoms ; and it often
happens that the more confident samples are by no means the most
capable. The concourse of atoms had carried Sir Orlando so high
that he could not but think himself intended for something higher.
But the Duke, who had really been wafted to the very top, had
always doubted himself, believing himself capable of doing some
one thing by dint of industry, but with no further confidence in his
own powers. Sir Orlando had perceived something of his leader's
weakness, and had thought that he might profit by it. He was
: ' t only a distinguished member of the Cabinet, but even the
'•cognised Leader of the House of Commons. He looked out the
facts and found that for five-and-twenty years out of the last
thirty the Leader of the House of Commons had been the Head of
the Government. He felt that he would be mean not to stretch out
his hand and take the prize destined for him. The Duke was a poor
timid man who had very litUe to say for himself. Then came the
littie episode about liie dinners. It had become very evident to
all the world that the Duchess of Omnium had cut Sir Orlando
Drought, — that the Prime Minister's wife, who was great in hos-
pitality, would not admit the First Lord of the Admiralty into her
house. The doings at Gatherum Castle, and in Carlton Terrace,
and' at the Horns wore watched much too closely by the world at
large to allow such omissions to be otherwise tiian conspicuous.
Since the commencement of the session there had been a series of
articles in the ** People's Banner" violently abusive of the Prime
Minister, and in one or two of these the indecency of these exclu-
sions had been exposed with great strength of language. And the
Editor of the •' People's Banner " had discovered that Sir Orlando
Drought was the one man in Parliament fit to rule the nation.
Till Parliament should discover this fact, or at least acknowledge
it, — the discovery having been happily made by the '* People's
Banner," — the Editor of the " People's Banner " thought that there
could be no hope for the country. Sir Orlando of course saw all
these articles, and in his very heart believed that a man had at
length sprung up among themnt to conduct a newspaper. The Duke
also unfortunately saw the " People's Bt^ner." In his old happy
days two papers a day, one in the morning and the other before
dinner, sufficed to tell him all that he wanted to know. Now ho
felt it necessary to see almost every rag that was published. And
he would Hkim through them all till he found the linos in which he

BIB ORLANDO RETIRES.

257

himself was maligned, and then, with sore heart and irritated
nerves, would pause over every contumelious word. He would
have bitten his tongue out rather than have spoken of the torture-
he endured, but he was tortured and did endure. Ho knew th»
cause of the bitter personal attacks made on him, — of the abus.
with which he was loaded, and of the ridicule, infinitely more
painful to him, with which his wife's social splendour was be
spattered. He remembered well the attenrpt wnich Mr. Quintus
^ide had made to obtain an entrance into his house, and his own
scornful rejection of that gentleman's overtures. He knew, — no
man knew better, — the real value of that able Editor's opinion.
And yet every word of it was gall and wormwood to him. In
every paragraph there was a scourge which hit him on the raw
and opened wounds which he could show to no kind surgeon, for
which he could find solace in no friendly treatment. Not even to
his wife could he condescend to say that Mr. Quintus Slide had
hurt him.

Then Sir Orlando had come himself. Sit Orlando explained
himself gracefully. * He of course could iinderstand that no gentle-
man had a right to complain because he was not asked to another
gentleman's house. But the affairs of the country were above
private considerations ; and he, actuated by public feelings, would
condescend to do that which under other circumstances would be
impossible. The public press, which was ever vigilant, had sug-

g)sted that there was some official estrangement, because lie, Sir
rlando, had not been included in the list of guests invited by
his Grace. Did not his Grace think that there might be seeds
of, — he would not quite say decay for the Coalition, in such a
state of things P The Duke paused a moment, and then said that
he thoueht there were no such seeds. Sir Orlando bowed haughtily
and wimdrew, — swearing at the moment that the Coalition should
be made to fall into a thousand shivers. This had all taken
plsice a fortnight before the party at the Horns from which poor
Mrs. Lo^ez had been withdrawn so hastily.

But Sir Orlando, when he commenced the proceedings conse-
quent on this resolution, did not find all that support which he
had expected. Unfortunately there had been an uncomfortable
word or two between him and Mr. Eoby, the political Secretary at
the Admiralty. Mr. Roby had never quite seconded Sir Orlando's
ardour in that matter of the four ships, and Sir Orlando in his pride
of place had ventured to snub Mr. Roby. Now Mr. Roby could
bear a snubbing perhaps as well as any other official subordinate,
— but he was one who would study the question and assure him-
self that it was, or that it was not, worth his while to bear it.
He, too, had discussed with his friends the condition of the Coali-
tion, and had come to csmclusions rather adverse to Sir Orlanr^ >
than otherwise. When, therefore, the First Secretary sounded
him as to the expediency of some step in the direction of a firmer
political combination than that at present existing, — by which of

268

THE PRIME MINISTER.

course was meant the dethronement of the present Prime Minister,
— Mr. Bohy had snuhbed him ! Then there had been sliKhi ufficial
criminations and recriminations, till a state of things had come to
nass whidx almost justified the statement made by the Duchess to
Mrs. Finn.

The Coalition had many com];)onent parts, some coalescing with-
out difficulty, but with no special coraiality. Such was the con-
dition of thinss between the Tory conservauye Lord-Lieutenant of
Ireland and his somewhat radical Chief Secretary, Mr. Finn, —
between probably the larger number of those who were contented
with the duties of their own offices and the pleasures and profits
arisinjg; therefrom. Some by this time hardly coalesced at all, as
was the case with Sir Qregory Grogram and Sir Timothy Beeswax,
the Attorney-General and Solicitor- General ; — and was especially
the case with tiie^Prime Minister and Sir Orlando Drought But
in one or two happy cases the Coalition was sincere and loyal, — and
in nc case was this more so than with regard to Mr. Battler and
Mr. Boby. Mr. Battler and Mr. Boby had th:cpughout their long
parliamentary liyes belonged to opposite parties, and had been
accustomed to regard each other with mutual jealousy and almost
with mutual hatred. But now they had come to see how equal,
how alike, and how sympathetic were their tastes, and how well
each might help the other. As long as Mr. Battler could keep his
old place at the Treasury, — and his ambition never stirred him to
aught higher, — he was quite contented that his old rival should be
happy at the Admiralty. And that old rival, when he looked about
him and felt his present comfort, when he remembered how short-
lived had been the good things which had hitherto come in his way,
and how little probable it was that long-lived good things should
be his when the Coalition was broken up, manfully determined that
loyalty to the present Uead of the Government was his duty. He
had sat lor too many years on the same bench with Sir Orlando to
believe much in his power ot governing the country. Therefore,
when Sir Orlando dropped his hint Mr. Boby did not take it.

" 1 wonder wiiether it's true that Sir Orlando complained to the
Duke that he was not asked to dinner Y " sa:.d Mr. Boby to Mr.
Battier.

"1 should hardly think so. I can't fancy that he would have
the pluck," said Mr. Battier. " The Duke isn't the easiest man in
the world to speak to. about such a thing as that."

*' It would be a monstrous thing tor a man to do I But Drought'^
head is quite turned. >i:ou can see that."

" We never thought very much about him, you know, on our
side."

** It was what your side thought about him," rejoined Efby,
•' that put him where he is now."

'* it was the fate ol accidents, Boby, which puts so many of us in
our places, and arranges oui- work for us, and makes us httle men
or big men. Theie are other men besides Drought who have been

tosi
the

by I

the

Mr.
i«

Bob
ohiej

gifts
circu
just,
couni
skinn
•*I
Willi

sarcas
(liffiou
truth ]
have a
"I.
"I(
to be r
afaU.
••I(
"I
willret
strong
Timoth
I thin
Boby n
might
ship.

SirO

aough

ttescend

been re

a moan

soundec

^as not

about re

-'^ut J^]

Aiiaisti-j

adhere

said Sir

but Hit

iM^

SIR ORLANDO RETIBK8.

250

3Rcial
ao to

>B8 to

with-

I con-
ant of

inn, —

tented

profits
all, as

eswax,

)eoially

b. But

l,__and

let and

air long

id been

I almost

V7 equal,

low well

keep bis

I him to

kould be

:ed about

■^7 short-

, his way,
;8 should
[ined that
uty. He
rlando to
'heretore,

,it.

[ed to the
»y to Mr.

)uld have
man in

iDrougbt'^

[v, on our

led B^'jy-

ly of us in
iitUe men
have been

tosRed up in a blanket till they don't know whether their hnadH or
their heels uro highost."

" I quite believe in the Duke," said Mr. Boby, almost alarmed
by the suggofltion which his new friend had seemed to make.

" So do I, Boby. He has not the obduracy of Lord Brock, nor
the ineffable manner of Mr. Mildmay, nor the brilliant intellect of
Mr. Oresham."

" Nor the picturesque imagination of Mr. Daubeny," said Mr.
Roby, feeling himseLT bound to support the character of his lato
chief.

" Nor his audacity," said Mr. Battler. " But he has peculiar
gifts of his own, and ^fts fitted for the peculiar combination of
circumstances, if he will only be content- to use them. He is a
just, unambitious, intelligent mati, in whom after a while the
country vould come to have implicit confidence. But he is thin-
skinned and uugenial."

" I have got into his boat," said Boby enthusiastically, " and he
will find tihat I shall be true to him."

"There is no better boat to be in at present," said the slightly

sarcastic Battler. " As to the Drought pinnace, it will be more

difficult to get it afloat than the four ships themselves. To tell the

truth honestly, Boby, we have to rid ourselves of Sir Orlando. I

have a great regard for the man."

'• I can't say 1 ever liked him," said Boby.

" I don't talk about liking, — but he has achieved success, and is

to be regarded. Now he has lost his head, and he is bound to get

a fall. The question is, — who shall fall with him P"

" I do not feel myself at all bound to sacrifice myself."

**I don't know who does. Sir Timothy Beeswax, I suppose,

will resent the injury done him. But I can hardly think that a

strong government can be formed by Sir Orlando Drought and Sir

Timotiiy Beeswax. Any secession is a weakness, — of course ; but

I think we may survive it." And so Mr. Battler and Mr.

Bobv made up their minds that the First Lord of the Admii-alty

mignt be thrown overboard without much danger to the Queeu's

ship.

Sir Orlando, however, was quite in earnest. The man had spirit

Qough to feel that no alternative was left to him after he had con-

df^scended to suggest that he should be asked to dinner and had

been refused. He tried Mr. Boby, and found that Mr. Boby was

a moan fellow, wedded, as he told himself, to his salary. Then he

sounded Lord Drummond, urging various reasons. The country

was not safe without more ships. Mr. Monk was altogether v 'ong

about revenue. Mi*. Finn's ideas about Lreland were revoluti ary.

-Hut Ijord Drummond thought that, upon the whole, the j . . jent

Miaistry served the coimtry well, and considered himself bound to

adhere to it. *' He cannot bear the idea of being out of power,"

said Sir Orlando to himself. He next said a word to Sir Timothy ;

but Sir Timothy was not the man to be led by the nose by Sir

260

THE PRIME MINISTER.

Orlando. Sir Timothy had his grievances and meant to have his
revenge, but he knew how to choose his own time. *• The Duke's
not a bad fellow," said Sir Timothy, — •' perhaps a little weak, but
well-meaning. I think we ought to stand by him a little longer,
As for Finn's Irish bill, I haven't troubled myself aboiit it." Then
Sir Orlando declared to himself that Sir Timothy was a cowaid,
and resolved that he would act alone.

About the middle of July he went to the Duke at the Treasury,
was closeted with him, and in a very long narration of his own
differences, difficulties, opinions, and grievance 3, explained to the
Duke that his conscience called upon him to resign. The Duke
listened and bowed his head, and with one or two very gently- uttered
words expressed his regret. Then Sir Orlando, in another long
speech, laid bare his bosom to the Chief whom he was leaving,
declaring the inexpressible sorrow with which he had found him-
self called upon to take a step which he feared might be prejudicial
to the political status of a man whom he honoured so much as he
did the Duke of Omnium. Then the Duke bowed again, but said
nothing. The man had been guilty of the impropriety of question-
ing the way in which the Duke's private hospitality was exercised,
and the Duke could not bring himself to be genially civil to such
an offender. Sir Orlando went on to say that he would of course
explain his views in the Cabinet, but that he had thought it right
to make them known to ^.he Duke as soon as they were formed.
" The best friends must part, Duke," he said as he took his leave.
*' I hope not, Sir Orlando ; I hope not," said the Duke. But Sir
Orlando had been too full of himself and of the words he was to
speak, and of the thing he was about to do, to understand either
the Duke's words or his silence.

And so Sir Orlsudo resigned, and thus supplied the only morsel
of political interest which the Session produced. " Take no more
notice of him than if your footman was going," had been the
advice of the old Duke. Of course there was a Cabinet neet-
ing on the occasion, but even there the commotion was verj
slight, as every member knew before entering the room what it
was that Sir Orlando intended to do. Lord Drummond said that
the step was one to be much lamented. " Very much, indeed,"
said the Duke of St. Bungay. His words themselves were false
and hypocritical, but the tone of his voice took away all the
deceit. " I am afraid," said the Prime Minister, ** from what Sir
Orlando has said to me privately, that we cannot hope that he will
change his mind." ** That I certainly cannot do," said Sir Orlando,
with all the dignified courage of a modern martyr.

On the next morning the papers were full of the political fact,
and were blessed with a subject on which they could exercise
their prophetical sagacity. The remarks made were generally
favourable to the Government. Three or four of the morning
papers were of opinion that though Sir Orlando had been a strong
man, and a good public servant, the Ministry might exist without

v-A

" GET ROUND UIM.'

261

e his
uke'a
:, but
nger,
Then
waidj

isury,
3 own
to the
Duke
ittered
r long
laving,
1 him-
udicial
h as he
ut said
lestion-
ercised,
to such
; course
it right
formed.
s leave.
But Sir
was to
d either

morsel
10 more
m the
It neet-
las very
what it
^d that
indeed,"
ire false
all the
hat Sir
he will
irlando,

leal fact,
] exercise
Generally
Imorning
1 a strong
without

him. But the "People's Bauner" was able to expound to the people
at large that the only grain of salt by which the Ministry had
been kept from putrefaction had been now cast out, and that
mortification, death, and corruption, must ensue. It was one of
Mr. Quintus Slide's greatest efforts.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

"GET ROTJIO) HIM.'

Ferdinand Lopez maintained his anger against his wife for more
than a week after the scene at Richmond, .feeding it with reflec-
tions on what he called her disobedience. Nor was it a make-
believe anger. She had declared her intention to act in opposition
to his expressed orders. He felt that his present condition was
prejudicial to his interests, and that he must take his wife back
into favour, in order that he might make progress with her father,
but could hardly bring himself to swallow his wrath. He thought
that it was her duty to obey him in everything, — and t^at ms-
obedience on a matter touching her old lover was an abominable
offence, to be visited with severest marital displeasure, and with a
succession of scowls that should make her miserable for a month
at least. Nor on her behalf would he have hesitated, though the
misery might have continued for three months. But then Qie old
man was the main hope of his life, and must be made its mainstay.
Brilliant prospects were before him. He had used to think that
Mr. Wharton was a hale man, with some terribly vexatious term
of life bafore him. But now, now that he was seen more closely,
he appeared to be very old. He would sit half beot in the arm-
chair in Stono Buildings, and look as though he were near a hun-
dred. And from day to day he seemed to loan more upon his son-
in-law, whose visits to him were continued, and always well taken.
The constant subject of discourse between them was Everett Whar-
ton, who had not yet seen his father since the misfortune of their
quarrel, Everett had declared to I^opez a dozen times that he
would go to his father if his father wished it, and Lopez as often
reported to the father that Everett would not go to him unless the
father expressed such a wish. And so they had been kept apart.
Lopez did not suppose that the old man would disinherit his son
altogether, — did not, perhaps, wish it. But he thought that the
condition of the old man's mind would affect the partition of his
property, and that the old man would suroly make some new will
in the present state of his affairs. The old man always asked after
his daughter begging that she would come to him, and at last
it was necessary that an evening should bo fixed. " Wo shall be
delighted to come to-day or to-morrow," Lopez baid.

fc^l^W^B

262

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

•* We had better say to-morrow. There would be nothing to
eat to-day. The house isn't now what it used to be." It was there-
fore expedient that Lopez should drop his anger when he got home,
and prepare his wife to dine in Manchester Square in a proper
frame of mind.

Her misery had been extreme ; — very much more bitter than he
had imagined. It was Eot only that his displeasure made her life
for the time wearisome, and robbed the only society she had of all
its charms. It was not only that her heart was wounded by his
anger. Those evils might have been short-lived. But she had
seen, — she (M)uld not fail to see, — that his conduct was unworthy
of her and of her deep love. Though she struggled hard against the
feeling, she could not but despise the meanness of his jealousy.
She knew thoroughly well that there had been no grain of ofiPence
in that letter from Arthur Fletcher, — and she knew that no man, no
true man, would have taken offence at it. She tried to quench her
judgment, and to silence the verdict which her intellect gave against
him, but her intellect was too strong even for her heart. She was
beginning to learn that the god of her idolatry was but a little human
creature, and that she should not have worshipped'at so poor a shrine.
But nevertheless the love should be continued, and, if possible, the
worship, though the idol had been already found to have feet of
clay. He was her husband, and she womd be true to him. As
morning after morning he left her, still with that harsh, unmanly
frown upon his face, she would look ujp at him with entreating
eyes, and when he returned would receive him with her fondest
smile.

At length he, too, smiled. He came to her after that inter-
view with Mr. Wharton and told her, speaking with the soft yet
incisive voice which she used to love so well, that they were to dine
in the Square on the following day. " Let there be an end of all
this," he said, taking her in Ms arms and kissing her. Of course
she did not tell him that "all this" had sprung from his ill-
humour and not from hers. ** I own I have been angry," he con-
tinued. "I will say nothing more about it now; but that man
did vex me."

** I have been so sorry that you should have been vexed."

" Well ; — let it pass away. I don't think your father is looking
very well."

"HeisnotiUP"

•* Oh no. He feels the loss of your society. He is so much
alone. You must be more with him."

" Has he not seen Everett yet ? "

"No. Everett is not behaving altogether well." Emily was
made unhappy by this and showed it. " He is the best fellow in
the world. I may safely say there is no other man whom I regard
so warmly as ^ do your brother. But he takes wrong ideas into his
head, and nothing will knock them out. I wonder what j our father
haa done about his will."

us.

GET ROUND HIM.

268

** I have not an idea.
unjust to Everett."

Nothing you may be sure will make him
don't happen to know whether he ever made a

Ah :— You
will ? "

*' Not at all. He would be sure to say nothing about it to me,
— or to anybody."

" That IS a kind of secrecy which I think wrong. It leads to so
much uncertainty. You wouldn't like to ask him ? '*

" No ; — certainly."

*' It is astonishing to me how afraid you are of your father. He
hasn't any land ; has he P "

"Land!"

*' Eeal estate. You know what I meu:: He couldn't well have
landed property without your knowing it." She shock her head.
'* It might make an immense difference to us, you know."

•'Why so?"

*' If he were to die without a will, any land, — houses and that
kind of property, — would go to Everett. I never knew a man who
told his children so little. I want to make you understand theee
things. You and I will be badly off if he doesn't do something for

us.

' ' You don't think' he is really iU ? "

** No ; — not ill. Men above seventy are apt to die, you know."

•* Oh, Ferdinand, — what a way to talk of it ! "

" Well, my love, the thing is so seriously matter-of-fact, that it
is better to look at it in a matter- of-faot way. I don't want your
father to die."

"I hope not. I hope not."

" But 1 should be very glad to learn what he means to do while
he lives. I want to get you into sympathy with me in this matter ;
—but it is so difficult."

" Indeed I sympathize with you."

** The truth is he has taken an aversion to Everett."

"God forbid!"

' * I am doing all I can to prevent it. But if he does throw E vere ot
over we ought to have the advantage of it. There is no harm in
saying as much as that. Think what it would be if he should tako

it into his head to leave his money to hospitals. My G ; fancy

what my condition would be if I were to hear of such a will as that !
If he destroyed an old will, partly because he didn't like our mar-
riage, and partly in anger against Everett, and then die without
making another, the property would be divided, — unless he had
bought land. You see how many dangers there are. Oh dear ! I
can look forward and see myself mad, — or else see myself so proudly
triumphant ! " All this horrified her, but he did not see her horror.
He knew that she disliked \, but thought that »he disliked the
trouble, and that she dreaded her father. " Now I do think that
you could help me a little," he continued.

" What can I do ? "

.«

^■■^■^Hfl^' . .!^"

264

THE PRIME MINIBT ;a.

t!
il

" Get round him when he's a little down in the moatii. That is
the way in which old men are conquered." How utterly igno-
rant he was of the very nature of her mind and disposition ! To
be told by her husband that she was to " get round " her father !
" You should see him every day. He would be delightf d if you
would go to him at his chambers. Or you could take care to be in
the Square when he comes home. I don't know whetner we had
not better leave this and go and live near him. Would you mind
that?"

'* I would do anything you would suggest as to living anywhere."
" But you won't do anything I suggest as to your father."
*• As to being with him, if I thought ho wished it, — though I had
to walk my feet oflF, I would go to him "

'* Thero's no need of hurting your feet. There's the brougham."
" I do so wish, Ferdinand, you would discontinue the brougham.
I don't at all want it. I don't at all dislike cabs. And I was only
joking about walking. I walk very well."

•' Certainly not. You fail altogether to understand my ideas
about things. If things were going bad with us, C would infinitely
prefer getting a pair of horses for you to putting d^v^n the one you
have." She certainly did not understand his ideas. '* Whatever we
do we must hold our heads up. I think he is coming round to
cotton to me. He is very close, but I can see *hat he likes my going
to him. Of course, as he grows older from day to day, he'll con-
stantly want some one to lean on more than herv cofore."
" I would go and stay with him if he wanted me."
**I have thought of that too. Now that would be a saving, —
without rtny fall. xVnd if we were both there we could hardly fail
to know wh; ^ he Wfts d - tg. You could oflfer that, couldn't you ?
You could say as much a « t^'it?"
" I could ask him if he wished it."

" Just so. Say that it occurs to you that he is lonely by himself,
and that we will both go to the Square at a moment's notice if he
thinks it will make him comfortable. I feel sure that that will be
the best step to take. I have already had an oflFer for these rooms,
and could get rid of the things we have bought to advantage."

This, too, was terrible to her, and at the same time altogether
unintelligible. She had been invited to buy little treasures to make
their home comfortable, and had already learned to take that de-
light in her belongings which is one of the greatest pleasures of a
young married woman's life. A girl in her old home, before she is
given up to a husband, has many sources of interest, and probably
from day to day sec s maiiy people. And the man just m.arried goes
out to his w rk, and occupies his time, and has his thickly- peopled
w^vld arou d him. But the bride, whon the bridal honours of the
liOiieymoon are over, when the sweet care of the first cradle has not
yet come to her, is apt to be lonely and to be driven to the con-
templation of the pretty things with which her husband and hor
friends have surrounded hev. It had certainly been so with thia

^ii#^'" .»*"■•••;'*';

,■ •K^-'«

** GET ROUND HIM.'

265

•■I

young bride, whose husband left her in the morning and only
returned for their late dinner. And now she was told that htx
household gods had had a price put upon them and that they WGr«'
to be sold. 8he had intended to suggest that she would pay her
father a visit, and her husband immediately proposed that they
should quaiW themselves permanently on the old man ! She was
ready to give up her brougham, though she liked the comfort of
it well enough ; but to that ho would not consent because the

Eossession of it gave him an air of wealth ; but without a moment's
esitation he could catch at the idea of throwing iipon her father
the burden of maintainiug both her and himself T She understood
the meaning of this. She could read his mind so far. She endea-
voured not to read the book too closely, — but there it was, opened
to her wider day by day, and she knew that the lessons which it
taught were vulgar and damnable.

And yet she had to hide from him her own perception of him-
self ! She had to sympathize with his desires and yet to abstain
from doing that which his desires demanded from her. Alas, poor
girl! She soon knew that her marriage had been a mistake.
There was probably no one moment in which she made the con-
fession to herself. . But the conviction was there, in her mind, as
though the confession had been made. Then there would come
upon her unbidden, unwelcome reminiscences of Arthur Fletcher,
— thoughts that she would struggle to banish, accusing herself of
some heinous crime because the thoughts would come back to her.
She remembered his light wavy hair, which she had lovo;^ a3 one
loves the beauty of a dog, which had seemed to her young ijaa-
gination, to her in the ignorance of her early years, to la..^ jm«-
thing of a dreamed-of manliness. She remembered I oager,
boyish, honest entreaties to herself, which to her had beo;i with-
out that dignity of a superior being which a husband shou.al pos-
sess. She became aware that she had thought the less of hhxi
because he had thought the more of hei She had wor flipped
this other man because he had assumed superiority and had wli
her that he was big enough to be her master. But now, — now
that it was all too late, — the veil had fallen froai her eyes. She
could now see the difference between manliness and "deport-
ment.". Ah, — that she should ever have been so blind, slie who
had given herself credit for seeing so much clearer than thoj who
were her elders I And now, though at last she did see cleariy,
she could not have the consolation of telling any one what she
had seen. She must bear it all in silence, and live with it, and
still love this god of clay that she had chosen. And, above ail,
she must never allow herself even to think of that othor man with
the wavy light hair, — that man who wfa i rising in the world, of
whom all people said all good things, wmo was showing himself
to be a man by the work he did, and wliose true tenderness she
cuvild never doubt.
] lor father was left U> her. She could ytitl loye her father. It

rn
!

H I

,4:^1

Wi^^

5&^. '

266

THE PBIME MINIST£B.

might be that it would be best for him that she should go back to
her old home, and take care of his old age. If he should wish it,
she would make no difficulty of parting with the things around
her. Of what concern wore the prettinesses of life to one whose
inner soul was hampered with such ugliness ? It might be better
that they should live in Manchester Square, — if her father wished
it. It was clear to her now that her husband was in urgent want
of money, though of his affairs, even of his way of making money,
she knew nothing. As that was the case, of course she would
consent to any practicable retrenchment which he would propose.
And then she thought of other coming joys and coming troubles, —
of how in future years she might nave to teach a girl falsely to
believe that her father was a good man, and to train a boy to
honest purposes whatever parental lessons might come from the
other side.

But the mistake she had made was acknowledged. The man
who could enjoin hor to ** get round" her father could never have
been worthy of the love she had given him.

t'S.

CH IPTEE XL.

** COME AND TEY IT.

i r.-Hr

\-V:^i

The husband was almost jovial when he came home just in time
to take his young wife to dine with their father. ' ' I've had such
a day ia the city," he said, laughing. ** I wish I could introduce
you to my friend, Mi-. Sextus Parker.**

" Cannot you do so ? *'

*' Well, no ; not exactly. Of course you'd like him becauTse he
is such a wonderful character, but he'd hardly do for your drawing-
rooiii. He's the vulgarest little creature you ever put your eyes
i/U ; and yet in a certain way he's my partner."

** Tbeu I suppose yuu trust him ? "

" Jjide d I don't ; — but I make him useful. Poor little Sexty !
I do tiriat Ixim to a degree, because he believes in me and "thinks
he Cii,u do best by sticking to me. The old saying of * honour
araung thieves' isn't without a dash of truth in it. When two
men are in a boat together they must be true to each other, else
neitti3T will get to the shore."

" "You don't attribute high motives to jrour friend."

'* I'm afraid there are not very many high motives in the world,
my girl, especially in the city ; — nor yet at Westminster. It can
hardly be from high motives when a lot of men, thinking diflfe-
reniiy on every possible subject, come together for the sake of
pay and power. I don't know whether, after all, Sextus Parker

**COME AND TRY IT.'*

267

mayn't have as high motives as the Duke of Omnium. I don't
suppose anv one ever had lower motives than the Duchess when
she ohidelled me about Silverbridge. Never mind ; — it'll all be
one a hundred years hence. Get ready, for I want you to be with
your father a little before dinner."

Then, when l^ey were in the brougham together, he began a
course of very plain instructions. "Look here, dear; you had
better get him to talk to you before dinner. I dare say Mrs. Boby
will be there, and I will get her on one side. At any rate you
can manage it because we shall be early, and rU take up a book
while you are talking to him."

** What do you wish me to say to him, Ferdinand ? "
" 1 have been thinking of your own proposal, and I am quite
sure that we had better join him in the Square. The thin^ is, I
am in a little mess about the rooms, and can't stay on without
paying very dearly for them."

'* I thought you had paid for them."

** Well ; — yes ; in one sense I had; but you don't understand
about business. You had better not inteiTupt me now as I hava
got a good deal to say before we get to the Square. It will suit
me to give up the rooms. I don't like them, and they are very
dear. As you yourself said, it will be a capital thing for us to go
and stay with your father."
" I meant only for a visit."

** It will be for a visit, — and we'll make it a long visit." It was
odd that the man should have been so devoid of right feeling him-
self as not to have known that the ideas which he expressed were
revolting ! ** You can sound him. Begin by saying that you are
afraid he is desolate. He told me himself that he was desolate,
and you can refer to that. Then tell him that we are both of us
prepared to do anything that we can to relieve him. Put your
arm over him, and kiss him, and all that sort of thing." She
shrunk from him into the comer of the brougham, and yet he did
not perceive it. ' * Then say that you think he would be happier if we
were to join him here for a time. You can make him understand
that there would be no diflBculty about the apartments. But don't
say it all in a set speech, as though it were prepared, — though of
course you can let him know that you have suggested it to me
and that I am willing. Be sure to let him understand that the
idea began with you."
" But it did not."

" You proposed to go .and stay with him. Tell him just that.
And you should explain to him that he can dine at the club just
as much as he likes. When you were alone with him hero of
course he had to come home ; but he needn't do that now unless
he chooses. Of course the brougham would be my affair. And if
he should say anything about sharing the house expenses, you
can tell him that I would do anything he might propose." tier
father to share the household expenses in his own house, and with

it.^ i ■ '^

268

THE PBIME MINISTER.

his own children! "You say as much as you can of all this
before dinner, so that when we are sitting below he may suggest
it if he pleases. It would suit me to get in there next week if
possible.

And so the lesson had been given. She had said little or nothing
in reply, and he had only finished as they entered the Square.
She had hardly a minute allowed her to think how far she might
follow, and in what she must ignore, her husband's instructions,
if she might use her own judgment she would tell her father at
once that a residence for a time oeneath his roof would be a service
to them pecuniarily. But this she might not do. She understood
that her duty to her husband did forbid her to proclaim his

Eovorty in opposition to his wishes. She would tell nothing that
e did not wish her to tell, — but then no duty could require her
to say what was false. She would make the suggestion about
their change of residence, and would make it with proper atfec-
tion ; — but as regarded themselves she would simply say that it
would suit their views to give up their rooms if it suited him.

Mr. Wharton was all alone when they entered the drawing-
room, — but, as Lopez had surmised, had asked his sister-in-law
round the corner to come to dinner. "Boby always likes an
excuse to get to his club," said the old man, " and Harriet likes
an excuse to go anywhere." It was not long before Lopez began
to play his part by seating himseK close to the open window and
looking out into the Square ; and Emily when she found herself
close to her father, with her hand in his, could hardly divest her-
seli' of a feeling that she also was playing her part. "I see so
very little of you," said the old man plaintively.

" I'd come up oftener if I thought you'd like it."

"It isn't liking, my dear. Of course you have to live with
your husband. Isn't this sad abotit Everett 't "

" Very sad. But Everett hasn't lived here for ever so long."

" I don't know why he shouldn't. He was a fool to go away
when he did. Does he go to you ? "

" Yes ; — sometimes."

" And what does he say ? "

" I'm sure he would biB with ^ ou at once if you would ask him."

" I have asked him. I've sent word by Lopez over and over
again, If he means that I am to write to him and say that I'm
sorry for otfendiiig him, I won't. Don't talk of him any more.
It makes me so angry that I sometimes feel inclined to do things
which I know I should repent when dying."

" Not anything to injure Everett, papa !"

" I wonder whether he ever thinks that I am an old man and all
alone, and that his brother-in-law is daily with me. But he's a
tool, and thinks of nothing. I know it is very sad being here
night after night by myself." Mr. Wharton forgot, no doubt, at
the moment, that he passed the majority of his evenings at the
Eldon,— though, had he been reminded of it, he might have declare(?

"come and try it.*

269

him."
ad over
hat I'm

more.

things

with perfect truth that the dehghts of his club were uot natis-
factory.

*' Papa," said Emily, *• would you like us to come and live
here?"

" What, — you and Lopez ; — here, in the Square P"

" Yes ; — for a time. He is thinking of giving up the place in
Belgrave Mansions."

" I thought he had them for — ^for ever so many months."

'* He does not like them, and they are expensive, and he can
give them up. If you would wish it, we would come here, — for a
time." He turned round and looked at her almost suspiciously ;
and she, — she blushed as she remembered how accurately she was
obeying her husband's orders. " It would be such a joy to me ta
be near you again."

There was something in hei voice which instantly reassured

him. •* Well ; " he said ; ** come and try it if it will suit him.

The house is big enough. It will ease his pocket and be a comfort
to me. Come and try it."

It astonished her that the thing should be done so easily. Here
was all that her husband had proposed to arrange by deep diplo-
macy settled in three words. And yet she felt ashamed of herself,
— as though she had taken her father in. That terrible behest to
"get round him" still grated on her ears. Had she got round
him? Had she cheated him into thisP **Papa," she said, "do
not do this unless you feel sure that you will like it."

" How is anybody to feel sure of anything, my dear ?"

" But if you doubt, do not do it."

" I feel sure of one thing, that it will be a great saving to your
husband, and I am nearly sure that that ought not to be a matter
of indifference to him. There is plenty of room here, and it will
at any rate be a comfort to me to see you sometimes." Just at
this moment Mrs. Boby came in, and the old man began to tell his
news aloud. " Emily has not gone away for long. She's coming
back like a bad shilling."

"Not to live in the Square ?" said Mrs. Roby, looking round at
Lopez.

" Why not ? There's room here for them, and it will be just as
well to save expense. When will you come, my dear ? "

" Whenever the house may be ready, papa."

"It's ready now. You ought to know that. I am not going to
refurnish the rooms for you, or anything of that kind. Lopez can
come in and hang up his hat whenever it pleases him."

During this time Lopez had hardly known how to speak or what
to say. He had been very anxious that his wife should pave tho
way, as he would have called it. He had been urgent with her to
break the ice to her father. But it had not occurred to him that
the matter would be settled without any reference to himself. Of
course he had heard every word that had been spoken, and was
aware that his own poverty had been suggested as the cause for

270

THE PRIME MINISTER.

such a proceeding. It was a great thing for him in every wny.
He would live for nothing, and would also have almost uulimitod
powta" of being with Mr. Wharton as old age grew on him. This
ready compliance with his wishes wa,s a benefif far too precious to
bo lost. But yet he felt that his own dignity required some refer-
ence to himself. It was distasteful to nim that his father-in-law
should regard him, — or, at any rate, that ho snould speak of him,
— as a pauper, unable to proviae a home for his own wire. •* Emily's
notion in suggesting it, sir," he said, " has been her care for
your comfort.' The barrister turned round and looked at him,
and Lopez did not quite like the look. ' ' It was she thought of it
first, and she certainly had no other idea than that. When she
mentioned it to me I was delighted to agree."

Emily heard it aU and blushed. It was not absolutely untrue
in words, — this assertion of her husband's, — but altogether false
in spirit. And yet she could not contradict him. " I don't see
why it should not do very well, indeed," said Mrs. Roby.

" I hope it may," said the barrister. "Ooifle, Emily, I must
take you down to dinner to-day. You are not at home yet, you
know. As you are to come, the sooner the better."

During cUnner not a word was said on the subject. Lopez
exerted himself to be pleasant, and told all that he had heard as to
the difficulties of the Cabinet. Sir Orlando had resigned, and the

general opinion was that the Ooalition was going to pieces.
Lad Mr. Wharton seen the last article in the " People's Banner "
about the Duke Y Lopez was strongly of opinion that Mr. Wharton
ought to see that article. "I never had the 'People's Banner'
within my fingers in my life," said the barrister angrily, " and I
certainly never will."

"Ah, sir; this is an exception. You should see this. When
Slide really means to cut a fellow up, he can do it. There's no
one like him. And the Duke has deserved it. He's a poor, vacillat-
ing creature, led by the Duchess ; and she, — according to all that
one hears, — she isn't much better than she should be.

" I thought the Duchess was a great friend of yours," said Mr.
Wharton.

"I don't care much for such friendship. She threw me over
most shamefully."

" And therefore, of course, you are justified in taking away her
character. 1 never saw the Duchess of Omnium in my life, and
should probably be very uncomfortable if I found myself in her
society ; but I believe her to be a good sort of woman in her way."
Emily sat perfectly silent, knowing that her husband had been
rebuked, but feeling that he had deserved it. He, however, was not
abashed ; but changed the conversation, dashing into city rumours,
and legal reforms. The old man from time to time said sharp
little things, showing that his intellect was not senile, all of which
his son-in-law bore imperturbably. It was not that he liked it,
or was indifferent, but that he knew that he could not get the

** OOMF, AND TRY IT.'*

271

me over

good things which Mr. Wharton could do for him without making
Home kind of payment. Ho must take the bharp words of tho old
man, — and take all that he could get hesidos.

When the two men were alone together after dinner, Mr. Whar-
ton used a different tone. " If you are to come," he said, " you
might as well do it as soon as possible."
'• A day or two will be enough for us."

"There are one or two things you should understand. T shall
be very happy to see your friends at any time, but I shall like to
know when they are coming before they come."
•' Of course, «ir."
" I dine out a good deal."
•* At the club," suggested Lopez.

** Well ; — at the cIud or elsewhere. It doesn't matter. There
will always be dinner here for you and. Emily, just us though I
were at home. I say this, so that there need be no questionings
or doubts about it. hereafter. And don't let there ever be any
question of money between us."
*' Certainly not."

" Everett has an allowance, and this will be tantamount to an
allowance to Emily. You have also had £3,500. I hope it has
been well expended ; — except the £500 at that election, which has,
of course, been thrown away."

" The other was brought into the business."
'• I don't know what the business is. But you and Emily must
understand that the money has been given as her fortune."
*• Oh, quite so ;— part of it, you mean."
♦* I mean just what I say."

* ' I call it part of it, because, as you observed just now, our living
here wUl be the same as though you made Emily an allowance."

" Ah ; — well ; you can look at it in that light if you please.
John has the key of the cellar. He's a man I can trust. As a rule
I have port and sherry at table every day. If you like claret I will
get some a little cheaper than what 1 use when friends are here."
" What wine I have is quite indifferent to me."
*' I like it good, and I have it good. I always breakfast at 9.30.
You can have yours earlier if you please. I don't know that
there's anything else to be said. I hope we shall get into the way
of understanding each other, and being mutually comfortable.
Shall we go up-stairs to Emily and Mrs. Roby ? " And so it was
determined that Emily was to come back to her old house about
eight months after her marriage.

Mr. Wharton himself sat late into the night, all alone, thinking
about it. What he had done, he had done in a morose way and
he was aware that it was so. He had not beamed with smiles, and
opened his arms lovingly, and, bidding God bless his df/arest
children, told them that if they would only come and sit roiind his
hearth he should be the happiest old man in London. He had
said little or nothing of bis own affection even for his daughter,

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272

THE PBIHE MINISTEB.

but had spoken of the matter as one of which the pecuniary aspect
alone was important. He had found out that the saving so e£Pected
would be material to Lopez, and had resolved that there should be
no shirking of the truth in what he was prepared to do. He had
been almoin asked to take the young married couple in, and feed
them, — so that they might live free of expense. He was willing to
do it, — but was not willing that there should be any soft- worded,
high-toned false pretension. He almost read Lopez to the bottom,
— not, however, giving the man credit for dishonesty so deep or
cleverness so great as he possessed. But as regarded Emil;^, he
was also actuated by a personal desire to have ner back again as
an element of happiness to himself. He had pined for her since
he had been left alone, hardly knowing what it was that he had
wanted. And now as he thought of it all, he was angr^ with
himself that he had not been more loving and softer in his
manner to her. She at any rate was honest. No doubt of that
crossed hie mind. And now he had been bitter to her, — bitter in
his manner, — simply because he had not wished to appear to have
been taken in by ner husband. Thinking of all this, he got up,
and went to his desk, and wrote her a note, which she would
receive on the following morning after her husband had left her.
It was very short.

*< Deabest E.

" I am 80 overjoyed that you are coming back to me.

"A. W."

He had judged hei quite rightly. The manner in which the
thine had been arranged had made her very wretched. There
had been no love in it ; — nothing apparently but assertions on one
side that much was being ffivcn, and on the other acknow-
ledgments that much was to oe received. 8he wa« aware that in
this hei father had condemned her husband. She also had con-
demned him ; — and teit, alas, that she also had been condemned.
But this little letter took away that sting. She could read in her
father's note ail the action ol his mind. He had known that he was
bound to acquit her, and he had done so with one of the old long-
valued expresaione of hie love.

OHAPTEB XLl.

THE VALUE OF A THICK SKIN.

Sir Orlando JJitox;aui must nave felt bitterly the quiescence
with which he sank into obscurity on the second bench on the
opposite tide of the House. One gi-eat occasion he had on which

th(

THE VALUE OF A THICK SKIN.

278

ry aspect
10 effected
should be

He had
^ and feed
^^illineto
^.worded,
le bottom,
go deep or
Emily, he
(kagunas
r her cdnoe
lat he had
angry wi^
,fter m his
,ubt of that
.,— bitter in
)ear to have
, he got UP,

she would
had left her.

o me.
-A. W."

which the
led. There
ions on one
xet acknow-
Itware that in
[go had con-
condemned,
read in her
^ that he was

Itue old long-

»G qniesoenoe

[bench on the

had on which

it was his privilege to explain to four or five hundred gentlemen
the insuperable reasons which caused him to break away from
those right honourable Mends to act with whom had been bie
comfort and his duty, his great joy and his unalloyed satisfaction.
Then be occupied the bestpart of an hour in abusmg those friends
and all their measures. This no doubt had been a pleasure, as
practice had made the manipulation of words easy to him, — and
he was able to revel in ^at absence of responsibihty which must
be as a freeh perfumed bath to a minister just freed from the tram-
mels of ofiice. But the pleasure was surely followed by much
suffering when Mr. Monk, — Mr. Monk who was to assume his
place as Leader of the House, — only took five minutes to answer
him, sayiiig that he and his colleagues resi'etted much the loss of
the Bight Honourable Baronet's servioes, out that it would hardly
be necessary for him to defend the Ministry on all those points on
which it had been attadced, as, were he to do so, he would have
to repeat the arguments by which every measure brought forward
by the present Ministry had been supported. Then Mr. Monk sat
down, and the business of the House went on just as if Sir Orlando
Drou^t had not moved his seat at all.

"what makes everybody and everything so dead?" said Sir
Orlando to his old friend Mr. Buffin as they walked he*ne together
from the House that night. They had in former days been staunch
friends, sitting night after nieht close together, united in opposition,
and sometimes, for a few halcyoii taion&s, in the happier Donds of
office. But when Sir Orlando had joined the Coalition, and when
the sterner spirit of Mr. Boffin had preferred principles to place, —
to use the language in which he was wont to speak to himself and
to his wife and family of his own abnegation, — there had come a
coolness between them. Mr. Boffiji, who was not a rich man, nor
by any means indifferent to the comforts of office, had felt keenly
the injury done to him when he was left hopelessly in the cold by
the desertion of his old friends. It had come to pass that there
had been no salt left in the opposition. ^ Mr. Boffin in all his
parliamentary experience had known nothing like it. Mr. Boffir*
nad been sure that British honour was going to the dogs and that
British ^eatness was at an end. But the secession of Sir Orlando
gave a httle fillip to his life. At any rate he could walk home
with his old friend and talk of the horrors of the present day.

" Well, Drought, if you ask me, you know, I can only speak as
I feel. Everything must be dead when men holding different
opinions on every subject under the sun come together in order
that they may carry on a government as they would a trade
business. The work may be ^one, but it must be done without
spirit."

" But it may be all important that the work should be done,''
said the Baronet, apologising for his past misconduct.

" No doubt ; — and I am very far from judging those who make
the attempt. It has been made more than once before, and has, I

274

TUB PBIME MINISTEB.

think, always failed. I don't believe in it myself, and I think that
the death- hke torpor of which you speak is one of its worst con-
sequences." After that Mr. Bomn admitted Sir Orlando back into
his heart of hearts.

Then the end of the Session came, verv quietlv and very eai^.
By Uie end of July there was nothing left to oe done, and the
world of London was allowed to go down into the country almost
a fortnight before its usual time.

With many men, both in and out of Parliament, it became a
question whether all this was for good or evil. The Boffinites had of
course much to say for themselyes. Everything was torpid. There
was no interest in the newspapers, — except wnen Mr. Slide took
the tomahawk into his hands. A member of Parliament this
Session had not been bv half so much bigger than another man as
in times of hot political warfare. One of me most moving sources
of our national excitement seemed to have<:vanished from life. We
all know what happens to stagnant waters. So said the BoflSnites,
and 80 also now said Sir Orlando. But the Government was
carried on and the country was proeperous. A few useful measures
had been passed bv unambitious men, and the Duke of St. Bungay
declared that he had never known a Session of Parliament more
thoroughly satisfactory to the ministers.

But the old Duke in so sajring had spoken as it were his public
opinion, — giving, truly enough, .to a few of his colleagues, such as
Lord Drummond, Sir Ghregory Grogram and oth(nrs, tne results of
his general experience ; but in his own bosom and with a private
friend he was compelled to confess that there was a doud in the
heavens. The Prime Minister had become so moody, so irritable,
and so unhappy, that the old Duke was forced to doubt whether
things could go on much lon^r as they were. He was wont to
talk of these things to his friend Lord Oantrip, who was not a
member of the Government, but who had been a colleague of both
the Dukes, and whom the old Duke regarded with peculiar con-
fidence. " I cannot explain it to you," he said to Lord Cantrip.
" Thare is nothing that ought to give him a moment's uneasiness.
Sinc# he took office there hasn't once been a majority against
him in either House on any question that the Government has
made its own. I don't remember such a state of things,— so easy
for the Prime Minister, — since the days of Lord Liverpool, ae
had one thorn in his side, our friend who was at the Admiralty, and
that thorn like other thorns has worked itself out. Yet at this
moment it is impossible to eet him to consent to the nomination
of a successor to Sir Orlando." This was said s. week before the
Session had closed.

*♦ I suppose it is his health," said Lord Cantrip.

" He's well enough as far as I can see ;— though he will be ill
unless he can relieve himself from the strain on hu nerves."

•• Do you mean by r*»signing?"

" Not necessarily. The fault is that he takes things too seriously-

THE VALUE OF A THICK BKIN.

276

If he could be fi^t to believe that he might eat, and sleep, and go to
bed, and amuse himself like other men, he might be a very ffood
i:'nme Minister. He is over troubled by his conscience. I have
seen a good many Prime Ministers, Cantrip, and I've taught
myself to think that they are not very different from other
men. One wants in a Prime Minister a good many things,
but not very great thinss. He should be clever but need not
be a genius ; he should be conscientious but by no means
strait-laced; he should be cautious but never timid, bold but
never venturesome ; he should have a good digestion, eenial man-
ners, and, above all, a thick skin. These are the gifts we want,
but we can't always get them, and Ihave to do without them. For
my own part, I find that though Smith be a very good Minister,
the best perhaps to be had at the time, when he breaks down
Jones does nearly as well."

" There will be a Jones, then, if your Smith does break down ? "

" No doubt. England wouldn't come to an end because the
Duke of Omnium shut himself up at Matching. But I love
the man, and, with some few exceptions, am contented with the
party. We can't do bettor, and it cuts me to the heart when I see
him suffering, knowing how much I did myself to make him
undertake the work."

*' Is he goinff to Gathsmni. Castle P"

" No ;— >-to Matching. There is some discomfort about that."

" I suppose," said Lord Cantrip, — speaking almost in a whijper,
although they were closeted together, "I suppose the Duchess is
a little troublesome."

"She's the dearest woman in the world," said the Duke of
St. Bungay. " I love her almost as I do my own daughter. And
she is most zealous to serve him."

" I fiEtncy she overdoes it."

" No doubt."

" And that he suffers from perceiving it," said Lord Cantrip.

" But a man hasn't a right to suppose that he shall have no
annoyances. The best horse in the world has some faul% He
pulls, or he shies, or is slow at his fences, or doesn't like heavy
ground. He has no right to expect that his wife shall know
everything and do everything witnout a mistake. And then he
has such faulto of his own! His skin is so thin. Do you
remember dear old Brock ? By heavens ; — there was a coverin^g;, a
hide impervious to ^re or steel ! He wouldn't have gone into
tantrums because his wife asked too many people to the house.
ISevertheless, I won't give up all hope."

" A man's skin may be thickened, I suppose."

' ' No doubt ; — as a blacksmith's arm."

But the Duke of St. Bungay, thoush he declared that, he wouldn't
give up hope, was very uneasy on ^e matter. •• Why won't you
let me go P the other Duke had said to him.

•276

THE PBIME MINISTER.

" What ; — because such a man as Sir Orlando Drought throws
up his office?"

But in truth the Duke of Omnium had not been instieated to
ask the question by the resignation of Sir Orlando. At that very
moment the " People's Banner " had been put out of sight at the
bottom of a heap of other newspapers behind the Prime Minister's
chair, and his present misery had been produced by Mr. Quintus
Slide. To have a festering wound ana to be able to show the
wound to no surgeon, is wretchedness indeed ! " It's not Sir
Orlando, but a sense ot general failure," said the Prime Minister.
Then his old friend had made use of IJiat argument of the ever-
recurring majorities to prove that there had been no failure.
" There seems to have come a lethargy upon the country," said
the poor victim. Then the Duke of St. Bungay knew that his
friend had read that pernicious article ip the " People's Banner,"
for the Duke had also read it and remembered that phrase of a
** lethargy on the country," and understood at once how the poison
had rankled.

It was a week before he would consent to ask any man to fill the
vacancy made by Sir Orlando. He would not allow suggestions
to be made to him and yet would name no one himself. The old
Duke, indeed, did make a suggestion, and anything coming from
him was of course borne with patience. Barrington Erie, he
thought, would do for the Admiralty. But the ^nime Minister
shouk his head. "In the first place he would refuse, and tibiat
would be a great blow to me."

*'I could sound him," said the old Duke. But the Prime
Minister again shook his head and turned the subject. With all
his ti'judity he was becoming autocratic and peevishly impericus.
Then he went to Lord Cantnp, and when Lord Oantnp, with all
the kindness which he could throw into his words, stated the
reasons which induced him at present to decline office, he was
again in despair. At last he asked Phineas Finn to move to the
Admiralty, and, when our old friend somewhat reluctantly obeyed,
of course he had the same difficulty in filling the office Finn had
held. Other changes and other complications beoune necessary,
and Mr. Quintus Slide, who hated Phineas Finn even worse than
the poor Duke, found ample scope for his patriotic indignation.

This all took place in the dosiug week of the Session, filling our
poor Prime Minister with trouble and dismay, just when other
people were complaining that there was nothing to think of and
nothing to do. Men do not reblly like leaving London before the
grouse calif " ..em, — the grouse, ov rather the fashion of the grouse.
And Bo*^ ^ xadies were very angry at being separated so soon frx)m
thp:.. ei wains in the city. The tradesmen too were displeased,— so
.uat there were voices to re-echo the abuse of the "People's Banner."
The Duchess had done her best to prolong the Session by another
week, telling her husband of the evil consequences above suggested,
but Ue had thrown wide his arms and asked her with affected dis<

METBintTTION.

277

may whether he was to keep Parliament sitting in order that more
ribboDB might be sold I *' There is nothing to be done/* said the
Doke almost angrily.

*' Then you should make something to be done," said the
Duohess, mimicking him.

CHAPTER XT.n.

KETRIBUTION.

The Duchess had been at work with her husband for the last two
months m the hope ot renewing her autumnal festivities, but had
been lamentably un8Uooe8sl''ul. The Duke had declared that there
should be no more rural crowds, no repetition of what he called Lon-
don turned loose on his own grounds. He could not for^ the neces-
sity wnioh had been imposed upon him of turning Major Pountney
out of his house, or the change that had been made in his gardens,
or Ms wife's attempt to conquer him at Silverbridffe. "Do you
mean,*' she said, " that we are to hayo nobody P " He replied that
he thought it would be best to go to Matching. " And live a Darby
and Joan life P ** said the Duchess.

"I said nothing of Darby and Joan. Whatever may be my
feelin£[8 I hardly xhink that you are fitted for that kind of thing.
Matching is not so big as Gatherum, but it is not a cottage. Of
course you can ask vour own friends."

" 1 don't know what you mean by my own firiends. I endeavour
always to ask yours."

*' I don't know that Major Pountney, and Oaptain Gunner, and
Mr. Lopez were ever among the number of my friends."

"I suppose you mean LadyBosinaP" said the Duchess. "I
shall be nappy to haye her at Matching if you wish it."

" I should like to see Lady Eosina De Gourcy at Matehing very
much."

" And is there to be ^obody else P I'm afraid 1 should find it
rather dull while you two were opening your hearts to each other."
Here he looked at her angrily. " Oan you think of anybody besides
LadyBosinaP"

•* 1 suppose you will wish to haye Mrs. Finn ? "

" What an arrangement I Lady Bosina for you to flirt with, and
Mrs. Finn for me to grumble to."

" That is an odious word," said the Prime Minister.

"What; — ^flirtingP I don't see anything bad about the word.
The thing is dangerous. But you are quite at liberbr if you don't
go beyond Lady Bosina. I should like to know whetner you would
wish anybody else to oomeP" Of course he made no becoming

9t«fi

278

THE PBIMB Ml 'STBB.

answer to this question, and of course no becoming answer was
expected. He knew that she was trvina; to provoke him b(>cause
he would not let her do this year as she Had done last. The house,
he had no doubt, would be rail to overflowing when he got there.
He could not help that. But as compared with Gatherum Castle
the house at Matching was small, and his domestic authority suf*
ficed at any rate for shutting up Gatherum for the time.

I do not know whether at times her su£ferin^ were not as acute
as his own. He, at any rate, was Prime Blinister, and it seemed
to her that she was to M reduced to nothing. At ihe beginning of
it all he had, with unwonted tenderness, asked her for her sym-
pathy in his undertaking, and, according to her powers, she had
given it to him with her whole heart. She had thought that she
had seen a way by which she might assist him in his great em-
ployment, and she had worked at it like a slave. Every day she
tola herself that she did not, herself, love tha Captain Gunners and
Major Pountneys, nor the Sir Orlandos, nor, indeed, the Lady
fiosinas. She nad not followed the bent of her own inclination
when she had descended to sheets and towels, and busied herself to
establish an archery-eronnd. She had not shot an arrow during
the whole season, nor luid she cared who had won and who had lost.
It had not been for her own persona) delight that she had kept open
house for forty persons throughout four months of the year, in
doing which he had never taken an ounce of the labour off her
shoulders by any single word or deed ! It had all been done for his
sake, — that his reign mi£[ht be long and triumphant, that the world
might say that his hospitality was noble and full, that his c%me
might be in men's mouths, and that he mi^ht prosper as a British
Minister. Such, at least, were the assertions whicii she made to
herself, when she thought of her own grievances and her own
troubles. And now she was angry wiUi her husband. It was very
well for him to Eisk for her sympathy, but he bad none to give her
in return! He could not pity her failures, — even though he had
himself caused them ! If he had a grain of intelligence about him
he must, she thought, understand well enough how sore it must be
tor her to descend from her princely entertainments to solitude at
Matching, and thus to own before all the world that she was
beaten. Then when sbe asked him for advice, when she was really
anxious to know how far she mieht go in filling her house without
offending him, he told her to ask Lady Bosina Pa Courcy ! If he
chose to DO ridiculous he might. She would ask Lady Bosina De
Courcy. In her active anger she did write to Lady Bosina Be
Courcy a formed letter, in Tivliich she said that the Duke hoped to
have the pleasure of her ladyship's company at Matching P^rk on
the 1st otAugust. It was an absurd letter, somewhat long, written
very much in the Duke's name, with overwhelming expressions of
affection, instigated in the writer's mind partlv by the fun of the sup-
position that such a man as her husband should flirt mth such a
woman as Lady Bosina. There was something too of anger in what

^v^^

RETRIBUTION.

279

rthe wrote, some touch of reyeage. Sho sent off this invitation,
aud she sent no other. Lady Boaina took it all in good part, and re-
plied saying that she should have the greatont pleasure in going to
Matching. She had declared to herself that she would ask none
but those he had named, and in accordance with her resolution she
sent out no other written invitations.

He had also told her to ask Mrs. Finn. Now thin had become
almost a mr.tter of course. There had grown up from accidental
circumstances so strong a bond between these two women, that it
was taken for granted Dy both their husbands that they should be
nearly always within reach of one anclLher. And the two husbands
were also on kindly, if not affectionate terms with each other. The
nature of the Duke's character was such that, with a most loving
heart, he was hardly capable of that opening out of himself to
another which is necesaary for nositiye mencbhip. There was a
stiff reserve about him, of whidi ne was himself only too conscious,
which almost prohibited friendship. But he liked Mr. Finn both
as a man and a member of his party, and was aXwAja satisfied to
have him as a guest. The Duchess, therefore, had taken it for
granted that Mrs. Finn would come to her, — and that Mr. Finn
would come also during any time that he might be able to escape
from Ireland. But, when the invitation was verbally conveyed,
Mr. Finn had gone to the Admiralty, and had already made his
arrangements for going to sea, a£ a gpallant sailor should. " We
are going away in the ' Bla<^ Watoh ' for a couple of months,** said
Mrs. Finn. Now the " Black Wateh "' was the Admiralty yacht.

" Heavens and earth ! " ejaoidatod the Duchess.

** It is always done. The First Lord would have his epaulets
stripped if he didn't go to sea in August.*'

" And must you go with him P *'

" I have promised.**

" I think it very unkind, — very hard upon me. Of course y^^
knew that I should \rant you.**

" But if my husband wants me too ? '*

" Bother your husband ! I wish with all my heart I had never
helped to make up the mateh.*'

** It would have been made up just the same. Lady Glen.*'

'* You know that I cannot get on without you. And he ought
^o know it too. There isn't another person in the world that I can
reallysay a thing to."

«* Why don't you have Mrs. Grey ? "

" She s going to Persia after her husband. And then she is not
wicked enough. She always lectured re, and she does it still.
What do you think is going to happen ? "

" Nothintf terrible, i hope," said Mrs. Finn, mindful of her hus-
band's new nonours at the Admiralty, and hoping that the Duke
might not have repeated his threat of resigning.

" We are going to Matehiiig."

*' So I supposed."

280

THE PRIME MINI8TER.

I hare
I shall

" And whom do you think we are going to havu i* "

*♦ Not Major Pountnejr H "

•• No ; — not at my aslung."

••Nor Mr. Lopez P"

'• Nor yet Mr. Lopez. Ghiess again.*'

•' I suppose there will he a dozen to guess."

•• No/^ shrieked the Duchess. '• There will only be ono.
asked one, — at his special desire,— and as you won't come
ask nobody else. When I pressed him to name a second he named
you. I'll obey him to the letter. Now, my dear, who do you
think is the chosen one, — the one person who is to solace the per-
turbed spirit of the Prime Minister for the three months ox tho
autumn?"

•' Mr. Warburton, I should say."

•• Oh, Mr. Warburton ! No doubt Bir. Warburton will come as a
part of his luggage, and possibly half-a-dozen Treasury clerks. He
declares, howeyer, that there is nothinjo; to do, and therefore Mr.
Warburton's strength may alone suffice to help him to do it.
There is to be one unnecessary guest, — uinnecessary, that is, for
official purpose ; though, — oh, — so much needed for his social hap-
piness. Guess once more."

•• Knowing the spirit of mischief that is in you, — perhaps it is
Jjady Bosina."

" Of course it is Lady Bosina," said the Duchess clapping her
han^ together. •• And I should like to know what you mean by a
spirit of mischief I I asked him, and he himself said that he par-
ticularly wished to have Lady Bosina at Matching. Now, Fm not
a jealous woman, — am IP"

•• Not of Lady Rosina."

I don't think they'll do any harm together, but it is particular
ou know. However, she is to come. And nobody else is to come.

did count upon you." Then Mrs. Finn counselled her very
seriously as to the bad taste of such a joke, explaining to her that
the Duke had certainly not intended that her invitations should be
confined to Ladv Bosina. But it was not aU joke with the Duchess.
She had been oriven almost to despair, and was very vngry with
har husband. He had brought the thing upon himself, and .nust
now make the best of it. She would Mk nobody else. She de-
clared that th^re was nobody whom she could ask with propriety.
She was tired of asking. liot her ask whom she would he was
dissatisfied. The only two people he ofvred to see were Lady
Bosina and the old Duke. She had asked Lady Bosina for his
sake. Lot him ask his old friend himself if he pleased.

The Duke and Duchess with all the family went down together,
and Mr. Warburton went with them. The Duchess had said not
a word more to her husband about his guests, nor had he alluded
to the subject. But each was labouring under a conviction that
the other xras misbehaving, and with that feeling it was impossible
that there should be confidence between them. He busied nimself

BRTRIBUTION.

281

with books and papers,— always turning oyer those piles of news-
papers to see what evil wa^ said of hiioself, — and speakinif only
now and again to his private secretary. She eneugod herseu with
the children or pretended to read a novel, l^r heart was sore
within her. IShe had wished to punish him, but in truth she was
punishing herself.

On the day of their arrival, the father and mother, with Lord
8ilverbridge, the eldest son, who was home from Eton, and the
private Seoretaiy dined toother. As the Duke sat at table,
he began to think how long it was since such a state of things had
happened to him before, and his heart softened towards her. In-
stead of beine made angry by the strangeness of her proceeding,
he took delight in it, and in the course of the evening spoke a wora
to signify his satisfaction. "I'm afraid it won't last long," she
said, " ^r Lady Bosina comes to-morrow.'*

•♦ Oh, indeed.*^'

*' Tou bid me ask her yourself."

Then he pe^'ceived it edl ; — ^how she had taken advantage of his
former answer to her and had acted upon it in a spirit of contra-
dictory petulance. But he resolved that he woula forgive it and
endeavour to bring her back to him. " I thought we wisre both
joking," he said good-huTnouredly.

" Oh, no ! I never sus, 3oted you of a joke. At any rate she is

oommg.*'

" She will do neither of
" Tou have sent her to

ay harm. And Mrs. Finn P

>»

** She may be at sea, — and .. too ; but it is without my sendine.
The First Lord I believe usually does go a cruize. Is there nobody
else?"

« Nobody else, — unless you have asked any one."

" Not a creature. Well ;— so much the better. I dare say Lady
Bosina will get on very wedL"

" You will have to talk to her," said the Duchess.

" I will do my best," said the Duke.

Lady Bosina came and no doubt did think it odd. But she did
not say so, and it really did seem to the Duchess as though all her
vengeance had been blown away by the winds. And she too
lauded at the matter — to herself, and began to feel less cross and
less perverse. The world did not come to an end because she and
her husband wiUi Lady Bosina and her boy and the private Secre-
tary sat down to dinner every day toother. The parish clergyman
witn the neighbouring squire and his wife and daughter did come
one day, — to the relief of M. MiUepois, who had begun to feel
that the world had collapsed. And every day at a certain hour
the Duke and Lady Bosina walked together for an hour and a half
in the park. The Duchess would have enjoyed it, instead of suf-
fering, could she only have had her j&iend, Mrs. Finn, to hear her
jokes. "Now, Plantagenet," she said, "do tell me one thing.
What does she talk about F "

282

TIIR PRIMB MINIHTBR.

"The troubles of her family f^nnrally, I think."

•• That can't luat for ovor."

** She wears cork ioIoh to hur booto and the thinks a good deal
about them."

" And you liai«n to her P "

" Why not ? I can talk about cork solee as well aa anjrfhing
olse. Ajiythiug that may do material good to the world at large,
or even to yourself privately, is a fit subject for oonversation fo
rational people."

" I suppose I neyer was one of them."

" But I can talk upon anything," continued the Duke, " as long
as the talker talks in good faith and does not say things that diould
not be said, or deal with matters that are offr>nsiye. I could talk
for an hour about bankers' accounts, but I should not expect a
stranger to ask me the state of my own. She has almost per-
suaded me to send to Mr. Sprout of Silyerbridge and get some cork
soles myself."

" Don't do anything of the kind," said the Duchess with anima-
tion ; — as though she had secret knowledge that cork soles were
specially fatal to the family of the Pallisurs.

"Why not, my dear?"

*' He was the man who especially, above all others, threw me over
at Silyerbridge." Then again there came upon his brow that angry
fh>wn which during the last few days had been dissipated by the
innocence of Lady Kosina's conversation. " Of course I don't mean
to ask you to take any interest in the horough again. You have
said that you wouldn't, and you are always as good as your
word."

"I hope so."

" But I certainly would not employ a tradesman just at your
elbow who has directly opposed what was generally understood in
the town to be your interests."

What did Mr. Sprout do P This is the first I have heard of it"
He got Mr. Du Boung to stand against Mr. Lopez."
I am very glad for the sake of uie borough uiat Mr. Lopez
did not get in."

*' So am I. But that is nothing to do with it. Mr. Sprout
knew at any rate what my wishes were, and went directly against
them."

** You were not entitled to have wishes in the matter, Glencora."

" That's aU very well ; — but I had, and he knew it. As for the
future of course the thing is over. But you have done everything
for the borough."

« You mean that the borough has done much for me."

" I know what I mean v^ry well ; — and I shall take it very ill if
a shilling out of the Oastle ever goes into Mr. Sprout's pocket
again."

It is needless to trouble the reader at len^ with the sermon
which he preached heron the occasion,— ahowing the utter corrup-

((

RBTRIRUTI3N.

288

tion which must oome from the mixing up of politicH with trade,
or with the scoru which she threw iuto the few words with which
she interrupted him from time to time. " Whether a man makes

food shoes, and at a reasonable price, and charges for them
onestly, — that is what you have to consider,*' said the Duke
impreesivelv.

** I'd rather pay double for bad shoes to a man who did not
thwart me."

" You should not condescend to be thwarted in such a matter.
You lower yourself by admitting such a feeling." And yet he
writhed himself under the lashes of Mr. Slide !

'* I know an enemy when I see him," said the Duchess, " and as
lone as I live I'll treat an enemy as an enemy."

TMn was ever 00 much of it, in the course of which the Duke
declared his purpoee of sending at once to Mr. Sjprout for ever so
many oork soles, and the Duchess, — most imprudently,— declared
her purpose of ruining Mr. iSprout. There was something in this
threat iniioh grated terribly against the Duke's sense of honour ;
— that his wife should threaten to ruin a poor tradesman, that she
should do so in reference to the political affairs of the borough
which he all but owned, — that she should do so in declared opposi-
tion to him ! Of course he ought to have known that her sin con-
sisted simply in her determination to vex him at the moment. A
more gooa-natured woman did not live ; — or one less prone to ruin
any one. But any reference to .the Silverbridge election brought
back upon him the remembrance of the cruel attacks which had
been made upon him and rendered him for the time moody,
morose, and wretched. So the^ again parted ill friends, and
hardly spoke when they met at dinner.

The next morning there reached Matching a letter which greatly
added to his bittemesR of spirit against the world in general and
against her in particular. , The letter, though marked " private,"
had been opened, as were all his letters, by Mr. Warburton, but
the private Secretary thought it necessary to show the letter to the
Prime Minister. Me, when he had read it, told Warburton that
it did not signify, and maintained for half an hour an attitude of
quiescence. Then he walked forth, having the letter hidden in his
hand, and finding his wife alone, gave it her to read. " See what
you have brought upon me," he said, "by your interference and
disobedience." The letter was as follows ; —

*< Manchester Square, Augunt .i, IflT — .

" My Lord Duke,

"I consider myself entitled to complain to your Grace of
the conduct witJi which I was treated at the la§t election at Silver-
bridge, whereby I was led into very heavy expenditure without the
least chance of being returned for the borough. I am aware that
I had no direct conversation with your Grace on the subject, and
that your Grace can plead that, as between man and man. I had

j»*-'*'tni-'«i«»

2d4

THE PRIME MINISTER.

uo authority from youreelf for supposing that I should receive
your Grace's support. But I was ustiucUy asked by the Duchess
to stand, and was assured by her that if I did so I should have all
the assistance that your Graco's influence could procure for me ; —
and it was also explained to me that your Grace's official position
made it inexpedient that your Grace on this special occasion
should have any personal conference with your own candidate.
Under these circumstances I submit to your Grace tnat 1 am
entitled to complain of the hardship I have suffered.

"I had not been long in the borough before I found that my
position was hopeless. Influential men in the town who had been
represented to me as boing altogether devoted to your Grace's
interests started a third candidate, — a Libentl aa myself, — and the
natural consequence was that neither of us succeeded, though my
return as your Grace's candidate would have been certain had not
this b^en done. That all this was preconcerted tuere can be no
>^oubt, but, before the mine was sprung on me, — immediately,
indeed, on my arrival, if I remember rightly, — an application was
made to me for £500, so that the money might be exacted betore
the truth was known to me. Ot course I should not liave paid the
£500 had I known that your Grace's usual j,gents in the town, — I
may name Mr. Sprout especially, — were prepared to act against me.
But I did pay the money, and I think your Grace will agree with
me that a very opprobrious term might be applied without 1^ justice
to the transaction.

"My Lord Duke, I am a poor man; — ambitious I will own,
whether that be a sin or a virtue, — and willing perhaps to incur
oxpenditilre which can hardly be justified in pursuit of certain
public objects. But I must say, with the most lively respect for
your Grace personally, that I do not feel inclined to sit down
tamely under such a loss as this. 1 should not have dreamed of
interfering in the election at Silverbhdge had not the Duchess
exhorted me to do so. I would not even have run the risk of a
doubtful contest. But I came forward at the suggestion of the
Duchess, backed by her personal assurance that the seat was
certain as being in your Grace's hands. It was no doubt under-
stood that your Grace would not yourself interfere, but it was
equally well understood that your Grace's influence was for the
time deputed to the Duchess. The Ducheafs herself will, I am
sure, confirm my statement that I had her direct authority for
regarding myself as your Grace's candidate.

" I can of course bring an action agains. fr. Wise, the gentle-
man to whom T paid the money, but I feel inat as a gentleman I
should not do mo withcut reference to your Grace, as circumstances
mi^ht possibly be brought out in evidence, — I will not say preju-
licial to your Grace, — but which would be unbecoming. I cannot,
aowever, think that your Grace will be willing chat a poor man
like myself, in his search for an entrance into public life, should
be mulcted to so heavy an extent in consequence of an error on the

BBTRIBUTION,

285

part of the Duchess. Should jour Grace be able to assist me in
my view of gettiro' into Parhament for any other seat I shall be
willing to abide t > loss I have incurred. I nardly, howeyer, dare
to hope for such assistance. In this case I think your Grace ought
to see that I am reimbursed.

*' I have the honour to be,

•' My Lord Duke,
" Your Grace's very faithful Servant,

"Ferdinand Lopez."

The Duke stood over her in her own room up-stairs, with his
oack to the fire-place and* his eyes fixed upon her while she was
reading this letter. He gave her ample time, an J she did not
read it very quickly. Mu^ of it indeed she perused twice, turning
very red in the face as she did so. She was thus studious partly
because the letter astounded even her, and partly because she
wanted time to oonav.der how she would meet his wrath. " Well/'
said he, ** what do vou say to that P"
" The man is a blackguard, — of course."

" He is BO ; — though I do not know that t wish to hear him
called such a name by your lips. Let him be what he may he wae
your friend."
" He was my acquaintance."

** He was the man whom you selected to be your candidate for
the borough in opposition to my wishes, and whom you continued
to support in direct disobedience to my orders."

** Surely, Plantagenet, we have had all that about disobedience
out before."

' You cannot have such things * out,' — as you call ft. Evil-
loing will not bury itself <6ut of the way and be done with. Do
you feel no shame at having your name mentioned a score of
times with reprobation as that man mentions it ; — at being written
about by suen a man as that P"

" Do you want to make me roU in the gutter because I mistook
him for a gentleman P"

" That was not all, — nor half. La your eagerness to serve such
a miserable creature as this you forgot my entreaties, my com-
mands, my position ! I explained to you why I, of all men, and
you, of all women, as a part of me, should not do this thing ; and
yet you did it, mistaking such a cur as that for a man ! What am
I to do P How am I to free myself from the impediments which
you make for me P My enemies I can overcome, — but I cannot
escape the pitfalls which are made for me by my own wife. I can
only retire into private life and hope to console myself with my
children and my books."

There was a reality of tragedv about him which for the moment
overcame her. She had no joke ready, uo sarcasm, no fenduine
cuuuter-grumble. Little as she agreed with him when he spoke
of the necessity of retiring into private life because a man had

286

IHF PRIME HINISIEB.

written to him such a lettei aa this, incapable as she was of under-
standing fully the nature of the irritation whioii tormented mm,
still she knew that he wae eutlering, and acknowledged to herself
that she had been the cause ol the agony. " 1 am sorry," she
ejaculated at last. ** What more can 1 say r" ■[: drr

" What am 1 to do P What can be said to the man F Warburton
read the letter, and gave it me in siience. Me could see the terrible
difficulty."

" Tear it in pieces, and then let there be an end ol it."

" I do not feel sure but that he has right on his side. He is, as
you say, certainly a blackguard, or he would not make such a claim.
He is taking advantage ot the mistake' made hy a good-natured
woman through her folly and her vanity ;''— as he said this the
Duchess gave an absurd little pout, but luckily he did not see it,
— " and he knows very well that he is domg so. But still he has
a show of justice on his side. There was, 1 suppose, no chance tor
him at SUverbridge after 1 had made myself ttilly understood.
The money was absolutely wasted. It was your persuasion and
then your continued encouragement that led him on to spend the
money."

" Pay it then. The loss will not hurt you."

** Ah ; — if wo cduld but get out of our difficulties by pacing !
Suppose that 1 do pay it. 1 begin to think that I must pay it ; — ■'
that after all I cannot allow such a plea to remain unanswered.
But when it is paid ; — ^what then ? Do you think such a payment
made by the Queen's Minister will not be known to all the news-
papers, and that I shall escape the charge of having bribed the
man to hokl his tongue ?"

" It wHi be no bribe if you pay him because you think you
ought." •

" But how shall I excuse it P There are things done which are
holy as the heavens, — which are clear before G-od as the light of
the sun, which leave no stain on the conscience, and which yet the
malignity of man can invest with the very blackness of hell ! I
shaU know why 1 pay this £500. Because she who of all the world
is tho nearest and the dearest to me," — she looked up into his face
with amazement, as he stood stretching out both his arms in his
energy, — " has in her impetuous folly committed a grievous blun-
der, irom which she would not allow her husband to save her, this
sum must be paid to the wretched craven. But I cannot tell
the world that. I cannot say abroad that this small sacrilice of
money was the justest means of retrieving the injury which you
had done."

" Say it abroad. Say it everywhere."

••Mo, (JHencora."

*• 1)0 you think that 1 would have you spare me if it was my
lav''..? And how would it hurt meP Will it be new to any one
that 1 have done a foolish thing P Will the newspapers disturb
my peace P 1 sometimes think, Plantagenet, that 1 should have

R£TRIBUTION.

287

I of under-
mted mm,
I to Herself
sorry

" Biie

Warburton
tne terrible

»»

He is, as
ach a claim.
xKl-natiired
nd tuis tne
i not see it,
; stiU be Has

cbanoe tor
understood,
■suasion and
to spend the

1 by paying !
ttstpayit;—
unanswered,
jh a payment
bJI the news-
g bribed the

m think you

me which are
, the light of
v^hich yet the
,8 of hell! I
all the world
into his face
sxtoB in his
^ievous blun-
|save her, this
I cannot tell
iH sacritice of
Lry which you

if it was my
lew to any one
mpers disturb
should nave

been the raan, my skin is so thick ; and that you should have been
the woman, yours is so tender."

'♦ But it is not so."

" Take the advantage, nevertheless, of my toughness. Send him
the £500 without a word,— or make Warburton do so, or Mr.
Moreton. Make no secret of it. Then if the papers tslk about

" A question might be asked about it in the House."

*' Or if questioned in any way, — say that I did it. Tell the
exact truth. Tou are always saying tlutt nothing but truth, ever
serves. Let the truth serve now. I shall not blench. Your
saying it all in the House of Lords won't wound me half so much
as your looking at me as you did just now."

*' Did I wound you ? Grod knows I would not hurt you willingly."

*' Never mind. Qo on. I know you think that I have brought
it aU on mvself by my own wickedness. Pay this man the money,
and then if anjrtmng be said about it, explain that it was my fault,
and say that you j^iod the money because I had done wrons."

When he came in she had been seated on a sofa^ which we con-
stantly used herself, and he had stood over her, masterful, imperious,
and almost tyrannical. She had felt his tyranny, but had resented
it less than usual,— or rather had been less determined in holding
her own against him and assertiDg herself as his equal, — because
she conferaed to herself that she nad ii^ured him. She had, she
thought, done but little, but that whiw she had done ha<^ pro-
duced this injury. So she had sat and endured the oppression of
his standing ptosture. But now he sat down by her, very dose to
her, and put his hand upon her shoulder,— almost roun4.her waist.

" Oora," he said, " you do not quite understand it."

" I never understand anything, I think," she answered.

** Not in this case, — perhaps never, —what it is that a husband
feels about his wife. Do you think tiiat I could say a word against
you, even to a finend f "

"Why not?"

** I never did. I never could. If my anger were at the hottest
I would not confess to a human being that you were not perfect, —
except to youibelf."

*' Oh, thank you ! If you were to scold me vicariously I should
feel it less." •

"Do not joke with me now, for I am so much in earnest ! And
if I could not consent that your conduct should be called in question
even by a friend, do you suppose it possible that I could contrive
an escape from pubuc censure by laying the blame publicly on
you?"

" Stick to the truth ; — that's what you always say."

" I certainly shaU stick to the -truth. A man and his wife are
one. For what she does he is responsible."

" Thev couldn't hang you, you know, because I committed a
murder,

288

THE PRIME MINISTER.

"I should be willing that they should do so. No; — if I pay
this money I shall take the consequences. I shall not do it in any
way under the rose. But I wish you would remember "

" Bemember what ? I know I shall never forget all this trouble
about that dirty little town whioh I never will enter again as long
as I live."

*' I wish you would think that in all that you do you are dealing
with my feelings, with my heartstrings, with my reputation. You
cannot divide yourself from me ; Qor, for the value of it all, would
T! wish that such division were possible. Tou say that I am thin-
skinned."

" Certanly you are. What people call a delicate organization, —
whereas I am rough and thick and monstrously commonplace."

" Then should you too be thin-skinned for my sake."

" I wish I could make you thick-skinned for your own. It's the
only way to be decently comfortable in such a coarse, rough-and-
tumble world as this is.

" Let us both do our best," he said, now putting his arm round
her and kissing her. " I think I shall send the man his mouev at
once. It is the'least of two evils. And now let there never oe a
word more about it between us."

Then he left her and went back, — ^not to the study in which he
was wont, when at Matching, to work with his private Secre-
tary, — ^but to a small inner closet of his own, in which many a
bitter moni'ent was spent while he thought over that abortive
system of decimal coinaee by which he had once hoped to make
mmself one of the great benefactors of his nation, revolving in his
mind the troubles which hie wife brought upon him, and regretting
the golden inanity of the coronet which in the very piime of life
had exjpeUed him from the House of Commons. Here he seated
himself, and for an hour neither stirred from his seat, nor touched
a pen, nor opened a book. He wd« trying to calculate in his mind
what might oe the consequences of paying the money to Mr. Lopez.
But when the calculation slipped from him,— as it did, — then he
demanded of himseil whether strict high-minded justice did not
p.all upon him to pay the money let the consequences be what they
might. And heire hie mind was truer to him, and he was able to
tix himseil' to a purpose, — though the resolution to which he came
was not, perhaps, wise.

When the hour was over he went to his desk, drew a cheque for
£500 in favour of l^'erdinand Jjopez, and then caused his Secretary
to send it in the following note ; —

" Matching, August 4, 187—.

♦* Sm,—

* ' The Duke of Omnium has ]*ead the letter you have addressed
to him, dated the 3rd instant. The Duke of Omnium, feeling thaf
you may have been induced to undertake the late con>. it at SSilver-
bridge by misrepresentations made to you at Oatborum Uastle,

KAUBI OITM.

289

If I pay

t in any

3 trouble
1 as long

B dealing
jn. You
U, would
am thin-

Lzation, —
)lace."

. It's the
>ugli-wid'

irm round
J money at
never oe a

L wbich he
rate Secre-
oh many a
it abortive
jd to make

Lying ^ ^^^
I regretting

rime of life

•e he seated

Lor touched

^ his mind

Mr. Lopez.

1,— then he

Ice did not

, what they

was able to

Loh he came

cheque for
Secretary

ast 4, 18T— .

^e addressed
I feeling that
f5t at Silver-
rum Castle,

directs me to enclose a cheque for £500, that being the sum stated
by you to have been expended in carrying on the contest at Bilyer-
ondge.

*' I am, sir,

*' Tour obedient servant,

"Abthub Wahburton.
'* Ferdinand Lopez, Esq."

CHAPTER XLin.

KAURI OITM.

The raader ^nl\ no doubt think that Ferdinand Lopez must have
been very hardly driven indeed by circumstances before he would
have made such an appeal to the Duke as that given in the last
c&apter. But it was not want of money only that had brought it
about. It may be remembered that the £500 had already been once
repaid him by his father-in-law, — that special sum having been
given to him for that special purpose. And Lopez, when he wrote to
the Duke, assured himself tnat if, by any miracle, his letter should
produce pecuniary results in the shape of a payment from the
Duke, he would refdnd the money so obtained to Mr. Wharton.
But when he wrote the letter he did not expect to get money, —
nor, indeed, did he expect that aid towards another seat, to which
he alluded at the close of his letter. He expected probably nothing
but to vex the Duke, and to drive the Duke into a correspondence
with him.

Though this man had lived nearly all his life in England, he had
not quite acquired that knowledge of the way in whidi things are
done which is so general among men of a certain cla^s, and so rare
among those beneath them. He had not understood that the
Duchess's promise of her assistance at Silverbridge might be taken
by him for what it was worth, and that her aid mi^ht be used as far
as it went, — but, that in the event of its failing him, he was bound
in honour to take the result without complaining, whatever that
result might be. He felt that a grievous injury had been done
him, and that it 'behoved him to resent that injury, — even though
it were against a woman. He just knew that he could not very
well write to the Duchess herself, — though there was sometimes
present to his mind a plan for attacking her in public, and tolling
her what evil she had done him. He had half resolved that he
would do so in her own garden at The Horns ; — but on that occa-
sion the apparition of Arthur Fleteher had disturbed him, and he had
vented his anger in another direction. But still his wrath against

■'*V

290

THE PRIME MINIRTER.

the Duke and DuoheM remained, and he was \^ ont to indulge it
with Tery violent language as he sat upon one of the chairs in ^xty
Parker's office, talkine somewhat loudly of his own position, of the
things that he would do, and of the injury done him. Sezty Parker
sympathissed with him to the full, — espeoiallj as that first £500,
which he had i-eceived frOm Mr. Wharton, had gone into Sexty's
coffers. At that time Lopez and Sexty were iu)getner committed to
large speculations in the guano trade, and Sexty's mini ^^as by
no means easy m the early periods of the day. As he went into
town by his tniin he would think of his wife and family and of the
terrible things that might happen to them. But yet, up to this
period, money had always been forthcoming from Lopez when
absolutely wanted, and Sexty was quite aliye to the fact that
he was living with a freedom of expenditure in his own house-
hold that he had never known before, and that without appa-
rent damage. Whenever, therefore, at some critical moment, a
much-needed sum of money was produced, Sexty would become
lighthearted, triumphant, and very sympathetic. " Well ; — I never
heard such a story, he had said when Lopez was insisting on hid
wrongs. * ' That's what the Dukes and Duchesses call honour among
thieves I Well, Ferdy, my boy, if you stand that you'll stand any-
thing." la tixese latter days Sexty had become very intimate
indeed with his partner.

" I don't mean to stand it," Lopez had replied, and then on the
enpot had written the letter which he had dated firom Manchester
Square. He had certainly contrived to make that letter as oppres-
sive aa possible. He had been devor enough to put into it words
which were sure to wound the poor Duke anr' to confound the
Duchess. And having written it he was very oaa^eftd to keep the
first draft, so that if occasion came he might use it again and push
his vengeance farther. But he certainly had not expected such a
result as it produced.

When he received the private Secretary's letter with the money
he was sitting opposite to nis father-in-law at breakfast, while his
wife was malung the tea. Not many of his letters came to Man-
chester Square. Sexty Parker's office or his club were more con-
venient addresses; but in this case he had thought fhat Mandhester
Square would have a bettor sound and appearance. When he
opened the letter the cheque of course appear^ bearing the Duke's
own signature. He had seen that and me amount before he had
read the letter, and as he saw it his eye travelled quickly across the
table to hifi father-in-law's face. Mr. Wharton might certainly
have seen the cheque and even the amount, probably also the sig-
nature, without the slightest suspicion as to the nature of the pay-
ment made. As it was, he was eatiog his toast, and had thought
nothing about the letter. Lopez, having concealed the cheque,
read the few words which the private Secretary had written, and
then put the document with ite contente into his pocket. '* So you
think, sir, of going down to Herefordshire on the Idth/' he said in

KAUBI OtTM.

891

a Tory cheery voice. The cheery voice was still pleasout to the old
man, but tiie young wife had already come to distrust it. She had
learned, though she was hardlv conscious how the lesson had come
to her, that a certain tone of (meeriness indicated, if not deceit, at
any rate the concealment of something. It grated against her
spirit ; and when this tone reached her ears a frown or look of
sorrow woi ild cross her brow. And her husband also had perceived
that it wat so, and knew at such times that he was rebuked. He
was hardl]i aware what doings, and especially what feelings, were
imputed to ^ dm as faults, — not understanding the lines which sepa>
rated right from wrong; but he knew that he was often condemned
by his wife, and he lived in fear that he should also be condemned
by his wife's father. Had it been his wife only he thought that he
could soon have quenched her condemnation. He would soon have
made her tired of showing her disapproval. But he had put him-
self into the old man's house, where the old man could see not only
him but his treatment of his wife, and the old man's good- will and
good opinion were essential to him. Yet he could not restrain one
glance of anger at her when he saw that look upon her face.

" I suppose I shall," said the barrister. " I must go somewhere.
My goin^ need not disturb you."

" I think we have made up our mind," said Lopez, " to take a
cottage at Bovercourt. It is not a very lively place, nor yet
fashionable. But it is very healthy, and I can run up to town
easily. Unfortunately my business won't let me be altogether
away this, autumn."
"I wish my business would keep me," said the barrister.
" I did not understand that you nad made up your mind to go to
Dovercourt," said Emily. He had spoken to Mr. Wharton of their
joint action in the matter, and as the place had only once been
named by him to her, she resented what seemed to be a ftdsehood.
She knew that she was to be taken or left as it suited him. If he
had said boldly, — *< We'll go to Dovercourt. That's what I've
settled on. Tliat's what will suit me," she would have been con-
tented. She quite understood that he meant to have his own way
in such thin^. But it seemed to her that he wanted to be a tyrant
without having the courage necessary for tyranny.
" I thought you seemed to tike it, he said.
♦♦ I don't dislike it at all."
■ "Then, as it suite my business, we might as well consic-3r it
settled." So saying, he left the room and went off to the city. The
old man was still sipping his tea and lingering over his breakfEtst
in a way that was not usual with him. He was ^nerally anxious
to get away to Lincoln's Inn, and on most mormng^s had left the
house before his son-in-law. Emily of course remained with him,
sitting silent in her place opposite to the teapot, mediteting j>erhaps
on her prospecte of happiness at Dovercourt,T-a place of which she
had never heard even me name two days ago, and in which it was
hardly possible that she should find even an acquaintance. In

292

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

former years fhese autumn months, passed in HArefordshire, had
been tiie delight of her life.

Mr. Wharton also had seen the cloud on his daughter's face, and
had understood the nature of the little dialogue about Dovercourt.
And he was aware, — had been aware since they had both come into
his house, — ^that the voung wife's manner and tone to her husband
was not that of perfect conjugal sympathy. He had already said
to himself more than once that she had made her bed for herself,
anol must lie upon it. She was the man's witis, and rnxkoi take her
husband as he was. If she suffered under this man's mode and
manner of life he, as her father, could not astist her, — could do
nothing for her, unless the man should become absolutely cruel.
He had settled that within his own mind already ; — but yet his
heart yearned towards her, and when he thought that she was
unhappy he longed to comfort her and tell her that she still had a
father. But the time had not come as yet in which he could comfort
her by sympathizing with her asainst her husband. There had
never fallen from her lips a syllaUe of complaint. When she had
spoken to him a chance word respecting her husband, it had always
carried with it some tone of affection. But still he longed to say to
her something which mi^ht tell her that his heart was soft towards
her. '* Do you like the idea of going to this place 'r " he said.

" I don't at all know what it will be like. Ferdinand says it will
be cheap."

** Is tiiat of such vital consequence ? "

" Ah ; — yes ; I fear it is."

This was very sad to him. Lopez had already had from him a
considerable sum of money, having not yet been married twelve
months, and was now living in London almost free of expense.
Betbre his marriage he had always ^ken of himself, and had
contrived to be spoken of, as a weai^y man, and now he w^
obliged to choose some small English sea-side place to which
to retreat, because thus he might Uve at a low rate ! Had they
married as poor peoplo there would have been nothing to regret
in this; — there would be nothing that might not be done wiUi
entire sat-sfaction. But, as it was, it told a bad tale for the future I
" Do you understand his money matters, Emily P "

•• Not at all, papa."

" 1 do not in the least mean to make inquiry. Perhaps I should
have asked before ; — but if I did make inquiry now it would be Of
him. But 1 think a wife should know."

*• 1 know nothing."

" What is his business P "

" 1 have no idea. I used to think he was connected with Mr.
Mills Happerton and with Messrs. Hunky and Sons."

** Is he not connected with Hunky's house ? "

" 1 think not. He has a partner of the name of Parker, who
is, — who is not, I think, quite —quite a gentleman. I never
saw him."

KAURI OUM.

298

ishire, had

3 face, and
lovercourt.
L come into
)r husband
Iready said
tor iiereelf,
A take her
I mode and
— could do
itely cruel.
3ut yet hifl
at she was
I still had a
uld comfort

There had
en she had
had always
ed to say to
jofi towards
le said.

says it will

rom him a
ried twelve
of expense,
f, and had
ow he w^^

to T^hich
Had they

to regret
done with
the future 1

)8 I should
rould be Of

Id with Mr.

larker, who
I never

" What does he do with Mr. Parker P "
*' I believe they buy guano."
*' Ah ; — that, I fancy, was only one affair."
*' I'm afraid he lost money, papa, by that election at Silverbridge.
<* I paid that," said Mr. Wharton sternly. Surely he should
have told his wife that he had received that mone^ from her family !
" Did you P That was very kind. I am afraid, papa, we are a
great burden on you."

*< I ^ould not mind it, my dear, if there were confidence and
happiness. What matter would it be to me whether you had your
money no a of hereafter, so that you might have it in the manner
that would be most beneficial to you P I wish he would be open
with me, and tell me everything."
*' Shall I let him know that you say so P "
He thought for a minute or two before he answered her. Per-
haps the man would be more impressed if the message came to him
through his wife. " If you think that he will not be annoyed with
you, you may do so."

*< I don't luiow why he should, — but if it be right, that must be
borne. I am not afraid to say anything to him."

« Then tell Vim so. Tell him that it will be better that he should
let me know iie whole condition of his affairs. God bless you,
dear." Thei) he stooped over her, and kissed her> and went his
way to StoDd Buildings.

It was not as he sat at the breakfast table that Ferdinand Lopez
made up his mind to pocket the Duke's money and to say nothmg
about it to Mr. Wharton. He had been careful to conceal the
cheque, but he had done so with the feeling that the matteo: was
one to be considered in his own mind before he took any step. As he
left the house, already considering it, he was inclined to think tiiat
the-.money must be surrendered. Mr. Wharton had very generouslv
paid his electioneering expenses, but had not done so simply wiu
the view of making hmi a present of money. He wished me Duke
had not taken him at his word. In handing this cheque over to
Mr. Wharton ho would be forced to tell the story of his letter to
the Duke, and he was sure that Mr. Wharton would not approve
of his having written such a letter. How could any one approve
of his having applied for a sum of money which had already been
paid to [him P How could such a one as Mr. Wharton, — an old-
fashioned English gentleman, — approve of such an application
beiug made imder any circumstances P Mr. Wharton would very
probably insist on having the cheque sent back to the Duke, —
which would be a sorry end to the triumph as %t present achieved.
Aud the more he thought of it the more sure he was that it would
be imprudent to mention to Mr. Wharton his application to the
Duke. The old men of the present day were, he said to himself,
such fools that they understood nothing. And then the money was
very convenient to him. He was intent on obtaining Sexty Parker's
consent to a large speculation, and knew that he could not do so

29i

THE PBXIIE MINI8TEB.

without a show of fiinds. By the time, therefore, that he had
reached the city he had resolved that at any rate for the preoent ha
would use the mci say uothinff abiout it to Mr. Wharton.

Was it not spoil got ^.^ the enemy bjrhis own ooura£;e and dever-
ness ? When he was writing his acknowledgment for the money
to Warburton he had taught nimself to look upon the sum extracted
firom the Duke as a ma^er quite distinct ftom the payment made
to him by his father-in-law.

It was evident on that day to Sextv Parker that his partner was
a man of great resources. Though things sometimes looked very
bad, yet money always " turned up." Some of their buying and
sellings had answered pretty well. Some had been great failures.
No great stroke had been made as vet, but then the great stroke
was always being expected. Sexty's fears were greatly exaggerated
by the roeliug that the coffee and euano were not always real
coffee and guano. His partner, indeea, was of opinion that in sach
a trade as tkis they were following there was no need at all of real
coffee and real euano, and explained his theory with considerable
eloquence. " If I buy a ton of coffee and keep it six weeks, why
do I buy it and keep it, and why does the seller sell it instead of
keeping it ? The seller sells it because he thinks he can do best
by paxting vrith it now at a certain price. I buy it beoause I
think I can make money by keeping it. It is just the same as
though we were to back our opinions. He backs the fall. I back
the rise. You needn't have coffee and you needn't have guano
to do this. Indeed the possession of the coffee or the ^juano is only
a very clumsy addition to the trouble of your profession. I make
it my study to watch the markets ; — ^but I neeon't buy everything
I see in order to make money by my labour and intelligence.
Sexty Parker before his lunch always thought that his partner was
wrong, but after that ceremony he almost daily became a convert
to the great doctrine. Coffee and guano still had to be bought
because the world was dull and would not learn the tricks of trtide
as taught by Ferdinand Lopez, — also possibly because somebody
might want such articles, — but our enterprising hero looked for a
time in which no such dull burden should be imposed on him.

On this day, when the Duke's £500 was turned into the business,
Sexty gelded in a large matter which his partner had been pressing
upon him for the last week. They bougnt a cargo of kauri gum,
coming from New Zealand. Lopez haa reasons for thinking that
kauri ffum must have a great rise. There was an immense
demand for amber, and kauri gum might be ivsed as a substitute,
and in six months' time would be double its present value. This
unfortunately was a real cargo. He could not find an indi-
vidual so enterprising as to venture to deal in a cargo of kauri gum
after his &shion. But the next best thing was done. IThe real
cargo was bought and his name and Sexty's name were on the
bills given for the goods. On that day he returned home in high
spirits, for be did TOlieve in his own intelligence and good fortune.

MR. WHARTON INTENDS TO MAKB A NEW WILL.

296

CHAPTEB XLIV.

MR. WHARTON nrXXNDS TO MAKE A NEW WILL.

On that afternoon, immediately on the husband's return to the
houae, his wife spoke to him as her father had desired. On that
evening Mr. Wharton was dining at his club, and therefore there
was the whole evening before them ; but the thing to be done was
disagreeable, and therefore she did it at onoe, — rushing into the
matter almost before he had seated himself in the arm-chair which
he had appropriated to his use in the drawing-room. *' Papa was
talking ahout our affairs after you left this morning, and he thinks
that it would be so much better if you would tell him all about
them."

'* What made him talk of that to-day ?" he said, turning at her
almost angrily and thinking at once of the Duke's cheque.

** I suppose it is natural that he should be anxious about us,
Ferdinand ; — and the more natural as he has money to give if he
chooses to give it."

*' I have asked him for nothing lately ; — though, by G^rge, I
intend to ask him and that very roundly. Three uxousand pounds
isn't much of a sum of money for your father to have given you."

*' And he paid the election bill ; — didn't he F"

** He has been complaining of that behind my back, — has he P I
didn't ask him for it. He offered it. I wasn't suoh a fool as to
refuse, but he needn't bring that up as a grievance to you."

** It wasn't brought up as a grievance. I was saying that your
standing had been a heavy enMnditure **

" Why did you say so r What made you talk about it at all P
Why should you be discussing my afiiurs behind my back P"

" To my own father I Ana th&t too when you are telling me
every day that I am to induce him to help you I "

"Not by complaining that I am poor. But how did it all
begin P" She had to thmk for a moment before die could recollect
how it did begin. " There has been something," he said, " whi<^
you are ashamed to tell me." «

" There is nothing that I am ashamed to tell you. There never
has been and never will be anythine-" And she stood up as she
spoke, with open eyes and exten&d nostrils. ** Whatever may
come, however wretched it may be, I shall not be ashamed of
myiself."

"But of me I"

" Why do you say so P Why do you try to make unhappinese
between us P"

" You have been talking of — ^my poverty."

"My father asked why you should go to Dovercourt, — and
whether it was because it would save expense."

" You want to go somewhere ?"

200

TUK PRIMB MINI8TKR.

" Not at all. I am oonteuted to stay in London. But I said
that I thought tho exueaiM had a good deal to do with it. Oi course
it has."

" Whero do you wuut to be takou Y I Huypoue Uoveruourt ii not
fiuihionable."

" I want uothipg."

*' If you are thinking of travollinK abroad, I oau't spare the time.
It isn't an affair of money, and you had no business to say so. i
thought of the ulaoo booause it is quiet and because I can get up
and down easily. I am sorry that I ever came to live in this
house."

"Why do you say that, Ferdinand ?"

" Because you and your father make oabals behind my back.
If there is anything I hate it is that kind ot thing."

" Touare very unjust," she said to him sobbing. " I have never
caballed. I have never done anything against you. OI course
papa ought to know."

" yihy ovL^ht he to know ? Why is your father to have the
right of inquiry into all my private affairs Y"

" Because you want his asHistance. it is only natural. You
always t«dl me to get him to assist you. He spoke most kindly,
saying that he woiud like to know how the things are."

" '^en he won't know. As for wanting his assistance, of course
I want the fortune which he ought to give you. He is man of
the world enough to know that as I am in business capital must
be useful to me. I should have thought that you woiQa under-
stand as much as that yourself."

" I do understand it, I suppose."

"Then why don't youaot as my friend rather than his ? Why
don't you take my part Y it seems to me that you are much
more his daughter than my wif»."

" That is most unfair."

** If you had any pluck you would make him understand that
for vour sake he ought to say what he means to do, so that I
Height have the advantage of the fortune which 1 suppose he
means to give you some day. If you had the slightest anxiety
to help me you could influence him. Instead of that you talk to
him about my poverty. I don't want him to think that I am a
pauper. That's not the way to get round a man like your father,
who is rich himself and who thinks it a disgrace in other men
npt to be rich too."

" I can't tell him in the same breath that you are rich and that
you want money."

*' Money is the means by which men make money. If he was
confident of my business he'd shell out his cash quick enough !
It is because he has been taught to think that I am in a small
way. He'll find his mistake some day."

" Tou won't speak to him then '("'

" I don't say that at all. If I find that it will answer my own

ICA. WHARTUN INTEND8 TO MAKE A NEW WILL.

207

purpofe I ihall apeak to him. But it would be yfoj maoh eMier
to me if I could get you to be oordial in helping me.

Emily by thia time quite knew what auoh ooraialitv meant. He
had be«)u ao free in his word* to her that there could De no miatake.
lie hod instructed her to " get round " her father. And now a^n
he spoke of her influence over her father. Although her illusioitH
were all melting away,— ^h, so quickly yaniahing,— still she knew
that it waa her dutv to be true to her husband, and to be hia v. ife
raUier than her father'a daughter. But what could she say on his
behalf, knowing nothing of ms aflairs ? She had no idea wnat waa
his business, what was his income, what amount uf money she
ought to spend as his wife. Aa fiur aa she could see, — and her
common sense in seeing such things was good, — he had no regular
income, and was justified in no expenditure. On her own account
she would ask for no information. She waa too proud to request
that from him which ahould be given to her without any request.
But in her own defence she must tell him that she could use no
influence with her father aa ahe knew none of the oiroumatauoea
by which her father would be g^ded. " I cannot help you in
the manner you mean," ahe aaid, "because I know nothing
myself."

" You know that you can trust me to do the beet with tout
money if I could get nold of it, I suppose ? " She oeriaiuly did not
know this, and held her tongue. ' ' xou could assure him of that f"

" I could only tell him to judge for himself."

" What you mean ia that you d see me d— — d before you would
open your mouth for me to the old man I "

He had never sworn at her before, and now she burst out into a
flood of tears. It waa to her a terrible outrage. I do not know
that a woman is very much the worae because her husband may
forget himself on an occasion and " rap out a\i oath at her," aa he
would call it when making the best of his own sin. Such an odSence ia
compatible with uniform kindness, and most affectionate considera-
tion. I have known ladiea who would think little or nothing
about it, — who would go no farther than the mildest ^'nrotest, —
" Do remember where you are ! " or, *' My dear John /' — if no
etrauger were present. But then a wrfe should be initiated into it
by degrees ; and there are different tones of bad language, of which
by far the most genend is the good-humoiued tone. We all of us
know men who never damn their servants, or any inferiors, or
straneers, or women, — ^who in fact keep it all for their bosom
friends ; and if a little does sometimes flow oyer in the freedom of
domestic life, the wife is apt to remember that she is the bosomest
of her husband's friends, and ao to pardon the trausgreesion. But
here the word had been uttered with all its foulest violence, with
virulence and vulgarity. It seemed to th6 victim to be the sign of
a terrible crisis in her early married life, — as though the man who
had so spoken to her could never again love her, never again be
kind to her, never again be sweetly gentle and like a lover. Au<^

I 1

I .

298

THE PRIME MINISTER.

as he spoke it he looked at her as though he wpuld like to teai
her limus asunder. She was hightened as well as horrified and
astounded. She had not a word to say to him. She did not know
in wha,t language to make her complaint of such treatment. She
hurst into tears, and throwing herself on the sofa hid her face in
her hands. ** You provoke me to be violent," he said. But still
she coidd not speak to him. " I come away from the city tired
with work and troubled with a thousand things, and you have not
a kind word to say to me." Then there was a pause during which
she still sobbed. " If your father has anything to say to me, let
him say it. I shall not run away. But as to going to him of my
own accord with a story as long as my arm about my own affairs,
I don^t mean to do it." Then he paused a moment again. "Come,
old girl, cheer up I Don't pretend to be brol'<'^n-hearted because
I used a hard word. There are worse things than that to be borne
in the world."

•* 1, — I — I was so startled, Ferdinand."

** A man can't always remember that he isn't with another man.
Don't think anything more about it ; but do bear this in mind, —
that, situated as we are, your influence with your fother may be
the making or the marring of me." And so he left the room.

She sat for the next ten minutes thinking of it alL The words
which he had spoken were so horrible that die could not get them
out of her mind, — could not bring herself to look ui>on mem as a
trifle. The darkness of his countenance still dwelt with her, — and
that absence of all tenderness, that coarse un-marital and yet
marital roughness, which should not at any rate have come to mm
so soon. The whole man too was so different from what she had
thought him to be. Before their marriage no word as to money
had ever reached her.ears from his lips. He had talked to her of
books, — and especially of poetry. Shakespeare and MoUere, Dante,
and Qoethe had been or had seemed to be dear to him. And he
had been fall of fine ideas about women, and about men in their
intercourse with women. For his sake she had separated herself
from all her old friends. For his sake she had hurried into a
marriage altogether 4i8tasteful to her father. For his sake she
had closed her heart against that other lover. Trusting altogether
in him G(he had ventim>d to think that she had known what was
good for her better than all those who had been her counsellors,
and had given herself to him utterly. Now she was awake ; her
dream was over ; and the natural language of the man was still
ringing in her ears !

They met together at dinner and passed the evening without a
further allusion to the scene which had been acted. He sat with
a magazine in his hand, eve.y now and then making some remark
intended to be pleasant out which grated on her ears as being
fictitious. She would answer him, — ^because it was her duty to do
so, and because she would not condescend to sulk ; but she could
not bring herself even to say to herself that all should be with

MR. WHARTON INTENDS TO MAKE A NEW WILL.

299

her as though that horrid word had not been spoken. She sat
over her work till ten, answering him when he spoke in a voice
which was also fictitious, and then took herself off to her bed that
she might weep alone. It would, she knew, be late before he
would come to her.

On the next morning there came a messi^e to him as he was
dressing. Mr. Wharton wished to speak to him. Would he come
down before breakfast, or would he call on Mr. Wharton in Stone
Buildings ? He sent down word that he would do the latter at an
hour he fixed, and then did not show himself in the breakfast-
room till Mr. Wharton was gone. " I've got to go to your father
to-day," he said to his wife, " and I thought it best not to begin
till we come to the regular business. I hope he does not mean to
be unreasonable." To this she made no answer. " Of course you
think the want of reason will be all on my side."

•' I don't know why you should say so.

" Because I can read your mind. You do think so. YouVe
been in the same boat with your father all your life, and you can't
get out of that boat and get into mine. I was wrong to come and
Uve here. Of course it was not the way to withdraw you from his
infiuence." She had nothing to say mat would not anger htm,
and was therefore silent. '* Well ; I must do the best I can by
myself, I suppose. Good-bye," and so he was off.

'* I want to know," said Mr. Wharton, on whom was thrown by
premeditation on the part of Lopez the task of beginning the con-
versation, — ' ' I want to know what is the nature of your operations.
I have never been quite able to understand it."

" I do not know that I quite understand it myself," said Lopez,
laughing.

" No man alive," continued the old barpster almost solemnly,
"has a greater objection to thrust himself into another man's
affairs than I have. And as I didn't ask the question before your
marriage, — as perhaps I ought to have done, — I should not do so
now, were it not that the disposition of some part of the earnings
of my life must depend on the condition of your affairs." Lopez
immediately perceived that it behoved hin^ to be very much on the
alert. It might be that if he showed himself to be very poor, his
father-in-law would see the necessity of assisting him at once ; or,
it might be, that unless he could show himself to be in prosperous
circumstances, his fatber-in-law would not assist him at all. "To
tell you the plain truth, I am minded to make a new will. I had
of course made arreingements as to my j roperty before Emily's
marriage. Those arrangements I think I shall now alter. I am
greatly distressed with Everett ; and from what I see and from a
few words which have dropp«»d from Emily, I am not, to tell you
the truth, quite happy as to your position. If I understand rightly
you are a general merchant, buying and selling goods in the
ma^kef?"

. ♦at's about it, sir."

800

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

'l!

" What capital haye you in the business ? "

"What capital?"

" Yes ; — ^how much did you put into it at starting ?'*

Lopez paused a moment. He had got his wife. The marriage
could not be undone. Mr. Wharton had money enough fur them
all, and would not certainly discard his daughter. Mr. Wharton
could place him on a really firm footing, and might not improbably
do so if he could be made to feel some confidence in his son-in-law.
At this moment there was much doubt with the son-in-law whether
he had better not tell the simple truth. "It has gone in by degrees,"
he said. " Altogether I have had about £8,000 in it." In truth
he had never been possessed of a shilling.

" Does that include the £3,000 you had from me ? "

"Yes; it does."

" Then you have married my girl and started into the world with
a business based on £5,000, and which had so far miscarried that
within a month or two after your marriage you were driven to
apply to me for funds ! "

** I wanted money for a certain purpose."

"Have you any partner, Mr. Lopez?" This address was felt
to be very ominous.

" Yes. I have a partner who is possessed of capital. Ilis name
is Parker."

" Then his capital is your capital."

" Well ; — I can't explain it, but it is not so." *

" What is the name of your firm ?"

" We haven't a registered name."

" Have you a place of business ? "

" Parker has a place of business in Little Tankard Yard.'*

Mr. Wharton turned to a directory and found out Parker's
name. " Mr. Parker is a stockbroker. Are you also a stock-
broker ? "

"No,— I am not."

" Then, sir, it seems to me that you are a commercial adven-
turer?"

"I am not at all ashamed of the name, Mr. Wharton. According
to your manner of reckoning, half the business in the City of
London is done by commerci^ adverturers. I watch the markets
and buy goods, — and sell them at a profits 'Mr. Parker is a
moneyed man, who happens also to be a stockbroker. We can
very easily cidl ourselves merchants, and put up the names of

Lopez and Parker over the door."
" Do you sign bills together ? "

" Yes."

" As Lopez and Parker P"

" No. I sign them and he signs them. I trade also by myself,
and so, I believe, does he."

"One other question, Mr. Lopez. On what income have ^ou
paid income-tax for the last three years ? "

MRS. SEXTY PARKEB.

801

" On £2,000 a- rear," said Lopez. This was a direct lie.

" Can you make out any schedule showing your exact assets and
liabilities at the present time P "

" Certainly I can."

" Then do so, and send it to me before I ^o into Herefordshire.
My will as it stands at present would not be to your advantage.
But I cannot change it till I know more of your circumstanoes
than I do now." And so the interview was over.

CHAPTEB XLV.

MRS. SEXTY PARKER.

Thotjgh Mr. Wharton and Lopez met every day for the next week,
nothing more was said about the schedule. The old man was
thinking about it every day, and so also was Lopez. But M. .
Wharton had made his demand, and, as he thought, nothing more
was to be said on the subject. He could not continue the subject
as he would have done with his son. But as day after day passed
by he became more and more convinced that his son-in-law's
atTairs were not in a state which could bear to see the light.
He had declared his purpose of altering his will in tiie m.in'8
favour, if the man would satisfy him. Ajad yet nothing was done
and nothing was said.

Lopez had come among them and robbed him of his daughter.
Since the tnan had become intimate in his house he had not known
an hour's happiness. The man had destroyed all the plans of his
life, broken through into his castle, and violated his very hearth.
No doubt he himself had vacillated. He was aware of that, and
in his present mood was severe enough in judging himself. In his
desolation he had tried to take the man to his heart, — had been
kind to him, and had even opened his house to him. He had told
himself that as the man was the husband of his daughter he had
better make the best of it. He had endeavoured to make the best
of it, but between him and the man there were such differences
that they were poles asunder. And now it became clear to him
that the man was, as he had declared to the man's face, no better
than an adventurer !

By his will as it at present stood he had left two-thirds of his
property to Everett, and one- third to his daughter, with arrange-
ments for settling her share on her children, should she be married
and have children at the time of his death. This will had been
made many years ago, and he had long since determined to alter
it, in order that he might divide his property equally between his
children ; — but he had postponed the matter, intenaing to give a

802

THE PBIME MINISTER.

large portion of Emily's share to her directly on her marriage with
Arthur Fletcher. She had not married Arthur Fletcher; — but
still it was necessary that a new will should be made.

When he left town for Herefordshire he had not yet made up
his mind how this should be done. He had at one time thought
that he would give some considerahle sum to Lopez at once,
knowing that to a man in business such assistance would be useful.
And he nad not altogether abandoned that idea, even when he had
asked for the schedme. He did not relish the thougbt of giving
his hard-earned money to Lopez, but, stUl, the man's wife was his
daughter and he must do the best that he could for her. Her
taste in marrying the man was inexplicable to him. But that was
done; — and now how might he best arrange his affairs so as to
serve her interests P

About the middle of August he went to Herefordshire and she
to the sea side in Essex, — to the little place which Lopez had
selected. Before the end of the month the father-in-law wrote a
line to his son-in-law.

*' Deak Lopez," (not without premeditation had he departed
from the sternness of that " Mr. Lopez," which in his anger he
had used at his chambers,) —

" When we were discussing your affairs I asked you for a
schedule of your assete and liabilities. I can make no new arrange-
ment of my property till I receive this. Should I die leaving my
present will as the instrument under which my property woiud be
conveyed to my heirs, Emily's share would go into the hands of
trusteies for the use of herself and her possible children. I tell you
this that you may understand that it is for your own interest to
comply with my requisition.

•* Youis,

"A. Wharton."

Of course questions were asked him as to how the newly married
couple were getting on. At Wharton these questions were mild
and easily put off. Sir Alured was contented "vith a slight shake
of his head, and Lady Wharton only remarked for the fifth or
sixth tiire that '* it was a pity." But when they all went to
Longbams, the difficulty became greater. Arthur was not there,
and old Mrs. Fletcher was in full strength. " So the Lopezes have
come to live with you in Manchester Square P" Mr. Wharton
acknowledged that it was so with an afiirmiative grunt. " I hope
he's a pleasant inmate." There was a scorn in the old woman's
voice as she said this, which ought to have provoked any man.

" More so than most men would be," said Mr. Wharton.

"Oh, indeedl"

" He is courteous and forbearing, and does not think that every-
thing around bim should be suited to his own peculiar fancies."

'*! am glad that you are contented with the marriage, Mr,
Wbarton."

^r-^S^

MBS. SEXTY PARKER.

808

" Who has gaid that I am contented with it P No one ought to
understand or to share my discontent so cordially as yourseli',
Mrs. Fletcher ; — and no one ought to be more chary of speaking of
it. You and I had hoped other things, and old people do not like
to be disappointed, ^ut I needn't paint the devil blacker than
he is."

" I'm afraid that, as usual, he is rather black."

" Mother," said John Eletcher, " the thing has been done and
you might as well let it be. We are all sorry that Emily has. not
come nearer to us ; but she has had a right to choose for herself,
and I for one wish, — as does my brother also, — that she may be
happy in the lot she has chosen.

" His conduct to Arthur at Silyerbridge was so nice !" said the
pertinacious old woman.

*• Never mind his conduct, mother. What is it to us ?"

" That's all very well, John ; but according to that nobody is to
talk about anybody."

'• I would much prefer at any rate," said Mr. Wharton, ** that
you would not talk about Mr. Lopez in my hearing."

" Oh; if that is to be so, let it be so. And now I understand
where I am." Then the old woman shook herself, and endeavoured
to look as though Mr. Wharton's soreness on the subject wero an
injury to her as robbing her of a useful topic.

** I don't like Lopez, you know," Mr. Wharton said- to John
Fletcher afterwards. " How would it be possible that I should
like such a man P But there can be no good got by complaints.
It is not what your mother suffers, or what even I may suffer, —
or, worse again, what Arthur may suffer, that makes the sadness
of all this. What will be her life P That is the question. And it
is too near me, too important to me, for the endurance either of
scorn or pity. I was glad that you asked your mother to be
silent."

''lean understand it," said John. "I do not think that she
will trouble you again."

In the mean time Lopez received Mr. Wharton's letter at Dover-
court, and had to con£?ider what answer he should give to it. No
answer could be satisfactory, — unless he could impose a false
answer on his iather-in-law so as to make it credible. The more
he thought of it, the more he believed that this would be impos-
sible. The cautious old lawyer would not accept unverified state-
ments. A certain sum of money, — by no means illiberal as a
present, — he had already extracted frdm the old man. What ho
wanted was a further and a much larger grant. Though Mr.
Wnarton was old he did not want to have to wait for the death
even of an old man. The next two or three years, — probably the
very next year,— might be the turning point of his hfe. He had
married the girl, and ought to have the gill's fortune, — down on
the nail ! That was his idea ; and the old man was robbinji; him
in not acting up to it. As he thought of this he cursed his ill-

Il . 'I I
ll'H

l! i 1 I ■

804

THE PBIMB MINISTER.

•I ,1

k I!

I'.

luck. The husbands of othei girle had their fortunes conveyed to
them immediately on their marriage. What would not £20,000
do for him, if he could get it into hie hana Y And so he tau^bt
himself to regard the old man as a robber and himself as a victim.
Who among us is there that does not teach himselt the same
lesson P And then too how cruelly, how damnably he had been
used by the Duchess of Omnium ! And now Idexty Parker, whose
fortune he was making for him, whose fortune he at any rate
intended to make, was troubling him in various ways. "We're
in a boat together," Sexty had said. " You've had the use ot my
money, and by heavens you have it still. 1 don't see why you
should be so stiff. Do you bring your missis to Dovercourt, and
I'll take mine, and let 'em know each other." There was a little
argument on the subject, but Sexty Parker had the best of it, and
in this way the trip to Dovercourt was arranged.

Lopez was in a very good humour when he took his wife down,
and he walked her round the terracos and esplanades of that
not sufficiently well -known marine ^artulise, now bidding her
admire the sea and now laughing at the finery ot the people, till
she became gradually filled with an idea that as he was making
himself pleasant, she also ought to do the same. Of course she
was not happy. The gilding had so completely and so rapidly
been washed off her idol that she could not be very happy. But
she also could be good-humoured. " And now," said he smiling,
*• I have got something for you to do for me, — something that you
will find very disagreeable.*'

" What is it P It won't be very bad, I'm sure."

** It will be very bad, I'm afraid. My excellent but horribly
vulvar partner, Mr. Sextus Parker, when he found that I was
coming nere, insisted on bringing his wife and children here also.
I want you to know them."

" Is mat all ? She must be very bad indeed if I can't put up
with that."

" In one sense she isn't bad at all. I believe her to be an excel-
lent woman, intent on spoiling her children and giving her hus-
band a good dinner every day. But I think you'll find that she
is, — well, — not c[uite what you call a lady."

" I shan't mind that in the least. I'll help her to spoil the
children."

" You can get a lesson there, you know," he said, looking into
her face. The little joke vrw one which a young wife might take
with pleasure from her huroand, but her life had already been too
much embittered for any such delight. Tes ; the time was coming
when that trouble also would be added to her. She dreaded she
knew not what, and had often told herself that it would be better
that she should be childless.

•* Do you like him P " she said.

" Like him. No ; — I can't say I like him. He is useful, and in
one sense honest."

MBS. SEXTT PARKEB.

806

'* Is he not honest in all senses ? "

" That's a large order. To tell you the truth, I don't know any
man who is."

'• Everett is honest."

" He loses money at play which he oan't pay without assistance
from his father. If his father had refused, where would then have
been his honesty P Sexty is as honest as others, I dare say, but I
shouldn't like to trust him much farther than I can see mm. I
sham't go up to town to-morrow, and we'll both look in on thprr)
after luncheon."

In the afternoon the call was made. The Parkers, having child-
ren, had dined early, and he was sitting out in a litt& porch
smoking his pipe, drinking whisky and water, and looking at the
sea. Tfis eldest girl was standing between his le^, and nis wife,
with the other three children round her, was sitting on the doer-
step. ** I've brought my wife to see you," said Lopez, holding out
his hand to Mrs. Parker, as she rose from the ground.

*' I told her that you'd be coming," said Sexty, *' and she wanted
me to put off my pipe and little drop of drink ; but I said that if
Mrs. Lopez was the lady I took her to be she wouldn't begrudge a
hard-working fellow his pipe and glass on a holiday."

There was a soundness of sense in this which mollified any feeling

disgust which Emily might have felt at the man's vulgarity. "I

of disgust

think you are quite right, Mr. Parker. I should be very sorry if, —
if '**

" If I was to put my pipe out. Well, I won't. You'll take a
glass of sherry, Lopez P Though I'm drinking spirits myself, X
brought down a hamper of sherry wine. Oh, nonsense ; — you must
take something. That's right, Jane. Let us have the stuff and the
glasses, and then they can do as the^ like." Lopez lit a cigar, and
allowed his host to pour out for him a glass of " sherry wine,"
while Mrs. Lopez went into the house with Mrs. Parker and ti^e
children.

Mrs. Parker oponed herself out to her new friend immediately.
She hoped that tney two might see " a deal of each other ; — ^that is,
if you don't think me tori pushinga" Sextus, she said, ^as so much
away, coming down to Dovercourt only every other day ! And then,
within the half hour whic'-h was consumed by Lopez with his cigar,
the poor woman got upon the ^neral troubles of her life. Did
Mrs. Lopez think that " all this speckelation was just the right
thing ?'^

" I don't think that I know anything about it, Mrs. Parker."

" But vou ought ; — oughtn't you, now'P Don't you think that a
wife ought to know what it is that her husband is after ; — specially
if there's children P A good bit of the money was mine, Mrs. Lopez ;
and though I don't begrudge it, not one bit, if any good is to come
out of it to him or them, a woman doesn't like what her father has
given her should be made ducks and drakes of."

" But are they making ducks and drakes f **

806

THE IlRIME MINISTER.

*il

ii;

" When he don't tell me I'm always afeard. And I'll tell you
what I know iuat as well as two and two. When he oomes home a
little flustered, and then takes more than his regular idlowance, he's
been at something as don't quite satisfy him. He's neyer that way
when he's done a good day's work at his regular business. He
takes to the children then, and has one glass after his dinner, and
tells me all about it, — down to the shillings and pence. But it's very
seldom he's that way now." ,

'* Tou may think it very odd, Mrs. Parker, but I don't in the
least know what my husband is — in business."

•* And you never ask ? "

" I haven't been very long married, you know ; — only about ten
months."

** I'd had my fust by that time."

" Only nine months, I think, indeed."

<< WeU ; I wasn't yeiy long after that. But I took care to know
what it was he was a doing of in the city long before that time.

And I did use to know everything, till " She was going to

say, till Lopez had come upon the scene. But she did not wish, at
any rate as yet, to be harsh to her new friend.

" I hope it is all right," said Emily.

" Sometimes he's as though the Bank of England was all his
own. And there's been more money come into the house ; — that I
must say. And there isn't an open-handeder one than Sexty any-
where. He'd like to see me in a silk gown every day of my life ; —
and as for the children, there's nothing smart enough for them.
Only I'd sooner have a little and safe, than anything ever so fine,
and never be sure whether it wasn't going to oome to an end."

•' There I agree with you, quite."

** I don't suppose men feels it as we do; but, oh, Mrs. Lopez,
give me a little, safe, so that I may ^low that I shan't see my
children want. When I thinks what it would be to have them
darlings' little bellies empty, and nothing in the cupboard, I get
that low that I'm nigh fit for Bedlam."

In the meantime the two men outside the porch were discussing
their affairs 'in somewhat che same spirit. At last Lopez showed
his friend Wharton's lettor, and told him of the expected schedule.

•' Schedule be d d, you kno^," said Lopez. •* How am I to put

down a rise of 12«. 6a. a ton on Kauri gum in a schedule P But
. when you come to 2,G00 tons it's £1,251)."

' ♦ He's very old ;— isn't he ? "

** But as strong as a horse.'*

** He's got the money ? "

" Yes ; — :he has got it safe enough. There's no doubt about the
money."

'• What he talks about is only a will. Now you want the money
at once."

" Of course I do ; — and he talks to me as if I were some old fogy
with an estato of my own. I must concoct a letter and explain my

HE WANTS TO GET RICH TOO QUICK.

807

views ; and the more I can make him understand how things really
are the better. I don't suppose he wants to see his daughter come
to grief."

" Then the sooner you write it the better," said Mr. Parker.

CHAPTER XLVI.

HE WANTS TO GET RICH TOO QUICK

As they strolled home Lopez told his wife that he had accepted an
invitation to dine the next day at the Parkers' cottage. In doing
this his manner was not quite so gentle as when he had asked her
to call on them. He had been a little ruffled by what had been
said, and now exhibited his temper. " I don't suppose it will be
very nice," he said, " but we may have to put up with worse things
than that."

•* I have made no objection."

•• But you don't seem to take to it very cordially."

•• I had thought that I ffot on very well with Mrs. Parker. If
you can eat your dinner with them, I'm sure tha . I can. You do
not seem to like him altogether, and I wish you had got a partner
more to your taste."

" Taste, indeed ! "When you come to this kind of thing it isa't a
matter of taste. The fact is that I am in that fellow's hands to aA
extent I don't like to think of, and don't see my way out of it
unless your father will do as he ought to do. Tou altogether refuse
to help me with your father, and you must, therefore, put up with
Sexty Parker and his wife. It is quite on the cards that worse
things may come even than Sexty Parker." To this she made no
immediate answer, but walked on, increasing her pace, not only
unhappy, but also very angry. It was becoming a matter of doubt
to her whether she could continue to bear these repeated attacks
about her father's money. "I see how it is," he continued. "You
think that a husband should bear all the troubles of life, and that
a wife should never be made to hear of them."

" Ferdinand," she said, " I declare I did not think that any man
could be so unfair to a woman as you are to me."

" Of course ! Because I haven't got thousands a year to spend
on you I aiii unfair."

" I am content to live in any way that you may direct. If you
are poor, I am satisfied to be poor. If you are evon ruined, I am
content to be ruined."

" Who is talking about ruin ? "

*' If you are in want of everything, I also will be in want and
will never complain. Whatever our joint lot may bring to us I will

808

iii

i 11!

f !l
I 1

lii

THE PRIME MINTBTRB.

endure, aod will endeavour to endure with cheerfulness. But I
will not ask my father for money, either for you or for myself. He
knows what he ought to do. I trust him implicitly."

'* And me not at all."

"^e is, I know, in communication with you about what should
be done. I can only say, — tell him every thmg."

" My dear, that is a matter in which it may be possible that I
understand mv own interest best."

** Very likely. I certainly understand nothing, for I do not even
know the nature of your business. How can I tell him that he
ought to give you money ? "

" Tou might ask him for your own."

** I have got nothing. Did I ever tell you that I had P "

" Ton ought to have known."

" Do vou mean that when you asked me to marry you I should
have remsed you because I did not know what money papa would
give me P miy did you not ask papa P "

" Had I known him then as well as I do now you may be quite
sure that I should have done so."

"Ferdinand, it will be better that we should not speak abcut
my father. I will in all thines strive to do as you would have me,
but I cannot hear him abused If you have anything to say, go to
Everett."

•* Yes ; — when he is such a gambler that your father won't even
speak to him. Tour father will be found jdead in his bed some
day, and all his money will have been left to some curr.ecl hospital."
They were at their own door when this was said, and she, without
further answer, went up to her bedroom.

All these bitter things had been said, not because Lopfe.'^s had
thought that he could mrther his own views by saying them ; —he
knew indeed that he was ii\juring himself by every display of ill-
temper ; — ^but she was in his power, and Sexty Parker was rebelliug.
He thought a ^ood deal that day on the delight he would have in
" kicking that ill-conditioned cur," if only he could afford to kick
him. But his wife was his own, and she must be taught to endure
his will, and must be made to know that though she was not to be
kicked, yet she was to be tormented and ill-used. And it might
be possible that he should so cow her spirit as to bring her to act
HA he should direct. Still, as he walked ^one along the sea-shore,
ho knew that it would be better for him to control his temper.

On that evening he did write to Mr. Wharton, — as follows, — and
he dated his letter from Little Tankard Yard, so that Mr. Wharton
might suppose that that was really his own place of business, and
that he was there, at his work ; —

^fi

Mt dear Sir,

** You have asked for a schedule of my affairs, and I have
found it quite impossible to give it. As it was with the merchants
whom Shakespeare and the other dramatists described, — so it is

HE WANTS TO GET RICH TOO QUICK.

809

with me. My caravols aro out at sea, and will uot always come home
in time. My property at this moment consists of certain shares of
cureoes of jute, Kaun gum, ^ano, and sulphur, worth altogether
at the present moment something over £26,000, of which Mr. Parker
possesses the half ; — but then of this property only a portion is

Eaid for,— perhaps something more than a half. For the other
alf our bills are in the market. But in February next these
articles will probably be sold for considerably more than £30,000.
If I had £5,000 placed to my credit- now, I should be worth about
£15,000 by the end of next February. I am enga^^ in sundry
other smaUer ventures, all returning profits ; — but in such a con-
dition of things it is impossible that I should make a schedule.

" I am undoubtedly in tiie condition of a man trading beyond
his capital. I have been tempted by fair offers, and what I think
I may call something beyond an average understanding of such
matters, to go into ventures beyond my means. I have stretched
my arm out too far. In such a position it is not perhaps unnatural
that I should ask a wealthy father-in-law to assist me. It is
certainly not unnatural that I should wish him to do so.

" I do not think that I am a mercenary man. When I married
your daughter I raised no question as to her fortune. Being
embarked in trade I no doubt thought that her means, — whatever
they might be, — would be joined to my own. I know thiat a sum
of £20,000, with my experience in the use of money, would give
us a noble income. But I would not condescend to ask a question
which might lead to a supposition that I was marrying her for her
money and not because 1 loved her.

" You now know, I think, all that I can tell you. If there be
any other questions I would willingly answer them. It is cer-
tainly the c&se that Emily's fortune, whatevei you may choose to
give her, would be of infinitely greater use to me now, — and con-
sequently to her, — than at a future date which I sincercdy pray
may be very long deferred.

" JBelieve me to be, your affectionate son-in-law,

"Ferdinand Lopez.
"A. Wharton, Esq."

This letter he himself took up to town on the following day, and
there posted, addressing it to Wharton Hall. He did not expect
very great results from it. As he read it over, he was painfully
aware that all his trash about caravels and cargoes of sulphur
would not go far with Mr. Wharton. But it might go farther than
nothing. He was bound not to neglect Mr. Wharton's letter to
him. When a man is in difficulty about money, even a lie, — even
a lie that is sure to be found out to be a lie, — will serve his imme-
diate turn l)etter than silence. There is nothing that the courts
hato so much as contempt ; not even perjury. And Lopez felt
that Mr. Wharton was the judge before whom he was bound to plead.

Ue returned to Dovercourt on that day, and he and his wife

'"^.

*'«

810

THE PRIME MINIUTF.R.

dined with tho Parkers. Nu woiuun of her ago bad known hotlnr
what were the manuers of Udiee and gentlemen than Euiily
Whailou. She had thoroughly understood that when in Uereford-
shire she was surrounded oy people of that class, and thut when
she was with her aunt, Mrs. Koby, she was not quite so happily
placed. No doubt she had been terribly deceived by her nus-
Dand,— but . the deceit had come from the fact that his manners
gave no indication of his character. Whep she found herueli' in,
Mrs. Parker's little sitting-room, with Mr. Parker making florid
speeches to her, she knew that she had fallen among people for
whose society she had not been intended. But this was a part,
and oiily a very trifling part, of the punishment which she felt
that she deserved. If that, and things like that, were all, she
would bear them without a murmur. *

" Now I call Dovercourt a dooced nice little place," said Mr.
Parker as he helped her to the " bit of fish," whidh he told her he
had brought down with him from London.

*' It is very healthy, I should think."

" Just the thing for the children, ma'am. You've none of your
own, Mrs. Lopez, but there's a good time coming. You were up
to-dav, weren't you, Lopez ? Any news P"

" Thinq^s seemed to be very quiet in the city."

" Too quiet, I'm afraid. I hate having 'em quiet. You must
come and see me in Little Tankard Yard some of these days, Mrs.
Lopez. We can give you a glass of cham. and the wing of a
chicken ; — can't we, Lopez ? "

" I don't know. It's more than you ever gaye me," said Lopez,
trying to look good-humoured.

'• But you ain't a lady."

" Or me," said Mrs. Pr'tker.

** You're only a wife, xi Mrs. Lopez will make a day of it we'll
treat her well in the city ; — ^won't we, Ferdinand F " A black cloud
oame across " Ferdinand's " face, but he said nothing. Emily of a
sudden drew herself up, unconsciously, — and then at once relaxed
her features and smiled. If her husband chose that it eAiould be
so, she would make no objection.

" Upon my honour, Sexty, you are very familiar," said Mrs.
Parker.

" It's a way we have in the city," said Sexty, Sexty knew what
he was about. His partner called him Sexty, and why shouldn't
he call his partner Ferdinand ?

*' He'll call you Emily before lone," said Lopez.

" When you call my wife Jane I snail, — and I've no objection in
life. I don't see why people ain't to call each other by their
Christian names. Take a glass of champagne, Mrs. Lopez. I
broueht down half-a-dozen to-day so that we might be jolly. Care
killed a cat. Whatever we call each other, I'm very glad to see
you here, Mrs. Lopez, and I hope it's the first of a great many.
Here's your health."

^Ii

■pi.

** HP. WANTS TO ORT RICH TOO QUICK."

811

their
I

Care
see
any.

It was all hiR ordering, and if he bade her dine with a croMing-
Rweeper she would do it. But she oould not but remember that
not long since he had told her that his partner was not a person
with whom she could fitly ussooiate ; and she did not fail to per-
ceive that he must be going down in the world to adroit such
association for her after he had so spoken. And as she sipped the
mixture which Sexty called champagne, she thought of Hereford-
shire and the banks of Hi^ Wye, and, — alas, alas, — she thought ol
Arthur Fletcher. Nevertheless, come what might, she would do
her duty, even thoueh it might call upon her to sit at dinner with
Mr. Parker three £tyB in tne we^. Lopez was her husband,
and would be the father of her child, and she would make herself
one with him. It mattered not what people might call him,— or
even her. She had acted on her own judgment in marrying him,
and had been a fool; and now she womd bear the puniuiment
without complaint.

When dinner was oyer Mrs. Parker helped the servant to
remove the dinner things from the single sitting-room, and the
two men went out to smoke their cigars in the covered porch.
Mrs. Parker herself took out the whisky and hot water, and sugar
and lemons, and then returned to have a little matronly discourse
with her guest. " Does Mr. Lopez ever take a drop too much P"
she asked.

** Never,** said Mrs. Lopez.

" Perhaps it don't affect him as it do Sexty. He ain't a drinker ;
—certainly not. And he'b one that works hard every day of his
life. But he's getting fond of it these last twelve months, and
tbough he don't take very much it hurries him and flurries him.
If I speaks at night he gets cross ; — and in the morning when he
gets up, which he always do regular, though it's ever so bad with
him, then I haven't the heart to scold him. It's very hard some-
times for a wife to know what to do, Mrs. Lopez."

" Tea, indeed." Emily could not but think how soon she her-
self had learned that lesson. «

•* Of course I'd do anything for Sexty, — the father of my bairns,
and has always been a good husband to me. You don't know
him, of course, but I do. A right good man at bottom ; — but so
weak ! "

*• If he, — ^if he, — injures his health, shouldn't you talk to him
quietly about it?"

" It isn't the drink as is the evil, Mrs. Lopez,, but that which
makes him drink. He's not one as goes a mucker merely ibr the
pleasure. When things are going right he'll sit out in our arbour
at home, and smoke pipe after pipe, playing with the children,
and one glass of gin and water cold will see him to bed. Tobacco,
dry, do agree with him, I think. But when he comes to three or
four proes of hot toddy, I know it's not as it should be."

" You should restrain him, Mrs. Parker."

" Of course I should; — but how ? Am I to walk off with the

»12

THE PRIME MINISTER.

bottle and disgrace him before the servant girl P Or am I to let
the children know as their father takes too much P If I was as
much as to make one fight of it, it 'd be all over Ponder's End that
he's a drunkard ; — ^whi^ he ain't. Bestrain him ;^-oh, yes ! If I
could restrain that gambling instead of regular business I That's
what I'd like to restrain."

" Does he g^amble P" ^

" What is it but gambling that he and Mr. Lopez is a doing
together P Of course, ma'am, I don't know you, and you are
different from me. I ain't foolish enough not to know all that.
My father stood in Smithfield and sold hay, and your father is a
gentleman as has been high up in the Oourte all his life. But it's
your husband is a doing tiois.'

•' Oh, Mrs. Parker ! '^

"He is then. And if he brings Sexty and my little ones to the
workhouse, what'll be the good men of his guano and his gum P "

*' Is it not all in the fair way of commerce P "

<< I'm sure I don't know about commerce, Mrs. Lopez, because
I'm only a woman ; but it can't be fair. They goes and buys things
that they haven't got the money to pay for, and then waits to see
if they'll turn up trumps. Isn't that gambling P "

« I cannot say. I do not know." She folt now that her husband
had been accused, and that part of the accusation had been levelled
at herself. There was something in her manner of saying these
few words which the poor complaining woman perceived, feeling
immediately that she had been inhospitable and perhaps unjust.
She put out her hand softly, touching the other woman's arm, and
lookmg up into her guest's face. ** If this is so, it is terrible," said
Emily.

" Perhaps I oughn't to speak so free."

" Oh, yes ; — for your children, and yourself, and your husband."

" It's them, — and him. Of course it's not your doing, and Mr.
Lopez, I'm sure, is a very fine gentleman. And if he gets wrong
one way, he'll get himself right in anothw." Upon hearing this
Emily shook her head. " Your papa is a rich man, and won't see
you and yours come to want. There's nothing more to come to me
or Sexty let it be ever so."

" Why does he do it P'*

" Why does who do it P"

*' Tour husband. Why don't you speak to him as you do to me,
and tell him to mind only his proper business P"

*' Now you are an^^y with me.

** Angry ! No ; — mdeed I am not angry. Every word that you
say is good, and true, and just what you ought to say. I am not
angry, but I am terrified. I know nothing of my husband's
business. I cannot tell you that you should trust to it. He is very
clever, but "

"But—what, ma'am P"

" Perhaps I should say that he is ambitious."

(«

HE WANTS to GET RICH TOO QUICK.

♦ »

818

" Tou mean he wants to get rich too quick, ma'am. ^

" I'm afraid so."

" Then it's just the same with Sexty. He's ambitious too. But
what's the good of being ambitious, Mrs. Lopez, if you never ITuow
whether you're on your head or your heels ? And what's the good
of being ambitious if you're to get into the workhouse P I know
what that means. There's one or two of them sort of men gets
into Parliament, and has houses as big as the Queen's pidace, while
hundreds of them has their wives and children in the gutter. Who
ever hears of them ? Nobody. It don't become any man to be
ambitious who has got a wife and family. If he's a bachelor,
why, of course, he can go to the Oolonies. There's Mary Jane and
the two little ones right down on the sea, with their feet in the
salt water. Shall we put on our hats, Mrs. Lopez, and go and look
after them F " To this proposition Emily assented, and the two
ladies went out after the children.

*♦ Mix yourself another glass," said Sexty to his partner.

" I'd rather not. Don't ask me again. Tou know I never drink,
and I don't like being pressed."

•• By George I — You are particular."

** What's me use of teasing a fellow to do a thing he doesn't
like?"

" You won't mind me having another ? "

" Fifty if you please, so that I'm not forced to join you."

** Forced ! It's liberty 'all here, and you can do as you please.
Only when a fellow will take a drop with me he's better company."

•* Then I'm d bad company, and you'd better get somebody

else to be jolly with. To tell you the truth, Sexty, I suit you
better at business than at this sort of thing. I'm like Sbylock, you
know."

" I don't know about Shylock, but I'm blessed if I think ^ou
suit me very well at anything. I'm putting up with a deal of ill-
usage, and when I try to be mippy with you, you won't drink, and
you tell me about Shylock. He was a Jew, wasn't he P"

" That is the general idea."

** Then you ain't very much like him, for they're a sort of people
that always have money about 'em."

*• How do you supposo he made his money to begin with P What
an ass you are ! "

" That's true. I am. Ever since I began putting my name on
the same bit of paper with yours I've been an ass."

'• You'll have to be one a bit longer yet ; — unlcbS you mean to
throw up everything. At this present moment you are six or
seven thousand pounds richer than you were before you first met
me"

f»

'* I wish I could see the money."

*• That's like you. What's the use of money you can see ? How
are you to make money out of money by looking at it P I like to
kiiuwr that, my money is fructifying."

814

THE PBIMB MINISTER.

Hi'Sii

"I like to know that it's all there, — and I did know it before 1
ever saw you. I'm blessed if I know it now. Go down and join
the ladies, will you ? You ain't much of a companion up here."

Shortly after that Lopez told Mrs. Parker that he had already
bade adieu to her husband, and tiien he took his wife to their own
lodgings.

r m

CHAPTER XLVII.

AS FOB love!

The time spent by Mrs. Lopez at Doyeroourt was by no means one
of complete happiness. Her husband did not come down very
frequently, ailing that his business kept him in town, and thai
the journey was too long. When he did come he annoyed her either
by moroseness and tyranny, or by an affectation of loving good-
humour, which was the more disagreeable alternative of the two.
She knew that he had no ri^ht to be good-humoured, and she was
quite able to appreciate the difference between fictitious love and love
that was real. He did not while she was at Dovercourt speak to
her again directly about her father's money, — ^but he gave her to
underatand that he required from her very close economy. Thca
again she referred to the brffligham which she knew was to be in
readiness on her return to London ; but he told her that he was
the best judge of that. The economy whicL he demanded was that
comfortless heart-rending economy which nips the practiser at
eveiv turn, but does not betray it»elf to the world at large. He
would have her save out of her washerwoman and linendraper, and
yet have a smart gown and go in a brougham. He begrudged her
postage stamps, and stopped the subscription at Mudie's, though
he insisted on a front seat in the Dovercourt church, paying half a
guinea more for it than he would for a place at the side. And then
before their sojourn at the place had come to an end he left her for
awhile absolutely penniless, so that when the butcher and baker
called for their money she could not pay them. That was a dreadful
calamity to her, and of 'which she was hardly able to measure the
real worth. It had never happened to her before to have to refuse an
application for money that was due. In her father's house such a
thine, as far as she knew, had never happened. She had sometimes
heara that Everett was impecunious, but that had simply indicated
an additional call upon her father. When the butcher came the
second time she wrote to her husband in an agony. Should she
write to her father for a supply P She was sure that her father
would not leave them in actual want. Then he sent her a cheque,
enclosed in a very angry letter. Apply to her father ! " Had she
not learned as yet that she was not to lean on her father any

S.X-

AS FOR LOVE !

816

longer, but simply ou him ? And was she such a fool as to sup-
pose that a tradesman could not wait a month for his money P

During all this time she had no friend, — no person to whom she
could speak, — except Mrs. Parker. Mrs. Pancer was very opidn
and yerv confidential about the business, really knowing very much
more about it than did Mrs. Lopez. There was some sympathy
and confidence between her and her husband, though they had
latterly been much lessened by Sexty's conduct. Mrs. Parker
talked daily about the business now that her mouth had been
opened, and was very clearly of opinion that it was not a good
business. " Sexty don't think it good himself," she said.

" Then vrhj does he go on with it ?"

" Business is a thing, Mrs. Lopez, as people can't drop out oi
just at a moment. A man gets nisself entangled, and must free
hisself as best he can. I know he's terribly aieard ; — and some-
times he does say such things of your husband ! " Emily shrunk
almost into herself as she heard tms. '* You mustn't be angry, fox
indeed it's better you should know all."

" I'm not angry ; only very unhappy. Surely Mr. Parker could
separate himseU from Mr. Lopez it he pleased ?

*' That's what I say to him. Give it up, though it be' ever so
much as you've to lose by him. Give it up, and begin again. Tou've
always got your experience, and if it's only a crust you can earn,
that's sure and safe. But then he declares that he means to pull
through yet. I know what men are at when they talk of pulling
through, Mrs. Lopez. There should'nt be no need of pulling
through. It should all come just of its own accord, — little and
little ; but safe." Then, when the days of their marine holiday were
coming to an end, — in the first week in October, — the day before
the return of the Parkers to Pender's End, she made a strong appeal
to her new friend. ** Tou ain't afraid of him ; are you ? "

' ' Of my husband P " said Mrs. Lopez. ' * I hope not. Why should
you ask?"

" Believe me, a woman should never be afraid of 'em. I never
would give in to be bullied and made little of by Sexty. I'd do
a'most anything to make him comfortable, I'm that soft-hearted.
And why not, when he's the father of my children P But I'm not
going not to say a thing if I thinks it right, because I'm afeard."

" I think I could say anything if I thought it right."

" Then tell him of me and my babes, — as how I can never have a
quiet night while this is going on. It isn't that they two men are
fond of one another. Nothing of the sort ! Now you ; — I've got
to be downright fond of you, though, of course, you think me com-
mon." Mi-8. Lopez would not contradict her, but stooped forward
and kissed her cheek. " I'm downright fond of you, I am," con-
tinued Mrs. Parker, snuffling and sobbing, " but they two men are
only together because Mr. Lopez wants to gamble, and Parker has
got a little money to gamble with." This aspect of the thing was
so terrible to Mrs. Lopez that she could only weep and hide her

816

THE PRIME MINISTER.

face.

Tell him what

*' Now, if you would tell him juat the truth !
I say, and that I've heen a-saying it ! Tell him it's for my children
I'm a-speaking, who won't have oread in their very mouths if their
fiftther's squee^d dry like a sponge ! Sure, if you'd tell him this, he
wouldn't go on ! " Then she paused a mome:[it, looking up into the
other woman's face. " He'd have some bowels of compassion ; —
wouldn't he now P"

*• I'll try," said Mrs. Lopez.

" I know you're good and kind-h^^arted, my dear. I saw it in
your eyes from the very first. But them men, when they get on at
money-making, — or money-losing, which makes 'em worse, — are
like tigers clawing one another. They don't care how many they
kills, so that they has the least bit for themselves. There ain t
no fear of God in it, nor yet no mercy, nor ere a morsel of heart.
It ain't what I call manly, — not that longing after other folks'
money. When it's come by hard work, as I tell Sexty, — by the
very sweat of his brow, — oh, — it's e weet as sweet. When he'd tell me
that he'd made his three pound, or his five pound, or, perhaps, his
ten pound in a day, and 'd calculate it up, how much it 'd come to if
he did that every day, and where we could go to, and what we
could do for the children, I loved to hear him talk about his money.

But now ! why, it's altered the looks of the man altogether. It's

just as though he was a-thirsting for blood."

Thirsting for blood ! Tes, indeed. It was the very idea that
had occurred to Mrs. Lopez herself when her husband liad bade her
to "get round her fatner." No; — it certainly was not manly.
There certainly was neither fear of God in it, nor mercy. Tes ; —
she would try. But as for bowels of compassion in Ferdinand

Lopez ; she, the young wife, had already seen enough of her

husband to think that he was not to be moved by any prayers on
tliat side. Then the two women bade each other farewell. ' ' Parker
has been talking of my going to Manchester Square," said Mrs.
Parker, ** but I shan't. What d I be in Manchester Square P And,
besides, there 'd better be an end of it. Mr. Lopez 'd turn Sexty
and me outof the house at a moment's notice if it wasn't for the
money."

" It's papa's house," said Mrs. Lopez, not, however, meaning to
make an attack on her husband.

" I suppose so, but I shan't come to trouble no one ; and we live
ever so far away, at Ponder's End, — out of your line altogether,
Mrs. Lopez. But I've taken to you, and will never think ill of you
any way ; — only do as you said you would."

♦' I will try,' said Iku-s. Lopez.

In the meantime Lopez nad received from Mr. Wharton an
answer to his letter about the missing caravels, which did not
please hun. Here is the letter ; —

" My dear Lopez,

" I cannot say that your statement is satisfactory, nor can 1

AS FOR love!

817

reconcile it to your assurance to me that you have made a trade
income for some years past of £2,000 a year. I do not know
much of business, but I cannot imagine such a result from such a
condition of things as you describe. Have you any books ; and, if
so, will you allow them to be inspected by any accountant I may
name P

" Tou say that a sum of £20,000 would suit your business better
now than when I'm dead. Very likely. But with such an account
of the business as that you have given me, I do not know that I
feel disposed to confide the savings of my life to assist so very
doubtful an enterprise. Of course whatever I may do to your
advantage will be done for the sake of Emily and her chiloren,
should she have any. As far as I can see at present, I shall best
do my duty to her, by leaving what I may have to leave to hor, to
trustees, for her benefit and wat of her children.

•' Yours truly,

*' A. Wharton."

This, of course, did not tend to mollify the spirit of the man to
whom it was written, or to make him gracious towards his wife.
He received the letter three weeks before the lodgings at Dover-
court were given up, — but during these three we^s he was very
little at the place, and when there did not mention the letter. On
these occasions he said nothing about business, but satisfied himself
with giving strict injunctions as to economy. Then he took her
back to town on the day after her promise to Mrs. Parker that she
would " try." Mrs. Parker had told her that no woman ought to
be afraid to speak to her husband, and, if n/Bcessary, to speak
roundly on such subjects. Mrs. Parker was certainly not a highly
educated lady, but she had impressed Emily witib an admiration
for her practical good sense and proper feeling. The lady vho was
a lady had begun to feel that in the troubles of her lift) she might
find a much less satisfactory companion than the lady who was not
a lady. She would do as Mrs. Parker had told her. She would
not be afraid. Of course it was right that she should speak on
such a matter. She knew herself to be an obedient wife. She had
borne all her unexpected sorrows without a complaiat, with a
resolve that she would bear all for his sake, — not because she loved
him, but because she had made herself his wife. Into whatever
calamities he might fall, she would share them. Though he should
bring her utterly into the dirt, she would remain in the dirt with
him. It seemed probable to her that it might be so, — that they
might have to go into the dirt ; — and if it were so, she would still
be true to him. She had chosen to marry him, and she would be
his true wife. But, as such, she would not be afraid of him. Mrs.
Parker had told her that " a woman should never be afraid of 'em,"
and she believed in Mrs. Parker. In this case, too, it was clearly
her duty to speak, — for the injury being done was terrible, arf^
might too probably becoxrie ^sap^obI. How oould she endure to

818

THE PRIME MINISTER.

think of that woman and her children, should she come to know
that the husband of the woman and the father of the children had
been ruined by her husband P

Yes, — she would speak to him. But she did fear. It is all very
well for a woman to tell herseif that she will encounter some anti-
cipated difficulty without fear, — or for a man either. The fear
cannot be overcome by will. The thing, however, may be done,
whether it be leading a forlorn hope, or speaking to an angry
husband, — ^in spite of rcar. She would do it ; but when the moment
for doing it came, her very heart trembled within her. He had
been so masterful with her, so persistent in repudiating her inter-
ference, so exacting in his demands for obedience, so capable of
making her miserable by his moroseness when she failed to comply
with his wishes, that she could not go to her task without foar.
But she did feel that she ought not to oe afraid, or that her fears, at
any rate, should not be allowed to restrain her. A wife, she knew,
should be prepared to yield, but yet was entitled to be her husband's
counsellor. And it was now the case that in this matter she was
conversant ^ dx circumstances which were unknown to her husband.
It was to ht)jr that Mrs. Parker's appeal had been made, and with
a direct request from the poor woman that it should be repeated to
her husband's partner.

She found that she could not do it on the j'ourney home from
Dovercourt, nor yet on that evening. Mrs. Dick Boby, who had
come back from a sojourn at Boulogne, was with them in the
Square, and brouo^ht her dear friend Mrs. Leslie with her, and also
Lady Eustace. The reader may remember that Mr. Wharton had
met these ladies at Mrs. Dick's house some months before his
daughter's marriage, but he ce^ainly had never asked them into
his own. On this occasion Emily had given them no invitation,
but had been told by her husband that her aunt would probably
bring them in with ner. " Mrs. Leslie and Lady Eustace ! " she
exclaimed with a little shudder. ** I suppose your aunt may bring
a couple of friends with her to see you, though it is your father's
house ?" he had replied. She had said no more, not daring to
have a fight on that subject at present, while the other matter was
pressing on her mind. The evening had passed away pleasantly
enough, she thought, tr all except herself. Mrs. Leslie and Lady
Eustace had talked a great deal, and her husband had borne him-
self quite as though he had been a wealthy man and the owner of
the house in Manchester Square. In the course of the evening
Dick Boby came in and Major Pountney, who since the late
affairs at Silverbridge had become intimp.te with Lopez. So that
there was quite a party; and Emily was astonished to hear her
husband deolare thiat he was only watching the opportunity of
another vacancy in order that he might get into the House, and
expose the miserable duplicity of the Duka of Omnium. And yet
this man, within the last month, had taken away her subscription
at Mudie's, and told her that she shouldn't wear tilings that wanted

AS FOB LOVBI

819

washing ! But he was able to say ever so many pretty little things
to Lady Eustace^ and had given a new fan to Mrs. Dick, and
talked of taking a box for Mi-s. Leslie at The Ghuety.

But on the next morning before breakfast she began. " Ferdi-
nand," she said, " while I was at Doyercourt I saw a good deal of
Mrs. Parker."

" I could not help that. Or rather you might have helped it if
you pleased. It was necessary that you should meet, but I didn't
tell you that you were to see a great deal of her."
"I liked her very much."

** Then I must say you've got a very odd taste. Did you like
him?"

" No. I did not see so much of him, and I think that the
manners of women are less objectionable than those of men. But
I want to tell you what passed between her and me."

" If it is alK)ut her husband's business she ought to have held
her tongue, and you had better hold yoiuB now."

This was not a happy beginning, but still she was determined to
go on. " It was I thmk*more about your business than his."

** Then it was infernal impudence on her part, and you dliould
not have listened to her for a moment."

" You do not want to ruin her and her children ! "
" What have I to do with her and her children P I did not
marry her, and I am not their father. He has got to look to
that."

"She thinks that you are enticing him into risks which he
cannot afford."

" Am I doing anything for him that I ain't doing for myself !
If there is money made, wiU not he share it P If money has to be
lost, of course he must do the same." Lopez in stating his case
omitted to say that whatever capital was now being used belonged
to his partner. "But women when they get together talk all
manner of nonuense. Is it likely that I shul alter my ('ourse of
action because you tell me that she tells you that he tells her that
he is losing mon«y P He is a half-hearted fellow who quails at
every turn against him. And when he is crying drunk I dare say
b makes a poor mouth to her."

" I think, Ferdinand, it is more than that. She says that "

" To teK you the truth, Emily, I don't care a d what she

says. Now give mo some tea."

The roughness of tLis absolutely quelled her. It was not now
that she was afraid of him, — not at this moment, but that she was
knocked down as though by a blow. She had been altogether so
unnsed to such language that she could not get on with her matter
iu hand, letting the bad word pass by her as an unmeaning exple-
tive. She weuily poured out the cup of tea and sat herself down
silent. The man was too strong for her, and would be so always.
She told herself at this moment that language such as that must
always absolutely silence her. Then, within a few minutes, hf

li't

'li

820

THE PRIME MINISTER.

desired her, quite cheerfully, to ask her unole and aunt to dinner
the day but one following, and also to ask Lady Eustace and Mrs.
Leslie. " I will pick up a couple of men which will make us all
right," he said.

This was in every way horrible to her. Her *«ither had been
back in town, had not been very well, and had bbdn recommended
to return to the country. He had consequently removed himself,
— not to Herefordshire, — but to Brighton, and was now living at
an hotel, almost within an hour of London. Had he been at home
he certainly would not have invited Mrs. Leslie and Lady Eustace
to his house. He had often expressed a feeling of dislike to the
former lady in the hearing of his son-in-law, and had ridiculed
his sister-in-law for allowing herself to be made acquainted with
Lady Eustace, whose name had at one time been very common in
the mouths of people. Emily also felt that she was hardly entitled
to give a dinner-party in his house in his absence. And, after all
that she had lately heard about her husband's poverty, she could
not understand how he should wish to incur the expense. *' Yon
would not ask Mrs. Leslie here I " she said.

" Why should we not ask Mrs. Leslie P '*

" Papa dislikes her."

*' But * papa,' as you call him, isn't going to meet her.**

" He has said that he doesn't know what day he may be
home. And he does more than dislike her. He disapproves of
her."

" Nonsense ! She is your aunt's friend. Because your father
once heard soma cock-and-bull story about her, and because he has
always taken upon himself to criticise your aunt's friends, I am
not to be civil to a person I like."

" But, Ferdinand, I do not like her myself. She ne^er was in
this house till the other night."

" Look here, my dear, Lady Eustace can be useful to me, and I
cannot ask Lady Eustace without asking her friend. Tou do as I
bid you,— or else I shall do it myself."

She paused for a moment, and then she positively refused. " I
cannot bring myself to ask Mrs. Leslie to dine in this house. If
she comes to dine with you of course I shall sit at the table, but
she will be sure to see that she is not welcome."

" It seems to me that you are detormined to go against me in
everything I propose."

" I don't think you would say that if you knew how miserable
you made me."

" I toll you that that other woman can be very useful to me."

" Li what way useM P " ^

" Are ybu jealous, my dear ? "

♦* Certainly not of Lady Eustace, — nor of any woman. But it
seems so odd that such a person's services should be required."

*• Will you do as I tell you, and ask them ? Tou can go round
ftnd toll your aunt about it. She knows that I mean to ask them.

AS FOR LOVE I

821

Lady Eustara is a very rich woman, and is disposed to do a little
in commerce. Now do you understand ? "

" Not iu the least," said Emily.

" Why shouldn't a woman who has money buy coffee as well as
buy shares?"

•• Does she buy shares ? "

*• By George, Emily, I think thai you're a fool."

" I dare say I am, !Perdinand. I do not in the least know what
it all means. But I do know this, that you ought not, in papa's
absence, to ask people to dine here whom he particularly dislikes,
and whom he would not wish to have in his house."

" Yon think that I am to be governed by you in such a matter
as that ? "

" I do not want to govern you."

" You think that a wife should dictate to a husband as to tho
way in which he is to do his work, and the. partners he may be
allowed to have in his business, and the persons whom he may ask
to dinner ! Because you have been dictating to me on all those
matters. ITow, look here, tnj dear. As to my business, you had
better never speak to me about it any more. I have endeavoured to
take you into my confidence and to get you to act with me, but
you have declined that, and have preferred to stick to your father.
As to my partners, whether I may choose to have Sexty Parker or
Lady Eustace, I am a better judge |,han you. And as to asking
Mrs. Leslie and Lady Eustace or any other persons to dinner, as 1
am obliged to make even the recreations of life subservient to its
work, I must claim permission to have my own way." She had
listened, but when he paused she made no reply. " Do you mean
to do as I bid you and ask these ladies P "

" 1 cannot do that. I know that it ought not to be done. This
is papa's house and we are living hero as his guests."

•* D vour papa I " he said as he burst out of the room. After

a quarter of an hour he put his head again into the room and saw
her sitting, like a statue, exactly where he had left her. " I have
written the notes both to Lady Eustace and to Mrs. Leslie,"
be said. "You can't think it any sin at any rate to ask your
aunt."

" I will see my aunt," she said.

" And remember I am not goin^ to be your father's guest, as you
call it. 1 mean to pay for the dmner myself, and to send in my
own wines. Your father shall have nothing to complain of on that
Head."

"Gould you«not ask them to Richmond, or to some hotel?"
sne said..

*• What ; in October ! If you think that I am going to live in
a house in which I can't invite .i friend to dinner, you are mis-
taken." And with that he took his departure.

The whole thing had now become so horrible to her that she felt
unable any longer to hold up her head. It seemed to her to be

822

THE PRIME MINISTER.

sacrilege that these women should come and sit in her father's
room ; but when sho spoke of her father her husband had cursed
him with scorn ! Lopez was going to send food and wine into the
house, which would oe gall and wormwood to her father. At one
time she thought she would at once write to her father and tell
him of it all, — or pernaps telegraph to him ; but she could not
do so without letting her husband know what she had done, and
then he would have justice on his side in calling her disobedient.
Were she to do that, then it would indeed be necessary that she
should take part against her husband.

She had brought all this misery on herself and on her father
because she had been obstinate in thinking that she could with
certainty read a lover's character. Ah for love, — that c' course
had died away in her heart, — imperceptibly, though, alas, so
quickly ! It was impossible that she could continue to love a man
who from day to day was teaching her mean lessons, and who was
ever doing mean things, the meanness of which was so little
apparent to himself that he did not scruple to divulge them to her.
How could she love a man who would make no .sacrifice either to
her comfort, her pride, or her conscience P But still she might
obey him, — if she could feel sure that obedience to him was a
duty. Could it be a duty to sin Against her father's wishes, and
to assist in profaning his house and abusing his hospitality after
this fashion P Then her mind again went back to the troubles
of Mrs. Parker, and her absolute inefficiency in that matter. It
seemed to her that she had given herself over body and soul and
mind to some evil genius, and that there was no escape.

" Of course we'U come," Mrs. Bcby had said to her when she
went round the comer into Berkeley Street early in the day.
'* Lopez spoke to me about it before."

" What will papa sav about it, Aunt Harriet ? "

*' I suppose he and Lopez understand each other."

" I do not tlunk papa will understand this."

'* I am sure Mr. Wharton would not lend his house to his son-
in-law, and then object to the man he had lent it to asking a friend
to dine with him. And I am sure that Mr. Lopez would not con-
sent to occupy a house on those terms. If you don't like it, of
course we won't come."

" Pray don't say that. As these other women are to come, pray
do not desert me. But I cannot say I think it is right." Mrs.
Dick, however, only laughed at her scruples.

In the course of the evening Emily ^ot letters addressed to herself,
from Lady Eustace and Mrs. Leslie, mforming her that they would
have very much pleasure in dining with her on the day .named.
And Lady Eustace went on to say, with much pleasantry, that she
always regarded little parties, got up without any ceremony, as
being the pleasantest, and that ahe should come on this occasion
without any ceremonial observance. Then Emily was aware that
her husband had not only written the notes in her name, but. hud

" HAS HE ILL-TREATED TOU ?"

828

father's
,d cursed

into the
At one

and tell
lould not
lone, and
obedient.

that she

ler father
mid with
r' course
, alas, so
)Ye a man
[ -who was
1 BO little
3m to her.
) eiUier to
«he might
lim was ft
ishes, and
ality after
e troubles
latter. It
I soul and

when she
the day.

put into her mouth some studied apology as to the shortness of
the invitation. Weil ! She was the man s wife, and she supposed
that he was entitled to put any words that he pleased into her
mouth.

his Bon-
ig a friend
Id not con-
like it, of

)me, pray
^t." Mrs.

[ to herself,
;hey would
ay»named.
J, that she
temony, as
is occasion
Eiware that
9, but. had

CHAPTER XLVIII.

"HAS HE ILL-TREATED YOUP"

Lopez relieved his wife from all care as to provision for his guests.
♦' I've been to a shop in Wigmore Street," he tm^d, '• and everything
will be done. They'll send in a cook to make the things hot, and
your father won't have to pa^r even for a crust of bread.

" Papa doesn't mind paying for anything," she said in her
mdignation.

"It is all very pretty for you to say so, but my experience of
him goes junt the other way. At any rato there will be nothing to
be paid for. Stewam and Sugarscraps will send in everything, if
you 11 onlv tell the old fogies down- stairs not to interfere." Then
she made a little request. Mi^ht she ask Everett, who was now in
town P •* I've already got Major Pountney and Captain Gxmner,"
he said. She pleaded that one more would make no difference.
•' But that's just what one more always does. It destroys every-
thing, and timis a pretty little dinner into an awkward feed. Wo
won't have him this time. Pountney '11 take you, and I'll take her
ladyship. Dick will take Mrs. Leshe, and Gunner will have Aunt
Harriet. Dick will sit opposite to me, and the four ladies will sit
at the four comers. We shall be very pleasant, but one more
would spoil us."

She did speak to the "old fogies" down -stairs, — the house-
keeper, who had lived with her father since she was a child, and
the butler, who had been there stiU longer, and the cook, who, .
having been in her place only three years, resigned impetuously
within half an h ova after the advent of Mr. Sugarscraps' head man.
The " fogies " were indignant. The butler expressed his intention
of locking himself up iu his own peculiar pantry, and the house-
keeper took upon herself to tell her young mistress that " Master
wouldn't like it." Since she had known Mr, Wharton such a thing
as cooked food being sent into tiie house from a shop had never
been so mucH as heard of. Emily, who had hitherto been regarded
in the house as a rather strong-minded young woman, could only
break down and weep. Why, oh why, had she consented to bring
herself and her misery into her father's house ? She could at any
rato have prevented that by explaining to her father the unfitness
of such an arrangement.

The "party" came. There was Major Pountney, very fine,

824

THT! PRIMF MTNT8TFR.

rather loud, rery intimate with the host;, whom on one occwion he
called "Ferdy, my boy," and Tery full of abuiic oi the Duke and
Duchess of Omnium. " And yet she was a good creature when I
knew her," said Lady Eustace. Pountney suggested that the
Duchess had not then taken up politics. " I've got out of her
way," said Lady Eustace, "since she did that." And there was
Captain Gunner, who defended the Duchess, but who acknowledged
that the Duke was the " most consumedlv stuck-up coxcomb" then
existing. "And the most dishonest," said Lopez, who had told his
new friends nothing about the repayment of the election expenses.
And Dick was there. He liked these little parties, in which a good
deal of wine could be drunk, and at which ladies were not supposed
to be very stiff. The Major and the Captain, and Mrs. Leslie and
Lady Eustace, were such people as he liked, — all within the pale,
but having a piquant relisn of fastnef^s and improprietv. Dick wap
wont to declare that he hated the world in buckram. Aunt Harriet
was triumphant in a manner which disgusted Emily, and which
she thought to be most disrespectful to her father ; — but in truth
Aunt Harriet did not now care very much for Mr. Wharton, pre-
ferring the friendship of Mr. Wharton's son-in-law. Mrs. Leslie
camB in gorgeous clothes, which, as she was known to be very

f>oor, and to have attached herself lately with almost more than
eminine affection to Lady Eustace, were at any rate open to sus-
picious cavil. Li former days Mrs. Leslie had taken upon herself
to say bitter things about Mr. Lopez, which Emily could now have
repeated, to that lady's discomfiture, had such a mode of revenge
suited her disposition. With Mrs. Leslie there was Lady Eustace,
pretty as ever, and sharp and witty, with the old passion for some
excitement, the old proneness to pretend to trust everybody, and
the old incapacity for trustiBg anybody. Ferdinand Lopez had
lately been at her feet, and had fired her imagination with stories
of the grand things to be done in trade. Lariies dc it f Tes ; why
not women as well as men P Any ono might do it who had money
in his pocket and experience to tell him, or to tell her, what to buy
and what to sell. And the experienise, luckily, might be vicarious.
At the present moment half the jowels worn vi London were, — if
Ferdinand Lopez knew anything about it, — bought from the pro-
ceeds of such commerce. Of course there were misfortunes. But
these came from a want of that experience which Ferdinand Lopez
possessed, and which he was quito willing to place at the service of
one whom he admired so thoroughly as he did Lady Eustace. Lady
Eustace had been chaimed, had seen her way into a new and most
delightful life, — but had not yet put any of her mdney into the
hands of Ferdinand Lopez.

I cannot say that the dinner was good. It may be a doubt
whether such tradesmen as Messrs. Stewam and Sugarsoraps do
ever produce good food ; — or whether, with all the will in the world
to do so, such a result is within their power. It is certain, I think,
that the humblest mutton chop is better eating than any "Bupreme

'•has he ill-treated you?"

826

have

ivenge

Lstace,

some

and

had

stories

why

noney

»buy

,rion8.

-if
pro-
But
Lopez
rice of
Lady
most
the

Idoubt
Ips do
Iworld
link,
)reme

of chicken after martial manner," — as I have seen the dish namod
in a French bill of faro, translated by a French patttrycook for the
benefit of his finglish customers, — when sent in from Messrs.
Stewam and Bugarsuraps even with their best exertions. Nor can
it be said that the wine was good, though Mr. Sugarscrups, when
he contracted for the whole entertainment, was eager in his assur-
ance that he procured the ver^ beut that London could produce.
But the outside look of the things was handsome, and there were
many dishes, and enough of servants to hand them, and the wines,
if not good, were various. Probably Pountnoy and Gunner did nut
know good wines. Boby did, but was contented on this occasion to
drink them bad. And everything went pleasantly, with perhaps a
little too much noise; — every thiug except the hostess, who was
allowed by general consent to be sad and silent ; — till there came a
loud double-rap at the door.

" There's papa," said Emily, jumping up from her seat.

Mrs. Dick looked at Lopez, and saw at a glance that for a moment
his courage had failed him. But he recovered himself quickly.
" Hadn't you better keep your seat, my dear P " he said to his wiro.
" The orvants will attend to Mr. Wharton, and I will go to him
presently."

" Oh, no," said Emily, who by this time was almost at the door.

" You didn't expect him, — did you P " asked Dick Boby.

** Nobody knew when he was coming. I think he told Emily
that he might be here any day."

•' He's the most uncertain man alive," said Mrs. Dick, who was
a good deal soared by the arrival, though determined to hold up
her head and exhibit no fear.

" I suppose the old gentleman will come in and have some
dinner," whispered Captain Gunner to his neighbour Mrs. Leslie.

** Not if he knows I'm here," replied Mrs. Leslie, tittering. ** He
thinks that I am, — oh, something a great deal worse than I can
tell you."

" is he given to be cross P " asked Itddy Eustace, also affecting to
whisper.

** Never saw him in my life," answered the Maior, '* but I
shouldn't wonder if he was. Old gentlemen genereuly are cross.
Oout, and that kind of thing, you know."

For a minute or two the servants stopped their ministrations,
and things were very uncomfortable ; but Lopez, as soon as he
had recovered himself, directed Mr. Sugarscraps' men to proceed
with the banquet. " We can eat our dinner, I suppose, though my
father-in-law has come back," he said. " I wish my wife was not
so fussy, though that is a kind of thiug. Lady Eustace, that one
has to expect uom young wives." The banquet did go on, but the
feeling was general that a misfortune had come upon them, and
that something dreadful might possibly happen.

Emily, when she rushed out, met her father in the hall, and ran
into his arms. *' Oh, papa ! " sha exulaime4.

826

THE PRIME MINISTER.

" What's all this about ?" he asked, and as he spoke he passed
on through the hall to his own room at the back of the house.
There were of course many evidences on all sides of the party,-^
the strange servants, the dishes going in and out, the clatter of
glasses, and the smell of viands. •* You've got a dinner-party," he
said. »* Had you not better go back to your friends P "

" No, papa."

'• What is the matter, Emily ? You are unhappy."

" Oh, so unhappy ! "

•• What is it all about ? Who are they ? Whose doing is it, —
yours or his ? What makes you unhappy ? "

He was now seated in his arm-chair, and she threw herself on
her knees at his feet. " He would have them. You mustn't be
an.i. ry with me. You won't be angry with me ; — will you ? "

He put his hand upon her head, and stroked her hair. " Why
should I be angry with you because your husband has asked friends
to dinner ? " She w^s so unlike her usual self that he knew not
what to make of it. It had not been her nature to kneel and to
ask for pardon, or to be timid and submissive. *' What is it, Emily,
that makes you like this ? "

'* He shouldn't have had the people."

** Well ; — granted. But it does not signify much. Is your aunt
Harriet there ? "

♦*Y8S."

" It can't be very bad, thGii."

" Mrs. Leslie is there, and Lady Eustace, — and two men I don't
like."

" Is Everett hare ? "

** No ;— he wouldn't have Everett."

" Oughtn't vou to go to them ? "

** Don't make me go. I should only cry. I have been crying
all day, and the. whole of yesterday.' Then she buried her face
upon his knees, and sobbed as though she would break her heart.

He couldn't at all understand it. Though he distrusted his son-
in-law, and certainly did not love him, he had not as yet learned to
hold him in aversion. When the connection was once made he had
determined to make the b^st of it, and had declared to himself that
as far as manners went the man was well enough. He had not as
yet seen the inside of the man, as it had been the sad fate of the
poor wife to see him. It had never occurred to him that his
daughter's love had failed her, or that she could already be repenting
what she had done. And now, when she was weeping at his feet
and deploring the sin of the dinner-party, — which, after all, was a
trifling sin, — he could not comprehend the feelings which were
actuating her. " I suppose your aunt Harriet made up the party,"
he said.

•• He did it."

" Your husband ? "

** Yes ; — he did it. He wrote to the women in my name when I

"has he ill-tbeated you?'

827

refused." Then Mr. Wharton began to perceive that there had
been a quarrel. " I told him Mrs. Leslie oughtn't to come here."

" I don't love Mrs. Leslie, — nor, for the matter of that, Lady
Eustace. But they won't hurt the house, my dear."

" And he has had the dinner sent in from a shop."

** Why couldn't he let Mrs. Williams do it P " 1b he said this,
the tone of his voice became for the first time angiy.

" Cook has gone away. She wouldn't stand it. And Mrs. Wil-
liams is very angry. And Barker wouldn't wait at table."

" What's the meaning of it all ? "

" He would have it so. Oh, papa, you don't know what I've
undergone. I 'Wsh, — I wish we had not come here. It would have
been better ti ywhere else."

♦* What would have been better, dear ? "

*• Everything. Whether we lived or died, it would have been
better. Why should I bring my misery to you ? Oh, papa, you
do not know, — ^you can never know."

" But I must know. Is there more than this dinner to disturb
you?"

""Oh, yes ; — more than that. Only I couldn't bear that it should
be done m your house."

' * Has he ill-treated you ? "

Then she got up, and stood before him. *'I do not mc

lean^
lundns

complain. I should have said nothing only that you have found
in this way. For myself I wUl bear it all, whatever it nay be.
But, papa, I want you to tell him that we must leave thie house."

" He nas got no other home for you."

" He must find one. I will go an3nvhere. I don't care where it
is. But I won't stay here. I have done it myself, but I won't
bring it upon you. I could bear it all if I thought that you would
never see me again."

"Emily!"

" Tee ; — if you would never see me again. I know it all, and
that would be best." She was now walking about the room.
" Why should you see it all ? "

" See what, my love ? "

"See his ruin, and my unhappiness, and my baby. Oh, —
oh,-oh!"

" I think so very differently, Emily, that under no circumstances
will I have you taken to another home. I cannot understand much
of all this as yet, but I suppose I shall come to see it. If Lopez be,
as you say, ruined, it is well that I have still enough for us to live
on. This is a bad time just now to talk about your husband's
affairs."

" I did not mean to talk about them, papa."

** What would you like best to do now, — now at once. Can you
go down again to your husband's friends Y "

"No; — no; — no."

" As for the diniier, never mind about that. I can't blaxna him

828

THE PRIME Mi;.ST£R.

for making use of my house in my absence as far as that goes,-'
though I wish he could have contented himself with such a dinnei
as my servants could have prepared for him. I will haye some tea
here/'

*' Let me stay with you, papa, and make it for you."

" Very well, dear. I do not mean to be ashamed to enter my
own dining-room. I shall, therefore, go in and make your apolo-
^es." Thereupon Mr. Wharton walked slowly forth and marched
into the dining-room.

•« Oh, Mr. Wharton," said Mrs. Dick, " we didn't expect you."

** Have you dined yet, sii* ? " asked Lopez.

" I dined early," said Mr. Wharton. " I should not now have
come in to disturb you, but that I have found Mrs. Lopez unwell,
and she has begged me to ask you to excuse her."

*' I will go to ner," said Lopez, rising.

" It is not necessary," said Wharton. " She is not ill, but hardly
able to take her place at table." Then Mrs. Dick proposed to go
to her dear niece ; but Mr. Wharton would not allow it, and left
the room, having succeeded in persuading them to go on with their
dinner. Lopez certainly was not happy during the evening, but
he was strong enough to hide his misgivmgs, and to do his duty as
host with seeming cheerfulness.

lit

CHAPTER XLTX.

WHERB IS GUATEMALA P

Though his daughter's words to him had been very wild they did
almost more to convince Mr. Wharton that he shoujld not give
money to his son-in-law than even the letters which had passed
between them. To Emily herself he spoke very little as to what
had occurred that evening. "Papa," she said, "do not ask me
auy thing more about it. I was very miserable,— because of the
dinner." Nor did he at that time ask her any questions, contenting
himself with assuring her that, at any rate at present, and tiU
after her baby should have been born, she must remain in Man-
chester Square. " He won't hurt me," said Mr. Wharton, and
then added with a smile, " He won't want to have any more dinner-
parties while I am here."

Nor did he make any complaint to Lopez as to what had been
done, or even allude to the dinner. But when he had been back
about a week he announced to his son-in-law his final determina-
tion as to money. " I had better tell you, Lopez, what I mean to
do, so that you may not be left in doubt. I shall not intrust any
further sum of money into your hands on behalf of Emily."

WHERE IS GUATEMALA?

829

♦* You can do as you please, sir,— of course.''

" Just so. You have had what to me is a very considerable
sum, — though I Ibar that it did not go for much in your large con-
cerns."

•' It was not very much, Mr. Wharton."

"I dare say not. Opinions on such a matter differ, you know.
At any rate, there will be no more. At present I wish Emily to
live here, and you, of course, are welcome here also. If things are
not going well with you, this will, at any rate, relieve you from
immediate expense."

<< My calculations, sir, have never descended to that."

*< Mine are more minute. The necessities of my life have caused
me to think of these little things. When I am dead there will be
provision for Emily made by my will, — the income going to trustees
for her benefit, and the capitsd to her children after her death. I
thought it only fair to you that this should be explained."

'* And you will do nothing for me ?"

" Nothing ; — if that is nouung. I should have thought that your
present maintenance and the future support of your wife and chil-
dren would have been regarded as sometning."

" It is nothing ; — nothing ! "

** Then let it be nothing. Qood mominff."

Two days after that Lopez recurred to the subject. " You wye
very explicit with me the other day, sir."

** I meant to be so."

" And I will be equally so to you now. Both I and your daughter
oj.-e absolutely ruined unless you reconsider your purpose."

" If you mean money by reconsideration, — present money to be
given to you, — I certainly shall not reconsider it. You may take
my solemn assurance that I will give you nothing that can be of
any service to you in trade."

" Then, sir, — I must toll you my purpose, and give you my
assurance, which is equally solemn. Under those circumstances I
must leave England, and try my fortune in Central America.
There is an opening for me at (Guatemala, though not a very hopeful
one."

"Guatemala!"

" Yes ; — friends of mine have a connection there. I have not
broken it to Emily yet, but under these circumstances she will have
to go."

•' You will not take her to Guatemala !"

" Not take my wife, sir P Indeed I shall. Do you suppose that
I would go away and leave my wife a pensioner on your Dounty P
Do you think that she would wish to desert her husband P I don't,
think you know your daughter."

•• I wish you had never known her."

" That is neither here nor there, sir. If I cannot succeed in this
country I must go elsewhere. As I have told you before, £20,000
at the present moment would enable me to surmount all my dilfi«

830

THE PRIME MINISTER.

cultiea, and make me a very wealthy man. But unless I can com-
mand some such sum by Christmas everything here must be
sacrificed."

•* Never in my life did I hear so base a proposition," said Mr.
Wharton.

*' Why is it base ? I can only tell you the truth."
*' So be it. You will find that I mean what I have said."
'« So do I, Mr. Wharton."

" As to m ; daughter, she must, -f course, do as she thinks fit."
** She must do as I think fit, Mr. Wharton."
" I will not argue with you. Alas, alas ; poor girl ! "
"Poor girl, indeed! She is likely to be a poor girl if she ie
treated in this way by her father. As I understand that you
intend to use, or to try to use, authority over her, I shall take stops
for removing her at once from your house." Af ' so the interview
was ended.

Lopez had thought the matter over, and had determined to
" brazen it out," as he himself called it. Nothing further was, he
thought, to be ^ot by civility and obedience. Now he must use
his power. His idea of ^oing to Guatemala was not an invention
of the moment, nor was it devoid of a certain basis of truth. Such
a suggestion had been made to him some time since by Mr. MiUs
Hi\^perton. There were mines in Guatemala which wanted, or at
some future day might want, a resident director. The proposition
had been made to Lopez before his marriage, and Mr. Happerton pro-
bably had now forgotten all about it ; —but the thing was of service
now. He broke the matter very suddenly to his wife. ** Has your
father been speaking to you of my plans P"
** Not lately ; — not that I remember."

** He could not speak of them without your remembering, I
should think. BLas he told you that I am going to Guatemala r"
** Guatemala ! Where is Guatemala, Ferdinand ?"
** You can answer my question though your geography is
deficient."
** He has said nothing about your going anywhere."
"You will have to go, — as seen after Christmas as you may be fit."
" But where is Guatemala ; — and for how long, Ferdinand P"
" Guatemala is in Central America, and we shall probably settle
there for the rest of our lives. I have got nothing to live on here."
During the next two months this plan of seeking a distant home
and a strange country was constantly spoken of in Manchester
Square, and did receive con'oboration from Mr. Happerton himself.
Lopez renewed his application and received a letter from that
gentleman saying that the thing might probably be arranged if he
were iu earnest. " I am quite in earnest," Lopez said as he showed
this letter to Mr. Wharton. " I suppose Emily will be able to
start two months after her confinement. They tell me that babies
do very well at sea."
Puying this time, in spite of his threat, he continued to liye with

WHERE rS 3UATEMALA?

881

Mr. Wharton in Manchester Square, and went every day into the
city, — whether to make arrangements and receive instructions ae
to Guatemala, or to carry on his old business, neither Emily nor her
father knew. He never at this time spoke about his affairs to
either of them, but daily referred to her future expatriation as a
thing that was certain. At last there came up the actual question,
— whether she were to go or not. Her father told her that though
she was doubtless bound bv law to obey her husband, in such a
matter as this she might defy the law. " I do not think tiiat he
can actually for^e you on board the ship," her father said.

** But if he tells me that I must go ?^

** Stay here with me," said the father. " Stay here with your
baby. I'll fight it out for you. I'll so manage that you shall have
all the world on your side."

Emily at that mouient came to no decision, but on the following
day she discussed the matter with Lo|)ez himself. ** Of course you
will go with me," he said, when she asked the question.

'* You mean that I must, whether 1 wish to go or not."

•* Certainly you must. Good G ! where is a wife's place P

Am I to go out without my child, and without you, while you are
enjoying all the comf . lis of your father's wealth at home ? That
is not my idea of life."

" Ferdinand, I have been thinking about it very much. I must
beg you to allow me to remain. I ask it of you as if I were asking
my life."

« Your father has put you up to this.'*

••No;— not to this." .

«• To what then r'

•• My father thinks that I should refuse to go."

"He does; does he?"

•• But I shall not refuse. I shall go if you insist upon it. There
shall be no contest between u» .?bout that."

•• WeU ; I should hope not."

•• But I do implore you to i^oare me."

•' That is very selfish, Emilv."

• * Yes, ' ' — she said , * • yes. 1 cannot contradict that. But so is the
man belfish who prays the judge to spare his life."

•• But you do not think of me I must go."

" I shall not make you happier, Ferdinand."

•• Do you think that it is a fine thing for a man to live in such
a country as that all alone '"

" I thmk he would be better so than with a wife he does not —
love."

*• Who says I do nc^ love you P '*

'• Or with one who does— not— love him." This she said very
slowly, very softly, but looking up into his eyes as she said it.

•' Do you tell me that to my face ?"

" Yes ; — what good can I do now by lying? You have not beeo
to me as I thought you would be."

,li:

882

THE PBIME MINISTER.

" And BO, because you have built up some castle in the air that
has fallen to pieces, you tell your husband to his face that you do
not love him, and that you prefer not to liye with him. Is that
youi idea of duty F"

•« Why have you been so cruel ?"

*' Gruel ! Wnat haye I done ? Tell me what cruelty. Have I
beat you ? Have you been starved ? Have I not asked and im-
plored your assistance, — only to be refused ? The fact is that your
father and you have found out that I am not a rich man, and you
;7ant to be rid of me. Is that true or false P "

"It is not true that I want to be rid of you because you are
poor."

" I do not mean to be rid of you. You will have to settle down
and do your work as my wife in whatever place it may su''t me to
live. Your father is a rich man, but you shall not have the advan-
tage of his wealth unless it comes to you, as it ought to come,
through my hands. If your father would give me the fortune
which ought to be yours there need be no going abroad. He
cannot bear to pail; with his money and therefore we must go.
Now you know all about it.'* She was then turning to leave him,
when he asked her a du'ect question. " Am I to understand that
you intend to resist my right to take you with me F"

** If you bid me go,— I shall go."

" It will be bettor, as you will save both trouble and exposure."

Of course she told her father what had taken place, but ne could
only shake his head, and sit groaning; over his misery in his
chambers. He had explained to her whet he was willing to do on
hei behalf, but 3he declined his aid. He could not tell her that
she was wrong. She was the man's wife, and out of that terrible
destiny she could not now escape. The only question with him
was wnether it would not be best to buy the man, — give him a sum
of money to go, and to go alone. Could he have been quit of the
man even for £20,000, he would willingly have paid the money.
But the man would either not go, or would come back as soon as
he had got the money. His own life, as he passed it now, with
this man in the house with him, was horrible to him. For Lopez,
though he had more than ouoe threatened that he would carry his
wife to another home, had taken no steps towards getting that
other home ready for her.

During all this jime Mr. Wharton had not seen his son. Everett
had gone abroad just as his father returned to London from
Brighton, and was still on the continent. He received his allow-
ance punctually, and that was the only intercourse which took
place between them. But Emily had writton to bim, not telling
him much of her troubles, — only saying that she believed that her
husb&nd would take her to Central America early in the spring,
and begging him to come home before she went.

Just before Christmas her baby was born, but the poor child
di4 not live a couple of davn. Slhe herself nt the time was so worn

WHERE la GUATEMALA ?

883

with care, so thin and wan and wretched, that looking in the i^lass
sue hardly knew hor own face. " i^'erdinand," she said to him,
" 1 know he will not live. The Doctor says so."

" Mothing thriyes that I have to do with," he answered gloomily.

•' Will you not look at him ?"

"Well; yes. I have looked at him, have I not P I wish to God
that whore he is going I could go with him."

"I wish i was; — I wish. I was going," said the poor mother.
Then the i'athec went out, and before he had returned to the house
the child was dead. *' Oh, Jb'erdinand, speak one kind word to me
now," she said.

" What kind word can I speak when you have told me that you
do not love me P Do you think that Icanfbrget that because, —
because he has gone P "

" A woman's love may always be won back again by kindness."

" Psha ! How am 1 to kiss and make pretty speeches with my
mind harassed as it is now P " But he did touch her brow with his
lips before he went away.

The infant was buried, and then there was not much show of
mourning in the house. The poor mother would sit gloomily alone
day after day, tolling herself that it was perhaps better that she
should have been robbed of her treasure than have gone forth
with him into the wide, unknown, harsh world with such a father
as she had given him. Then she would look at all the prepara-
tions she had made, — the happy work of her fingers wnen her
thoughts of their future use were her sweetest consolation, — and
weep till she would herself feel that there never could be an end
to her tears.

The second week in January had come and yet nothing further
had been settled as to this Guatemala project. Lopez talked about
it as though it was certain, and even told his wife that as they
would move so soon it would not be now worth while for him to
take other lodgings for her. But when she asked as to her own
preparations, — the w&rdrobe necessary for the long voyage and her

feneral outfit, — he told her that three weeks or a fortnight would
e enough for all, and that he would give her sufficient notice.
" Upon my word he is very kind to honour my poor house as he
does," said Mr. Wharton.

" Papa, we will go at once if you wish it," said his daughter.
** Nay, Emily ; do not turn upon me. I cannot'but be sensible
to the insult of his daily presence ; but even that is better than
losing you."

Then there occurred a ludicrous incident, — or combination of
incidents, — ^which, in spite of their absurdity, drove Mr. Wharton
almost frantic. First there came to him the bill from Messrs.
Stewam and Sugarscraps for the dinner. At this time he kept
nothing back from his daughter. '* Look at that I " he said. The
bill was absolutely made out in his name.
*' Jt is a mistake, papa."

884

THE PRIME MINISTER.

** Not at all. The dinner was given in my houBe, and I must
pay for it. I would sooner do so than that he should pay it, —
even if he had the means." So he paid Messrs. Stewam and
Sugarscraps £26 9«. 6d.^ begging them as he did so never to send
another dinner into his house, and observing that he was in the
habit of entertaining his friends at less than three guineas a head.
" But Chateau Yquem and C6te d'Or ! " said Mr. Sugarscraps.
** Chateau fiddlesticks ! " said Mr. Wharton, walking out of the
house with his receipt.

Then came the bill for the brougham, — for the brougham from
the very day of their return to town after their wedding trip. This
he showed to Lopez. Indeed the bill had been made out to
Lopez and sent to Mr. Wharton with an apologetic note. "I
didn't tell him to send it," said Lopez.

" But will vou pay it?"

"I certainly shall not ask you to pay it" But Mr. Wharton
at last did pay it, and he also paid the rent of the rooms in the
Bel^aye Mansions, and between £30 and £40 for dresses which
Emily had got at Lewes and Allenby's under her husband's
orders in the first days of their married life in London.

" Oh, papa, I wish I had not gone there," she said.

** My dear, anything that you may have had I do not grad^^e in
the least. And even for him, if he would let you remain here, I
would pay willingly. I would supply all his wants if he would
only— go away."

CHAPTEE L.

Mu. slide's beyenoe.

"Do you mean to say, my lady, that the Duke pnid 'is elec-
tioneering bill down at Silverbridge ? "

" I do mean to say so, Mr. Slide." Lady Eustace nodded her
head, and Mr. Quintus Slide opened his mouth.

"Goodness gracious I " said Mrs. Leslie, who was sitting with
them. They were in Lady Eustace's drawing-room, and the
patriotic editor of the "People's Banner" was obtaining from a
new ally information which might be useful to the country.

** But 'ow do you know, Lady Eustace ? You'll pardon the
persistency of my inquiries, but when you come to public informa-
tion accuracy is everything. I never trust myself to mere report.
I always travel up to the ve y fountain 'ead of truth."

" I know it," said Lizzy Eustace oracularly.

*' Um — m ! " The Editor as he ejaculated the sound looked at
her ladyship with admiring eyes, — with eyes that were intended to

MR. SLIDE S KEVENQE.

885

flatter. Lut Lizzie had been looked at so ofteu in so many ways,
and was so well accustomed to admiration, that this had no etfuct
on her at all. " 'E didn'i tell you himself; did 'e, now ? "

" Can you tell me the truth as to trusting him witJi my money ? "

" Yes, I can."

'* Shall I be safe if I Iske the papers which he calls bills oi
sale?"

" One good turn deserves another, my lady."

" I don't want to make a secret of it, Mr. Slide. Fountney
found it out. You know the Major P "

"Yes, I know Major Fountney. He was at Gatherum 'imself,
and ffot a little bit of cold shoulder ;— didn't he ? "

"1 dare say he did. What has tiiat to do with it P You may
be sure that Lopez applied to the Duke for his expenses at Silver-
bridge, and that the Duke sent him the money."

"There's no doubt about it, Mr. Slide," said Mrs. "^ oslie. '♦ We
got it all from Major Fountney. There was some bet between
him and Fountney, and he had to show Fountney the cheque."

" Fountney saw the money," said Lady Eustace.

Mr. Slide stroked his hand over his mouth and chin as he sat
thinking of the tremendous national importance of this communi-
cation. The man who had paid the money was the Frime Minister
of England, — and was, moreover, Mr. Slide's enemy! "When
the ri^ht 'and of fellowship has been rejected, I never forgive,"
Mr. Slide has been heard to say. Even Lady Eustace, who was
not particular as to the appearance of people, remarked afterwards
to her friend that Mr. Slide had looked like the devil as he was
stroking his face. " It's very remarkable," said Mr. Slide ; "very
remarkable ! "

" You won't tell the Major that we told you," said her Ladyship.

" Oh dear no. I only just wanted to 'ear how it was. And as
to embarking yo\ir money, my lady, with Ferdinand Lopez, — I
wcildn't do it."

" Not if I get the bills of sale P It's for rum, and they say rum
will go up to any price."

" Don't, Lady Eustace. I can't say any more, — but don't. I
never mention names. But don't."

Then Mr. Slide went at once in search of Major Fountney, and
having found the Major at his club extracted from him all that
he knew about the SUverbridge payment. Fountney had really
seen the Duke's cheque for £500, " There was some bet, — eh,
Major ? " asked Mr. Shde.

" No, there wasn't. I know who has been telling you. That's
Lizzie Eustace, and just like her mischief. The way of it was this;
— Lopez, who was very angry, had boasted that he would bring
the Duke down on his marrow-bones. I was laughing at him as
we sat at dinner one day afterwards, and he took out the cheque
and showed it me. There was the Duke's own signature for £500,
— 'Omnium,' as plain as letters could make it." Armed with this

886

THE PRIME MINISTER.

full information, Mr. Slide felt that ho hud done all thai the most
punotiliouB devotion to accuracy could demand of him, and imme-
diately shut himself up in his cage at the "People's Banner"
office and went to work.

This occurred about the first week in January. The Duke was
then at Matching with his wife and a very small party. The
singular arrangement which had been effected by the Duchess in
the early autumn had passed off without any wonderftil eflTects.
It had been done by hrr in pique, and the result had been fippa-
rently so absurd that it had at first frightened her. But in the
end it answered very well. The Duke took great pleasure in Lady
Kosina's company, and enjoyed the comparative solitude which
enabled him to work all day without interruption. His wife pro-
tested that it was just what she liked, though it must be feared
that she soon became weary of it. To Lody Eosina it was of
course a Paradise on earth. In September, Ph'noas Finn and his
wife came to them, and in October there were other relaxations
and other business. The Prime Minister and his wife visited their
Sovereign, and he made some very useful speeches through the
country on his old favourite subject of decimal coinage. At
Christmas, for a fortnight, they went to Gatherum Castle and
entertained the neighbourhood, — the nobility and squirearchy
dining there on one day, and the tenants and other farmers on
another. All this went very smoothly, and the Duke did not
become outrageously unhappy because the "People's Banner"
made sundry severe remarks on the absence of Cabinet Councils
through the autumn.

After Christmas they returned to Matching, and had some of
their old friends with tiiem. There was the Duke of St. Bungay
and the Duchess, and Phineas Finn and his wife, and Lord and
Lady Cantrip, Barrington Erie, and one or two others. But at
this period there came a great trouble. One morning as the Duke
sat in his own room after breakfast he read an article in the
" People's Banner," of which the following sentences were a part.
" We wish to know by whom were paid the expenses incurred
by Mr. Ferdinand Lopez during the late contest at Silverbridge.
It may be that they were paid by that gentleman himself. — in
which case we shall have nothing further to say, not caring at the
present moment to inquire whether those expenses were or were
not excessive. It may be that they were paid by subscription among
his political friends, — and if so, again we shall be satisfied. Or it
is possible that funds were pupplied by a new political club of
which we have lately heard much, and with the action of such a
body we of course have nothing to do. If an assurance can be
given to us bv Mr. Lopez or his friends that such was the case we
shall be satisned.

" But a report has reached us, and we may say more than a
report, which makes it our duty to ask this question. Were those
expenses paid out of the private pocket of the present Prime

MB. SLIDE REVENGE.

887

Minister ? If so, we maintain that we have (liHcovered a blot in
that noblemun's obaraoter which it is our duty to the public to
expose. We will go farther and say that ii' it be so, — if these
expenses were paid out of the private pocket of the Duke of
Omnium, it is not fit that that nobleman should any longer hold
the high office which he now fills.

" y{e know that a peer should not interfere in elections for the
House of Oommons. We certainly knov: that a Minister of the
Grown should not attempt to purchase parliamentary support.
We happen to know also the almost more than public manner, —
are we not justified in saying the ostentation F— with which at the
last election the Duke repudiated all that influence with the
borough which his predecessors, and we believe he himself, had so
long exercised. He came forward telling us ^ hat he, at least, meant
to have clean hands ; — that he would nut do as his forefathers had
done ; — that he would not even do as he himself had done in
former years. What are we to think of the Duke of Omnium as
a Minister of this country, if, after such assurances, he has out of
his own pooket paid the electioneering expenses of a candidate at
Silverbridge ? " There was much more in the article, but the
passages quoted will suffice to give the reader a sufficient idea of
the accusation miade, and which the Duke read in the retirement
of his own chamber*

He read it twice before he allowed himself to think of the matter.
Hie statement made was at any rate true to the letter. He had
paid the man's electioneering expenses. That he had ddne so
from the purest motives he knew and the re^er knows ; — ^but be
could not even explain those motives without exposing his wife.
Since the (dieque was seiit he had never spoken of the occurrence
to any human being.-^but he had thought of it very often. At
the time his phyate Secretary, with much hesitation, almost with
trepidation, had oounselled him not to send the money. The Duke
was a man with whom it was very easy to work, whose courtesy
to all dependent on him was almost exaggerated, who never found
fault, and was anxious as' far as possible to do everything for
himsel£ Tha comfort of those around him was always matter of
interest to him. Everything he held, he held as it were in trust
for the enjoyment of others. But he was a man whom it was very
difficult to advise. He did not like advice. He was so thin-
skinned that any oounsel offered to him took the form of criticism.
When cautioned what shoes he should. wear, — as had been done
by Lady Bosina ; or what wine or what horses he should buy, as
was done by his butler and coachman, he was thankful, taking no
pride to himself for knowledge as to shoes, wine, or horses. But
as to his own conduct, private or jmblic, as to any question of
politics, as to his opinions and resolutions, he was jealous of inter-
ference. Mr. Warburton thwefore had almost trembled when
asking the Duke whether he was quite sure about sending the
money to Lopez. '* Q,uite sure," the Duke had answered, having

888

TIIK PRIMK MINISTER.

at that time mado up his mind. Mr. Warburton had not dared to
express a fui thor doubt and the money bad been sent. But from
the momt>nt of aondinff it doubts had repeated themselves in the
Prime MiuiMter'H miuo.

Now he sat with the newspaper in his hand thinking of it.
Of course it was open to him to take no notice of the matter, — to go
on as thoueb he had not hoou thu article, uud to let the thing die
if it would ^.le. But he knew Mr. Quintus Slide and his paper well
enough to be sure that it would not die. The charge would be re-
peated in the " People's Banner " till it was copied into other papers ;
and then the further question would be asked, — why had the
Prime Minister allowed such an accusation to remain unanswered ?
But if he di'd notice it, what notice should he take of it P It was
true. And surely he had a right to do what he liked with his own
money so long as he disobeyea nolaw. He had bribed no one. He
had spent his money with no corrupt purpose. His sense of honour
had taught him to think that the man had received injury through
his wife B imprudence, and that he therefore was responsible as far
as the pecuniary loss was concerned. He was not ashamed of the
thing he had done ; — but yet he was ashamed that it should be
disoussed in public.

Why had he allowed himself to bo put into a position in which
he was subject to such grievous annoyance ? Since he had held
his office he had not had a happy day, nor,— so he told himself, —
had he received from it any slighest gratiiication, nor could he buoy
himself up with the idea that he was doing good service tor his
country. After a wftle he walked into the next room and showed
the paper to Mr. Warburton. •' Perhaps you were right," he said,
•• when you told me not to send that money."

*' It will matter nothing," said the private Secretary when he
had read it, — thinking, however, that it might matter much, but
wishing to spare the Duke.

" I was obliged to repay the man as the Duchess had, — had
encouraged him. The Duchess had dot quite, — quite understood
my wishes." Mr. Warburton knew the whole history now, having
discussed it all with the Duchess more than once.

** I think your Grace should take no notice of the article."

No notice was taken of it, but three days afterwards there
appeared a short paragraph in large type, — beginning with a ques-
tion. " Does the Duke of Omnium intend to answer the question
asked by us last Friday P Is it true that he paid the expenses of
Mr. Lopez when that gentleman stood for Silverbridge P The
Duke may be assured that the question shall be repeated till it is
answered." This the Duke also saw and took to his private Secretary.

"I would do nothing at any rate till it be noticed in some other
paper," said the private Secretary. "The 'People's Banner' is
known to be scandalous."

'* Of course it is scandalous. And, moreover, I know the motives
and the malice of the wretched man who is the editor. But the

MB. SIJDE B RFA'RNGE.

889

.nner is

papor is read, and the foul charge if re{)eatod will become known,
and the allegation made is true. I did pay the man*H election
expenses ; — and, moreover, to tell the truth openly as I do not
scruple to do to you, I am not prepared to state publicly the reason
why I did so. And nothing but tnat reason cuuld justify me."

" Then I think your Grace should state it."

'* I cannot do so."

" The Duke of St. Bungay is here. Would it not bo well to tell
the whole affair to him ?"

'* I will think of it. I do not know why I should have troubled
you."

•♦Oh, my lord!"

*' Except that there is always some comfort in speaking even of
one's trouble. I will think about it. In the meantime you need
perhaps not loentiou it again."

"WhoP Ir* Oh, certainly not."

*• I did not mean to others, — but to myself. I will turn it in my
mind and speak of it when I have decided anything." And ho did
think about it, — thinking of it so much that he could hardly get
the matter out of his mind day or night. To his wife he did not
allude to it at all. Why trouble her with it ? She had caused the
evil, and he had cautioned her as to the future. She could not'
help him out of the difficulty she had created. He continued to
turn the matter over in his thoughts till he so magnified it, and
built it up into such proportions, that he again began to think that
he must resign. It was, he thought, true that a man should not
remain in office as Prime Minister who in such a m;:)tter could not
clear his own conduct.

Then tbore was a third attack in the "People's Banner," and after
that thj matter was noticed in the " Evening Pulpit." This notice
the Duke of St. Bungay saw and mentioned to Mr. Warburton.
' ' Has the Duke spoken to you of some alle^tions made in the press
as to the expenses of the late election at Silverbridge ?" The old
Duke was at this time, and had been for some months, in a state
of nervous anxiety about his friend. He had almost admitted to
himself that he had been wrong in recommending a politician so
weakly organized to take the office of Prime Minister. He had
expected the man to be more manly, — had perhaps expected him
to oe less conscientiously scrupulous. But now, as the thing had
been done, it must be maintained. Who else was there to take the
office ? Mr. Gresham would not. To keep Mr. Daubeuy out was
the very essence of the Duke of St. Bungay's life, — the turning-
point of his political creed, the one grand duty the idea of which
was always present to him. And he had, moreover, a most true
and most affectionate regard for the man whom he now supported,
appreciating the iptreetness of his character, — believing still in the
Minister's patriotism, intelligence, devotion, and honesty ; though
he was forced to own to himself that the strength of a man's heart
was wanting.

840

THE PRIME MINISTER.

" Yes," said Warburton; " he did mention it."
"Does it trouble him?"

*' Perhaps you had better speak to him about it." Both the old
Duke and the {private Secretary were as fearful and nervous about
the Prime Minister as a mother is for a weakly child. They could
hardly tell their opinions to each other, but they understood one
another, and between them they coddled their Prime Minister.
They were speciallysnervous aa to what might be done by the
Prime Minister's wife, nervous as to what was done by every one
who came in contact with him. It had been once suggested by
the private Secretary that Lady Bosina should be sent for, as she
had a soothing effect upon the Prime Minister's spirit."

" Uas it irritated him ?" asked the Duke.
, '* Well; — yes, it has; — a little, you know. I think your Grace
had better speak to him ; — and not perhaps mention my name."
The Duke of St. Bungay nodded his head, and said that he would
speak to the great man and would not mention any one's name.

And he did speak. " Has any one said anytiiing to you about
it P" asked the Prime Minister.

"I saw it in the 'Evemug Pulpit' myself. I have not heard
it mentioned anywhere."
* " I did pay the man's expenses."
••You(hd!"

" Yes, — wnen the election was over, and, as far as I can remember,
some time after it was over. He wrote to me saying that he had
incurred such and such expeusus, and asking me to repay him.
i sent him a cheque for the amount."
"But why?"

*' 1 was bound in honour to do it."
•* But why ? "

There was a short pause before this second question was answered.
" The man had been induced to stand by representations made to
him from my hoii5?3. Me hat Deen, i tear, promised, certain suppcA't
whicb certainly was not giver him when the time came."
" You had not promised it 't"
"No;— not I."
*' Was it the Duchess ?"

" Upon tt.e whole, my friend, I think I would rather not discuss
it further, e ^en with you. it le neht that you should know that I
did pay tne money, — and also wn.y 1 paid it. It may also be
iiecessary that we should consider whether there may be any
iurthei probable result from my doing so. But the money has b^en
paid, by me myself, — and was paid tor the reason I have stated."
" A question might be asked in the House."
" If so, it must be answered as l nave answered you. I certainly
bhaiJ not shirk any responsibility that may be attached to me."

•' You would not like Warburton to write aline to the uuws-
papei ?"

' ' What ;— to the • People s Banner I "*

♦1

lil

MB. SLIDE S REVENGE.

841

" It began there, did it ? No, not to the * People's Banner,' br t to
the ' Evening Pulpit.' He could say, you know, that the mouoy
was paid by you, and that the payment had been made b^Hjauae your
agents had misapprehended your instructions."

** It would not be true," said the Prime Minister slowly.
" As far as I can understand that was what occurred, said the
other Duke.

*'My instructions were not misapprehended. They were dis-
obeyed. I think that perhaps we had better say no more about it."
" Do not think that I wish to press you, said the old man
tenderly ;, " but I fear that something ought to be dope ; — I mean
for your own comfort."

•• My comfort ! " said the Prime Minister. ** That has vanished
long ago ; — and my peace of mind, and my happiness."

" There has been nothing done which cannot be explained with
perfect truth. There has been no impropriety."
** I do not know."

" The money was paid simply from an over-nice sense of honour."

" It cannot be explained. I cannot explain it even to you ; and

how then can I do it to all the gaping foms of the country who are

ready to trample upon a man simply because he is in some way

conspicuous among them F"

After that the old Duke again spol^e to Mr. Warburton, but Mr.
Warburton'was very loyal to his chief. '* Gould one do anything
by speaking to the Duoness P" said the old Duke.
"I think not."

" I suppose it was her Qraoe who did it all."
*< I cannot say. My own impression is that he had better wait
till the Houses meet, and then, if any question is asked, let it be
answered. He himself would do it in tne House of Lords, or Mr.
Finn or Barrington Erie, in our House. It would surely be
enough to explam that his Grace had been made to believe that the
man had received encouragement at Silverbridge from his own
agents, which he himself had not intended shomd be given, and
that therefore he had thought it right to pay the money. After
such an explanation what more could any one say P"
•* You might do it yourself."
" I never speak."

" But in such a case as that you might do so ; and then there
would be no necessity for him to talk to another person on the
matter."

So the affair was left for the present, though the allusions to it
in the " People's Bai^ner " were still continued. Nor did any other
of the Prime Minister's colleagues dare to speak to him on the
subject. Barrington Ei^le and Fhinias Finn talked of it among
themselves, but mey did not mention it even to the Duchess. She
would have gone to her husband at once; and they were too
careful of him to risk such a proceeding. It certainly was the case
that arao»"' them they coddlud the Primo Minister.

fli

842

THB PBIME MINISTEB.

31 lit

CHAFIHIE LI.

CODDLING THB PRIME MINJf'TER.

Parliament was to meet on the 12th of February, and it was
of course necessary that there should be a Cabinet Council before
that time. The Prime Minister, about the end of the third wciek
in January, was prepi^red to name a day for this, and did so, most
unwillingly. But he was then ill, and tall:ed both to his friend the
old Duke and his private Secretary of hawing the meeting held
without him. " Impossible ! " said the old Duke.

** If I could not go it would have to be possible."

" We could all <:ome here if it were necessaoy."

" Bring fourteen or fifteen ministers out of town because a poor
creature such as I am. is ill!" But in truth the Duke of St.
Bungay hardly believed in this illness. Thv3 Prime Minister was
unhappy rather than ill.

By this time everybody in the House, — and almost everybody in
the country who read the newspapers, — had heard of Mr. Lopez and
his election expenses, — except the Duchess. No one had yet dared
to tell her. Sne saw the newspapers daily, but probably did not
read them very attentively. Nevertheless she knew that something
was wrong. Mr. Warburton hovered about the Prime Minister
more tenderly than usual ; the Duke of St. Bungay was more con-
cerned ; the world around her was more mysterious, and her hus-
band more wretched. " What is it that's going on ?" she said one
day to Phineas Finn.

" Everything, — in the same dull way as usual."
♦« If vou don^t tell

I know

when

you aon't ten me I'll never speak to you again,
there is something wrong."

*' The Duke, I'm afraid, is not quite well."

" What makes him. ill ? I know well when he's ill and
he's well. He's troubled by something."

" 1 think he is. Duchess. But as he has not spoken to me I am
loath to make guesses. If there be anything, I can only guess
at it."

Then she questioned Mrs. Finn, and got an answer which, if not
satisfactory, was at any rate explanatory. " I think he is uneasy
about that Siiverbridge attair."

•' What Silverbndge attair r"'

'* \ou know that he paid the expenses which that man Lopez
says that he incurred."

" Yes ;—i know that."

'* And you know that that other man Slide has found it out, and
published it all in the ' Poople*s Banner P* "

"No!"

•* li:es, indeed. And a whole army of accusations has been
brought against him. i have never liked to tell you, and yet I do
not think that you should be left in the dark."

OODDLINO THE. PRIME MINISTER.

848

" Everybody deceiveB me," said the Duchess angrily.

" Nay ; — there has beea no deceit."

" Everybody keeps thin^ from me. I think you will kill me
among you. It was my domg. Why do they attack him ^ I will
write to the papers. I encouraged tne man after Plantagenet had
determined that he should not be assisted, — and, because I had
done so, he paid the man his beggarly mone^. What is there to
hurt him in tnat ? Let me bear it. My back is broad enough."

" The Duke is verv sensitive."

** I hate people to oe sensitive. It makes them cowards. A man
when he is afraid of being blamed, dares not at last even show
himself, and has to be wrapped up in lamb's- wool."

*' Of course men are differently organized."

" Yes ; — but the worst of it is, that when they suffer from this
weakness, which you call sensitiveness, they think that tnoy are
made of finer material than other people. Men shouldn't be made
of Sevres china, but of good stone earthenware. However, I don't
want to abuse him, poor fellow."

" I don't think you ought."

"I know what that means. You do want to abuse me. So
they've been bull3ring him about the money he paid to that man
Lopez. How did anybody know anything about it P"

** Lopez must have told of it," said Mrs. Finn.

" The worst, my dear, of trying to know a great many people is,
that you are sure to get hold of some that are very bad. Now that
man is very bad. Yet they say he has married a nice wife."

" That's often the case, Ducness."

" And the contrary ; — isn't it, my dear P But I shall have it out
with Plantagenet. If I have to write letters to all the newspapers
myself, I'll put it right." She certainly coddled her husband less
than the others ; and, indeed, in her heart of hearts disapproved
altogether of the coddling system. But she was wont at mis par-
ticular time to be some^imat tender to him because she was aware
that she herself had been imprudent. Since he had discovered her
interference at Silverbridge, and had made her understand its per-
nicious results, she had been, — not, perhaps, shamefaced, for tliat
word describes a condition to which hardly any series of mis-
fortunes could have reduced the Duchess of Omnium, — but inclined
to quiescence by feelings of penitence. She was less disposed than
heretofore to attack him with what the world of yesterday calls
'* chaff," or with what the world of to-day calls ' ' cheek." She would
not admit to herself that she was cowed ; — but the greatness of the
^ame and the hi^h interest attached to her busbnad s position did
in some degree dismay her. Nevertheless she executed her pur-
pose of " having it out with Plantagenet." " I have just heard,"
she said, having knocked at the door of his own room, and having
fbund him alone, — " I have just heard, for the first time, that there
is a row about the money you paid to Mr. Lopez."

"Who told you P" •

.,^.^.

844

THE PRIME MINISTER.

" Nobody told me, — in the lusual sense of the word. I presume*!
that something was the matter, and then I got it out from Marie
Why had you not told me ?"

" Why should I tell you P"

"But why notP If anything troubled me I should tell you.
That is, if it troubled me much.

*' You take it for granted that this does trouble me much." He
was smiling as he said this, but the smile passed very quickly from
his face. " I will not, howeyer, deceive you. It does trouble me."

" I knew very well that something was wrong."

** I haye not complained."

" One can see as much as that without words. What is it that
you fear ? What can the man do to you P What matter is it to
you if such a one as that pours out his malice on you P Let it run
ofP like the rain from the housetops. You are too big even to be
stung by such a reptile as that." He looked into her face, admiring
the energy with which she spoke to him. ** As for answering him,"
she continued to say, " that may or may not be proper. If it
■hould be done, there are people to do it. But I am speaking of
your own inner self. You nave a shield against your equals, and
a sword to attack them with if necessary. Have you no armour
of proof against such a creature as that P Have you nothing inside
you to mfuce you feel that he is too contemptible to be regarded P"

** Nothing, he said.

"Oh, Plantagenet!"

** Cora, there are different natures which have each their ow^i
excellencies and their own defects. I will not admit that I am
a coward, b^eying as I do that I could dare to face necessary
danger. But I cannot endure to have my character impugne4» —
evenly Mr. Slide and Mr. Lopez."

" Wnat matter, — if you are in the right ? Why blench if your
conscience accuses you of no fault P I would not bleuch even if it
did. What ; — is a man to be put in the front of everything, and
then to be judged as though he could give all his time to the pick-
ing of his steps?"

" Just so ! And he must picL them more wanly than another."

'* I do not believe it. You see all this with jaundiced eyes. I
read somewhere the other day that the great ships have always
little worms attached te them, but that uie great ships swim on
and know nothing of the worms."

*• The worms conquer at last."

" They shouldn't conquer me ! After all,. what is it that they say
about the money P Th?,t you ought not to have had it P"

" I begin to mink that I was wrong to pay it."

•* You certainly were not wrong. I had led the man on. I had
been mistaken. I had thought that he was a gentleman. Having
led him on at first, before you had spoken to me, I did not like to
go^back from my word. I did go to the man at Silverbridge who
sells the poto, and no doubt the man, when thus encouraged, told

CODDLING THE PRTMK MINISTEU.

845

it all to Lopez. When Lopez went to the town ho did suppose that
he would have what the people call the Castle interest."

" And I bad done so much to prevent it ! "

" What's the use of going back to that now, unless you want me
to put my neck down to be trodden on P I am confessing my own
sins as fast as I can."

" God knows I would not have you trodden on."

" I am willing, — if it be necessary. Then came the question ; —
as I had done this evil, how .» as it to be rectified P Any man with
a particle of spirit would have taken his rubs and said nothing about
it. But as this man asked for the money, it was right that he
should have it. If it is all made public he won't get very well out
of it."

•* What does that matter to me P "

" Nor shall I ; — only luckily I do not mind it.**

'♦ But I mind it for you."

*' You must throw me to the whale. Let somebody say in so
msLny words that the Duchess did so and so. It was very wicked
no doubt; but they can't kill me, — nor yet dismiss me. And I
won't resign. In point of fact I shan't be a penny the wovse
fori^."

'* JtJut I should resign."

" If all the Ministers in England were to give up as soon as their
wives do foolish things, that question about the Queen's Govern-
ment would become very difficult."

'* They may do foolish things, dear ; and yet "

"And yet what P"

** Ami yet not interfere in politics."

** That's all you know about it, Plantagenet. Doesn't every-
body know that Mrs. Daubeny got Dr. MacFuzlem made a bishop,
and that Mrs. Gresham got her husband to make that hazy speech
about women's rights, so that nobody should know which way he
meant to go P There are others just as bad as me, only I don't
think they get blown up so much. You do now as I ask you."

" I couldn't do it, Cora. Though the stain were but a little spot,
and the thing to be avoided political destruction, I could not ride
out of the punishment by fixing that stain on my wife. I will not
have your name mentioned. A man's wife should be talked about
by no one."

«' That's high-foluting, Plantagenet."

" Glencora, in these matters you must allow me to judge for
myself, and I will judge. I will never say that I didn't do it ; —
but that it was my wife who did."

" Adam said so, — because he chose to tell the truth."

"And Adam has been despised ever since, — not because he ate
the apple, but because he imputed the eating of it to a woman. I
will not do it. We have had enough of this now." Then she
turned to go away ; — but he called her back. " Kiss rae, dear," he
s^id. Then she stooped over him and kissed him. " Do not think

846

THE PBIME MINISTER.

I am angry with you because the thing vexes me. I am dreaming
always of some daj when we may go away together with the
children, and rest in some pretty spot, and live as other people
live."

" It wotdd be very stupid," she muttered to herself as she left
the room.

He did go up to town for the Cabinet meeting. Whatever may
have been done at that august assemblv there was certainly no
resignation, or the world would have heard it. It is probable,
too, that nothing was said about these newspaper articles. Things
if left to themselves will generally die at last. The old Duke and
Phineas Finn and Barrington Erie were all of opinion that the best
plan for the present was to do nothing. " Has anything been
settled ? " the JDuchess asked Phineas when he came back.

**0h yes; — the Queen's Speech. But there isn't very much
m it."

" But about the payment of this mone^ P "

" I haven't heara a word about it," said Phineas.

" You're just as bad as all the rest, Mr. Finn, with your pre-
tended secrecy. A girl with her first sweetheart isn't half so fussy
Rs a young Cabinet Minister."

" The Cabinet Ministers get used to it sooner, I think," said
Phineas Finn.

Parliament had already met before Mr. Slide had quite deter-
mined in what way he would carry on the war. He could indeed
go on writing pernicious articles about the Prime Minister ad in-
finitum, — from year's end to vear's end. It was an occupation in
which he took delight, and for which he imagined himself to be
peculiarly well suited. But readers will become tired even of
abuse if it be not varied. And the very continuation of such attacks
would seem to imply that they were not much heeded. Other
papers had indeed taken the matter up, — but they had taken it up
only' to drop it. The subject had not been their own. The little
discovery had been due not to their acumen, and did not there-
fore bear with them the highest interest. It had almost seemed as
though nothing would come of it; — for Mr. Slide in his wildest
ambition could have hardly imagined the vexation and hesitation,
the nervousness and serious discussions which his words had occa-
sioned among the great people at Matching. But certainly the
thing must not be aUowed to pass away as a matter of no moment.
Mr. Slide had almost worked his mind up to real horror as he
thought of it. What ! A prime minister, a peer, a great duke, —
put a man forward as a candidate for a borough, and, when the
man was beaten, pay his expenses ! Was this to be done, — to be
done and found out and then nothing come of it in these days of

{)urity, when a private member of Parliament, some mere nobody,
OSes his seat because he has given away a few bushels of coals or a
score or two of rabbits ! Mr. Slide's energetic love of public virtue
was scandalised as he thought of the piobability of such a catas-

ii!

CODDLINO THE PBIME MINISTER.

847

trophe. To his thinking public virtue consisted in carping at men
hi^ placed, in abusing ministers and judges and bishops, — and
especially in finding out something for which they might be abused.
His own public virtue was in this matter very ^eat, for it was he
who had ferreted out the secret. For his intelligence and energy
in that matter the country owed him much. But the country woiHd
pay him nothing, would give him none of the credit he desired,
would rob him of this special opportunity of ieclarin^ a dozen
times that the " People's Banner' was the surest ^ardian of the
people's liberty, — unless he could succeed in forcing the matter
further into public notice. '* How terrible is the apathy of the
people at large," said Mr. Slide to himself, " when they cannot be
vakened by such a revelation as this ! "

Mr. Slide knew very well what ought to be the next step.
Proper notice should be given and a question should be asked in
Parliament. Some gentleman should declare that he had noticed
such and such statements in the public press, and that he thought
it right to ask whether such and such payments had been made by
the Prime Minister. In his meditations Mr. Slide went so far a£
to arrange the very words which the indignant ^ntleman should
utter, among which words was a graceful allusion to a certain
public-spirited newspaper. He did even go po far as to arrange a
compliment to the editor, — but in doing so he knew that he was
thinking only of that which ought to be, and not of that which
would hd. The time had not come as yet in which the editor of a
newspaper in this country received a tithe of the honour due to
him. But the question in any form, with or without a compliment
to the "People's Banner," would be the thing that was now
desirable.

Who was to ask the question ? If public spirit were really strong
in the country there would be no difficulty on that point. The
crime committed had been so horrible that all the great poli-
ticians of the country ought to compete for the honour of asking
it. What greater service can be trusted to the hands of a great
man than that of exposing the sins of the rulers of the nation ? So
thought Mr. Slide. But he knew that he was in advance of the
people, and that the matter would not be seen in the proper light
by those who ought so to see it. There might be a difficulty in
getting any peer to ask the question in the House in which the
Primo Minister himself sat, and even in the other House there was
now but little of that acrid, indignant opposition upon which, in
Mr. Slide's opinion, the safety of the nation altogether depends.

When the statement was first made in the •* People's Banner,"
Lopez had come to Mr. Slide at once and had demanded his autho-
rity for making it. Lopez had found the statement to be most
injurious to himself. He had been paid his election expenses twice
over, making a clear profit of £500 oy the transaction ; and, though
the matter had at one time troubled his conscience, he had already
taught himself to regard it as one of those bygones to which a wise

B48

THE PRIME MINISTKR.

man Reldom refers. But now Mr. Wharton wfmld know that he
had beeu cheated, should thin statement reach him. "Who gav«
you authority to puhlish all this P " asked Lopez, who at this time
had become intimate with Mr. Slide.

" Is it true, Lopez P " asked the editor.

'* Whatever was done was done in private, — between me end the
Duke."

'• Dukes, my dear feUow, can't be private, and certainly not when
^ey arc Prime Ministers."

'' Bat you've no right to publish these things about me."
Is v true? If it's true I have got every ri^ht to publish it.
Ii ..'3 noi- t'Tie, I've got the right to ask the question. If you will
'ave to. do \ith Prime Ministers you can't *ide yourself under a
bushel. * Tell me this; — is it true P You might as well go 'and in
'and with me in the matter. You can't 'urt yourself. And if you
oppose me, — why I shall oppose you."

" You can't say anything of me."

"Well; — I don't know about that. I can generally 'it pretty
'ari if I feel inclined. But I don't want to 'it you. As regards
you I can tell the story one way, — or the otner, just as you
pleuse." Lopez, seeing it in the same light, at last agreed that the
story should DO told in a manner not inimical to himself. The pre-
sent project of his life was to leave his troubles in England, — Sexty
Parker being the worst of them, — and ^t away to Ghaatemala. In
arran^ng tms the good word of Mr. Slide might not benefit him,
but his iU word might injure him. And then, let him do what he
would, the matter must be made public. Should Mr. Wharton
hear of it, — as of course he would, — it must be brazened out. He
could not keep it from Mr. Wharton's ears by quarrelling with
Quintus Slide.

•* It was true," said Lopez,

** I knew it before just as well as though I had seen it. I ain't
often very wrong in these things. You asked him for the money,
— ^and threatened him."

" I don't know about threatening him,"

** 'E wouldn't have sent it else."

*• I told him that I had been deceived by his people in the
borough, and that I had been put to expense through the mis-
representations of the Duchess. I don't think I did ask for the
money. But he sent a cheque, and of course I took it."

♦* Of course; — of course. You couldn't give me a copy of your
letter P"

" Never kept a copy." He had a copy in his breast coat-pocket
at that moment, and Slide did not for a moment believe the state-
ment made. But in such discussions one man hardly expects truth
from another. Mr. Slide certainly never expected truth from any
man. " He sent the cheque almost without a word," said Lopez.

** He did write a note, I suppose P "

•* Just a few words."

CODDLING TUi'. PBIMF, MINISTER.

a^9

" Could you let ine *ave that note P "

" I destroyed it at once " This was also in his breast *'Ockot at
the time.

" Did 'e write it 'imself?"

'* I think it was his private Secretary, Mr. Warburtou. '

" You must be sure, you know. Whiuh was it i' "

•• It was Mr. Warburton."

•♦Wa« it civil?"

" Yes, it was. If it had been uncivil I should have sent it back.
I'm not the man to take impudence even from a duke."

" If you'U give me those two letters, Lo|>ez, I'll stick to you
through thick and thin. By heavens I will! Think what the
' People's Banner ' is. You may come to want that kind of thing
some of these days." Lopez remF .ed silent, looking mto the other
man's eager face. ** I shouldn't ya ish them, you know; but it
would be so much to me to hav~ tke & ndence in my hands. You
might do worse, you know, than make a friend of me."

•' You won't publish them P "

" Certainly not. I shall only jfer to them."

Then Lopez pulled a bund? ' of papers out of his pocket. " There
they are," he said.

" Well," said Slide, when he had read them ; *' it is one of the
rummest transactions I ever 'eard of. Why did 'e send the money P
That's what I want to know. As fax as the claim goes, you 'adn't
a leg to stand on."

••Not legally. "

'• You 't^n't a leg to stand on any way. But that doesn't much
matter. He sent the money, and the sending of the money was
corrupt. Who shall I get to ask the question r I suppose young
Fletcher wouldn't do it P "

•• Thev're birds of a feather," said Lopez.

•• Birds of a feather do fall out sometimes. Or Sir Orlando
Drought P I wonder whether Sir Orlando would do it. If any
man ever 'ated another Sir Orlando Drought must 'ate the Duke of
Omnium."

" I don't think he'd let himself down to that kind of thing."

*' Let 'imself down ! I don't see any letting down in it. But
those men who have been in cabinets do stick to one another even
when they are enemies. They thmk themselves so mighty that
they oughtn't to be 'andled like other men. But I'll let 'em know
tliat I'll 'andle 'em. A Cabinet Minister or a cowboy is the same
Lo Quintus Slide when ho has got his pen in 'ia 'aud."

On the next morning there came out another article in the
" People's Banner," in which the writer declared that he bad in
his own possession the damnatory correspondence between the
Prime Minister and the late candidate at Silverbridge. "The
Prinio Minister may deny the fact," said the article. " We do not
think it probable, but it is possible. We wish to be fair aud above-
boaid in everything. And therefore we at once inform the noble

850

THE PRIME MINISTER.

Duke that the entire correspondence is in our hands." In saying
this Mr. Quiutus Slide thought that he had quite kept the promise
which he made when he said that he would only refer to the letters.

CHAFTEE LII.

"I CAN SLEEP HERE TO-NIGHT, I SUPPOSE."

TiiAT scheme of going to Guatemala had been in the first instance
propounded by Lopez with the object of frightening Mr. Wharton
into terms. There had, indeed, been some previous thoughts on the
subject, — some plan projected before his marriage ; but it had been
resuscitated mainly with the hope that it might be efficacious to ex-
tract money. When by degrees the son-in -law began to feel that
even this would not be operative on his father-in-law's purse, — when
under this Uireat neither Wharton nor Emily gave way, — and
when, with the view of strengthening his threat, he renewed his
inquiries as to Guatemala and found that there might still be an
opening for him in that direction, — the threat took the shape of a
true purpose, and he began to think that he would in real earnest
try his fortunes in a new world. From day to day things did not
go well with him, and from day to day Sexty Parker became more
unendurable. It was impossible for him to keep from his partner
this plan of emigration, — but he endeavoured to make Parker
believe that the thing, if done at all, was not to be done till all his
affairs were settled, — or in other words all his embarrassments
cleared by downright money payments, and that Mr. Wharton was
to make these pigments on the condition that he thus expatriated
himself. But Iju*. Wharton' had made no such promise. Though
the threatened day came nearer and nearer he could not bring
himself to purchase a short respite for his daughter by paying
money to a scoundrel, — which payment he felt sure would lie of
no permanent service. During all this time Mr. Wharton was very
wretched. If he could have freed his daughter from her marriage
by half his fortune he would have done it without a second thought.
It he could have assuredly purchased the permanent absence of her
husband, he would have done it at a large price. But let him pay
what he would, he could see his way to no security. From day to
day he became more strongly convinced of the rascality of this
man who was his son-in-law, and who was jstill an inmate in his
own house. Of course he had accusations enough to make within
his own breast against his daughter, who, when the choice was
open to her, would not take the altogether fitting husband provided
for her, but had declared herself to be broken-hearted for ever
unless she were allowed to throw herself away upon this wretched

I CAN SLEEP HERE XO-NIOUT, I UUPPOSE.

851

oreature. But he blamed himself almost as much as he did her.
Why had he allowed himself to be so enervated by her prayers at
last as to surrender everything, — as he had done f How could he
presume to think that he should be allowed to escape, when he had
done so little to prevent this misery ?

He spoke to Emily about it, — not often indeed, but with great
earnestness. " I have done it myself," she said, *' and I will bear it."

" Tell him you cannot go till you know to what home you are
going."

" That is for him to consider. I have begged him to let me
remain, and I can say no more. If he chooses to take me, I
shaUgo."

Then he spoke to her about money. •* Of course I have money,"
he said. " Of course I have enough both for you and Everett. If
I could do any good by giving it to him, he should have it."

" Papa," she answered, " I will never again ask you to give him
a single penny. That must be altogether between you and him.
He is what they call a speculator. Money is not safe with him."

" I shall have to send it you when you are in want."

" When I am — dead there will be no more to be sent. Do not
look like that, papa. I know what I have done, and I must bear
it. I have thrown away my life. It is just that. If baby had
lived it would have been different." This was about the end oi
January, and then Mr. Wharton heard of the great attack made by
Mr. Quintus Slide against the Prime Minister, and heard, of course,
of tJie payment alleged to have been made to Ferdinand Lopez by
the Duke on the score of the election at Silverbridge. Some persons
spoke to him on the subject. One or two friends at the dub asked
him what he supposed to be the truth in the mattor, and Mrs. Roby
inquired of him on the subject. " I have asked Lopez," she said,
" and I am sure from his manner that he did get the money."

•' I don't know anything about it," said Mr. Wharton.

•* If he did get it I think he was very clever," It was well known
at this time to Mrs. Boby that the Lopez marriage had been a
failure, that Lopez was not a rich man, and that Emily, as well as
her fi&ther, was discontented and unhappy. She had latterly heard
of the Guatemala scheme, and had of course expressed her horror.
But she sympathized with Lopez rather than with his wife, thinking
that if Mr. Wharton would only open his pockete wide enough
things might still be right. " It was all the Duchess's fault, you
know," she said to the old man.

" I know nothing about it, and when I want to know I certainly
shall not come to you. The misery he has brought upon me is so
great that it makes me wish that I had never seen any one who
knew him."

'• It was Everett who introduced him to your house. '

** It was you who introduced him to Everett."

" There you are wrong, — as you so often are, Mr. Wharton.
Everett met him Qrst at the clubw"

862

THE PRIME MINIBTKR.

"What's tho use of arguing about ith It was at your house
that Emily met him. It was you that did it. I wonder you oau
have the face to mention his name to me."

" And the man living all the time in your own house I "

Up to this time Mr. Wharton had not mentioned to a single
periV>n the fact that he had paid his son-in-law's election expenses
at Silverl)ridge. He had given him the cheque wi^out much
consideration, with the feeling that by doing so he would in some
degree benefit his daughter ; and had since regretted the act,
finding that no such payment from him could be of any service to
Emily. But the thing had been done, — and there had been, so far,
an end of it. In no Bubse(^uent discussion would Mr. Wharton
have alluded to it, had not oircumstauces now as it were driven it
back upon his mind. And since the day on which he had paid
that money he had been, as he declared to himself, swindled over and
over again by his son-in-law. There was the dinner in Manchester
Square, and after that the brougham, and the rent, and a score of
bills, some of which he had paidaud some declined to pay I And
yet he had said but little to the man himself of all these injuries.
Of what use was it to say anything. Lopez would simply reply
tiiat he had asked him to pay nothing ? ** What is it all,'' Lopez
had once said, " to the fbrtune I had a right to expect with your
daughter F" " Tou had no right to expect a shilling," Wharton
had said. Then Lopez had shrugged his shoulders, and there had
been an end of it.

But now, if this rumour were true, there had been positive dis-
honesty. From whichever source the man might have got the
money first, if the money had been twice got, the second payment
had been fraudulently obtained. Surely if the accusation had
been untrue Lopez would have come to him and declared it to be
false, knowing what must otherwise be his thoughts. Lately, in
the daily worry of his life, he had avoided all conversation with
the man. He would not allow his mind to contemplate clearly
what was coming. He entertained some frrational, undefined hope
that something would at last save his daughter from the threat-
ened banishment. It might be, if he '^eld his own hand tight
enough, that there would not be monej' enough even to pay for
her passage out. As for her outfit Lopez would of course order
what he wanted and have the bills sent to Manchester Square.
Whether or not this was being done neither he nor Emily knew.
And thus matters went on without much speech between the two
men. But now the old barrister thought that he was bound to speak.
He therefore waited on a certain morning till Lopez had come
down, having previously desired his daughter to leave the room.
" Lopez," he asked, *' what is this that the newspapers are saying
about your expenses at Silverbridge ? "

Lopez had expected the attack and had endeavoured to prepare
himself for it. "I should have thought, sir, that you would not
have paid much attention to such statements in a newspaper."

"l CAN SLEEP HKIIE TO-NmilT, I HUPPOHK ? "

858

•• When they concern myself, 1 do. I paid your electiouooting
ex])uiiHe8."

" You certainly subHcribod £.><)() towards them, Mr. Wharton."

" I subscribed nothing, sir. Thero was no (lueMtion of a sub-
scription, — by which you intund to imply contribution from various
sources. Tou told me that the contest co8t you jL'6(K) and that
sum I handed to 3'ou, with the full understanding on your part, us
well as on mine, that I was paying for the whole. Was that so h '

*' Have it your own way, sir."

" If you are not more precise, I shall think that you have
defrauded me."

•' Defrauded you ! "

** Yes, sir ; — defraudod me, or the Duke of Omnium. The
Eaonev is gone, and it matters little which. But if that be so 1
shall know that either from him or from me you have raised money
under false pretences."

*• Oi course, Mr. Wharton, from you I must bear whatever you
may choose to say."

"Is it true that vou have applied to tho Duke of Omnium for
money on account of your expenses at Silvorbridge, and is it true
that he has paid you money on that score P "

" Mr. Wharton, as I said just now, I am bound to hear and to
bear from you anything that you may choose to say. Your con-
nection with my wife and your age alike restrain my resentment.
But I am not bound to answer your questions wnen thoy are
accompanied by such language as you have chosen to use, and I
refuse to answer any further questions on this subject."

"Of course I know that you have taken the money Arom the
Duke."

" Then why do you ask me ? "

" And of course I know that you are as well aware as I am of
the nature of the transaction. Tnat you can brazen it out without
a blush only proves to me tiiat you have got beyond the reach of
shame ! "

•' Very well, sir."

•' Jknd you have no furthvir explanation to make ? "

'* What do you expect me to say r* Without knowing any of the
facts of the case, — except the one, that you contributed £500 to my
election expenses, — you take upon yourself to tell me that I am a
shameless, fraudulent swindler. And then you ask for a further
explanation ! In such a position is it likely that I shall explain
anything ; — that I can be in a humour to be explanatory ? Just
turn it all over in your own mind, and ask yourself de question."

" I have turned it over in my own mind, and I hi asked myself
the question, and I do not think it probable that y«. li should wish
to explain anything. I shall take steps to let the Duke know that
I as your father-in-law had paid the full sum which you had
stated that you had spent at Silverbridge."

*' Maoh the Duke will care about that."

4 A

854

THE PRIME MINIStElt.

'T. Ill

" And after what has passed I am obliged to say that the sooner
you leave this house the better I shall be pleased."

" Very well, sir. Of course I shall take my wife with me."

*' That must be as she pleases."

** No, Mr. Wharton. That must be as I please. She belongs to
me, — not to you or to herself. Under your influence she has
forgotten much of what belongs to the duty of a wife, but 1 do not
thin^ that she will so far have forgotten herself as to give me more
trouble than to bid her come with me when I desire it."

" Let that be as it may, I must request that you, sir, will absent
yourself. I will not entertain as my guest a man who has acted
as you have done in this matter, — even though he be my son-in-
law."

•* I can sleep here to-ni^ht, 1 suppose ? "

** Or to-morrow if it suits you. As for Emily she can remain
here, if you will allow her to do so."

** That will not suit me," said Lopez.

*' In that case, as far as I am concerned, I shall do whatever
she may ask me to do. Good morning."

Mr. Wharton left the room, but did not leave the house. Before
he did so he would see his daughter ; and, [thinking it probable
that Lopez would also choose to see his wife, lie prepared to
wait in his own room. But, in about ten minutes, Lopez
started from the hall door in a cab, and did so without going
up-stairs. Mr. Wharton had reason to believe that his son-in-law
was almost destitute of money for immediate purposes. What-
ever he might havt would at any rate be serviceable to him
before he started. Any home for Emily must be expensive ; and
no home in their present circumstances could be so reputable for
her as one under her father's roof. Ho therefore almost hoped
that she might still be left with Him till that horrid day should
come, — if it ever did come, — in which she would be taken away
from him for ever. *' Of course, papa, I shall go if he bids me,"
she said, when he told her all that he thought right to tell her of
that morning's interview.

" I hardly know how to advise you," said the fatiier, meaning in
truth to bring himself round to tne giving of some advice adverse
to her husband's will.

*' I want no advice, papa."

"Want no advice! I never knew a woman who wanted it
more."

" No, papa. I am bound to do as he tells me. I know what I
have done. When some poor wretch has got himself into perpetual
prison by his misdeeds, no advice can serve him then. So it is,
with me."

" You can at any rate escape from ^oui' prison."

" No ; — no. I have a feeling of pride which tells me that as I
chose to become the wife of my husoand, — as I insisted on it in
apposition to all my friends, — as I would judge for myself, — I am

.^-^

"I CAN SLEEP HERE TO-NIGHT, I SUPPOSE?"

356

B sooner

: remain

bound to put up with my choice. If this had come upon me through
the authority of others, if I had been constrained to marry him, I
think I could have reconciled myself to deserting him. But I did
it myself, and I will abide by it. When he bids me go, I shall
go." Poor Mr. Wharton went to his chambers, and sat there the
whole day without taking a book or a paper into his hands. Could
there be no rescue, no protection, no relief ! He turned over in
his head various plans, but in a vague and useless manner. What
if the Duke were to prosecute Lopez for the fraud ! What if ho
could induce Lopez to abandon his wife, — pledging himself by
some deed not to return to her, — for, say, twenty or even thirty
thousand pounds ! What if he himself were to carry his daughter
away to the continent, half forcing and half persuading her to
make the journey ! Surely there might be some means found by
which the man might be frightened into compliance. But there
he sat, — and did nothing. And in the evening he ate a solitary
mutton chop at The Jolly Blackbird, because he could not bear
to face even his club, and then returned to his chambers, — to the
great disgust of the old woman who had them in charge at nights.
And at about midnight he crept away to his own house, a wretched
old man.

Lopez when he left Manchester Square did not go in search of
a new home for himself and his wife, nor during the whole of the
day did he trouble himself on that subject. He spent most of the
day at the rooms in Coleman Street of the San Juan Mining Asso-
ciation, of which Mr. Mills Happerton had once been Chairman.
There was now another Chairman and other Directors ; but Mr.
Mills Happerton's influence had so far remained with the Company
as to enable Lopez to become well known in the Company's offices,
and acknowledged as a claimant for the office of resident Manager
at San Juan in Guatemala. Now the present project was this, —
that Lopez was to start on behalf of tne Company early in May,
that the Company was to pay his own personal expenses out to
Guatemala, and that they should allow him while there a salary of
£1,000 a year for managing the affairs of the mine. As far as this
offer went, the thing was true enough. It was true that Lopez
had absolutely secured the place. But he had done so subject to
the burden of one very s'^rious stipulation. He was to become
proprietor of 50 shares in the mine, and to pay up £100 each on
those shares. It was considered that the man who was to get
£1,000 a year in Guatemala for managing the affair, should at any
rate assist the affair, and show his conlidence in the affair to an
extent as great as that. Of course the holder of these 50 shares
would be as fully entitled as any other shareholder to that 20 per
cent, which those who promoted the mine promised as the imme-
diate result of the speculation.

At first Lopez had hoped that he might be enabled to defer the
actual payment of the £5,000 till after he had sailed. When once
out in Guatemala as manager, as m>inagpr he would doubtless

850

TIIK PRIME MINISTER.

remain. But by degrees he found that the payment must actually
be made in advance. Now there was nobody to whom he could
apply but Mr. Wharton. He was, indeed, forced to declare at the
office that the money was to come from Mr. Wharton, and had
given some excellent but fictitious reason why Mr. Wharton would
not pay the money till February.

And in spite of all that had come and gone he still did hope that
if the need to go were actually there he might even yet get the
money from Mr. Wharton. Surely Mr. Wharcon would sooner
pay such a sum than be troubled at home with such a son-in-law.
Should the worst come to the worst, of course he could raise the
money by consenting to leave his wife at home. But this was not
part of his plan, if he could avoid it. £5,000 would be a very low
price at which to sell his wife, and all that he might get from 1 . 3
connection with her. As long as he kept her with him he was in
possession at any rate of all that Mr. Wharton would do for her.
He had not therefore as yet made his final application to his
father-in-law for the money, having found it possible to postpone
the payment till the middle of February. His quarrel with Mr.
Wharton this morning he regarded as naving little or no effect
upon his circumstances. Mr. Wharton would not give him the
money because he loved him, nor yet from personal respect, nor
from any sense of duty as to what he might owe to a son-in-law.
It would be simply given as the price by which his absence might
be purchased, and nis absence would not be the less desirable
because of this morning's quarrel.

But, even yet, he w as not quite resolved as to goin^ to Guatemala.
Sexty Parker had been sucked nearly Iry, and was :n truth at this
moment so violent with indignation and fear and remorse that
Lopez did not dare to show hmiself in Little Tankard Yard ; but
still there were, even yet, certain hopes in that direction from which

freat results might come. If a certain new spirit which had just
een Soncocted from the bark of trees in Central Africa, and which
was called Bios, could only be made to go up in the market,
everything might be satisfactorily arranged. The hoardings of
London were already telling the public that if it wished to get
drunk without any of the usual troubles of intoxication it must
drink Bios. The public no doubt does read the literature of the
hoardings, but then it reads so slowly ! This Bios had hardly boen
twelve months on the boards as yet ! Biit they were now increas-
ing the size of the letters in the advertibemente and the jocundity
of the pictures, — and the thing might be done. There was, too,
another hope, — another hope of instant moneys by which Guate-
mala might be staved off, as to which further explanation shall be
given in a further chapter.

" I suppose I shall find Dixon a decent sort of a fellow ?" said
Lopez t<> the Secretary of the Association in Coleman Street,

" Eough, you know."

'♦But West F"

K:^

MR. HARTLEPOD.

367

jtually

could
I at the
id had

would

pe that
yet the
sooner
Ln-law.
iso the
was not
ery low
'om. 1 -5
I was in
:or her.
L to his
ostpone
ith Mr.

effect
lim the
ect, nor
-in-law.
e might
esirable

.temala.

1 at this
*se that
rd; but
a which
ad just
d which
oaarket,
ings of

to get
it must
) of the
ly boen

creas-
Dundity
[as, too,
IGuate-
thall be

|p" said

** Oh, yes ;— he's all that."

" If he's honest, and what I call loyal, I don't care a straw for
anything else. One doesn't expect West-end manners in Giate-
mala. But I shall .have a deal to ^lo with him, — and I hate a
feljow that you can't depend on."

'* Mr. Happerton used to think a great deal of Dixon."

" That's all right," said Lopez. Mr. Dixon was the under-
ground manager out at the San Juan mine, and was perhaps as
anxious for a loyal and honest colleague as was Mr. Lopez. If so,
Mr. Dixon was very much in the way to be disappointed.

Lopez stayed at the office all the day studying the aJSairs of the
San Juan mine, and then went to the Progress for his dinner.
Hitherto he had taken no steps whatever as to getting lodgings for
himself or for his wife.

CHAPTER LIII.

MR. HARTLEPOD.

When the time came at which Lopez should have left Manchester
Square he was still there. Mr. Wharton, in discussing tho matter
with his daughter, — when wishing to persuade her that she might
remain in his house even in opposition to her husband, — had not
told her that he had actually desired Lopez to leave it. He had
then felt stu'e that the man would go and would take his wife with
him, but he did not even yet know the obduracy and the clever-
ness and the impregnability of his son-in-law. When the time
came, when he saw his daughter in the morning after the notice
had been given, he could not bring himself even yet to say to her
that he bad issued an order for his banishment. Days wer « d^ and
Lopez was still there, and the old barrister said no further word on
the subject. The two men never met ; — or met simply in the hall
or passages. Wharton himself studiously avoided such meetings,
thus denying himself the commonest uses of his own house. At
last Emily told him that her husband had Hxed the day for her
departure. Tho next Indian mail- packet by which they would
leave England would start from Southampton on the 2nd of April,
and she was to be ready to go on that day. " How is it to be till
then ? " the father asked in a low, uncertain voice.

" I suppose I may remain with you."

*' And your liusband ?"

" He will bo hort too, — I buppose.'*

" Such a misery, — such a destruction of everything no man ever
heard of before ! " said Mr. Wharton. To this she made no reply,
l)ut continued working at Home necessary preparation for her final
(lepurtuie. " Emily,' he said, " I wiU make any sacrifice to pre-

858

THE PRIME MINT ,TF,E.

i A

vent it. What can be done ? Short of injuriiig Everett's interests
I will do anything." •

** I do not know," she said.

" You must understand something of his affairs"

" Nothing whatever. He has told me nothing of them. In
earlier days, — soon after our marriage, — he ba<le me get money
from you."

** When you wrote to me for money from Italy ?"

"And after that. I have refused to do anything; — to say a
word. I told him that it must be between you and him. What
else could I say ? And now he tells me nothing."

"I cannot think that he should want you to go with him."
Then there was again a pause. " Is it because he loves you ?"

" Not that, papa."

" Why then should he burden himself with a companion ? His
money, whatever he has, would go further without such im-
pediment ? "

" Perhaps he thinks, papa, that while I am with him he has a
hold upon you."

" He shall have a stronger hold by leaving you. What is he to
gain ? If I could only know his price."

*' Ask him, papa."

*' I do not even know how I am to speak to him again."

Then again there was a pause. " PapL," she said after a while,
'* I have done it myself. Let me go. You will still have Everett.
And it may be that after a time I shall come back to you. He will
not kill me, and it luay be that I shall not die."

" B- God!" sa ' ... Wharton, rising from his chair suddenly,
** if theie were m : * . to be made by it I believe that he would
murder you withoui a scruple." Thus it was that within eighteei^
months of her marriage the father spoke to his daughter of her
husband.

" What am I to take with mo P" she said to her husband a few
days later.

** You had better ask your father."

*' Why should I ask him, Ferdinand ? How should he know ?"

"And how should I?"

'* I should hive thought that you would interest yourself about
it."

" Upon my word I have enough to interest me just at present,
without thinking of your finery. I suppose you mean what clothes
you should have ? "

" I was not thinking of myself only."

** Yu'.ineed think of nothing olso. Ask him what he pleases to
allow you to spend, and then I will tell you what to get."

'■ I will never ask him for anything, Ferdinand."

" Then you may go without anything. You might as well do it
at once, for you will have to do it sooner or later. Or, if yoii
please, go to his tradesmen and say nothing to him about it. They

MR. HARTLLfOD.

8^9

I -TV hit

iiS

will give you credit. You see how it is, my dear. He hp3 hen*, d
me in a most rascally manner. He has allowed me to v
daughter, and because I did not make a bargain wit^ divu
another man would have done, he denies me the fortune h.;. i a
right to expect with you. You know that the Israelites deopoilod
the Egyptians, and it was taken as a merit on their part. "Your
father is an Egyptian to me, and I will despoil him. You can tell
him that I say so if you please."

And so the days went on till the first week of February had
passed, and Parliament had met. Both Lopez and his wife were
still living in Manchester Square. Not another word had been
said as to that notice to quit, nor an allusion made to it. It was
supposed to be a settled thing that Lopez was to start with his wife
for Guatemala in the first week in April. Mr. Wharton had him-
self felt that difficulty as to hi« daughter's outfit, and had told her
that she might get whatever it pleased her on his credit. " For
yourself, my dear."

" Papa, I will get nothing till he bids me."

'• But you can't go across the world without anything. What
are you to do in such a place as that unless you have the things
you want ? "

" What do poor people do who have to go ? What should I do
if you had cast me ofi" because of my disobedience ? "

*' But I have not cast you off."

** Tell him that you will give him so much, and then, it he bids
me, I will spend it."

" Let it be so. I will teU him."

Upon that Mr. Wharton did speak to his So^-v -law— coming
upon him suddenly one morning in the dini- : •^•oom. " Emily
will want an outfit if she is to go to this place.''

" Like other people she wants many things thi't jhe cannot gt o."

" I will tell my tradesmen to furnish her with wt^.i she wants,
up to, — well, — suppose I say £2( ). I have spoken to her and she
wants your sanction."

' ' My sanction for spending your money ? She can have that very
quickly."

" You can tell her so ; — or I will do so."

Upoii that Mr. Wharton was going, but Lopez stopped him. It
was now ossential that the money for the shares in the San Juan
mine should be paid up, and his father-in-law's pojket was still
the source from which the enterprising son-in-law hoped to procure
it. Lopez had fully made up his mind to demand it, and thought
that the time had now come. And he was resolved that he would
not ask it as a favou..' on bended knee. He was beginning to feel
his own power, and trusted thit he might prevail by other means
than bogp-'ng. " Mr. Wharton/' he said, " you and I have not been
very good friends lately/'

" No, indeed."

•" There was a time, — a very short time— during which I thought

860

THE PRIME MINISTER.

M \

W ^1

that we might hit it off together, and I did my host. You do not,
I fancy, like men of my class."

•• Well; — well ! You had better go on if there be anything to
say."

" I haye much to say, and I will go on. You are a rich man,
and I am your son-in-law." Mr. Wharton put his left hand up
to his forehead, brushing the few hairs back from his head, but he
said nothing. "Had I received from you during the last most
vital year that assistance which I think I had a right to expect, I
also might haye been a rich man now. It is no good going back
to that." Then he paused, but still Mr. Wharton said nothing.
'• Now you know what has come to mo and to your daughter. We
are to be expatriated."

" Is that my fault ? "

" I think it is, but I mean to say nothing further of that. This
Company which is sending me out, and which will probably be the
most thriving thing of the kind which has come up within these
twenty years, is to pay me a salary of £1,000 a year as resident
manager at San Juan.

•' So I understand."

"The salary alone would be a beggarly thing. Guatemala, I
take it, is not the cheapest country m the world in which a man
can live. But I am to w out as the owner of fifty shares on which
£100 each must be paid up, and I am entitled to draw another
£1,000 a year as dividend on the profit of those shares."

" That will be twenty per cent.

«♦ Exactly."

" And v/iU double your salary."

" Just so. But there is one little ceremony to be perfected before
I can be allowed to enter upon so halcyon a state of existence.
The £100 a share must be paid up." Mr. Wharton simply stared
at him. ' ' I must haye the £5,000 to invest in the undertaking
bofore I can start,"

"Well!"

" Now I have not got £5,000 myself, nor any part of it. You
do not wish, I sunpose, to see either me or your daughter starve.
An \ as for me I hardly flatter myself when I say that you are very
anxious to bo rid of me. £5,000 is not very much for me to ask
as I regard it."
h consummate impudence I never met in my life before ! "

"Nor perhaps so much unprevaricating downright truth. At
any rate such is the condition of my affairs. If I am to go the
ironey must be paid this week. I have, perhaps foolishly, put off
mentioning the matter till I was sure that I could not raise the
sum elsewhere. Though I feel my claim on you to be good, Mr,
Wharton, it is not pleasant to me to make it."

'" You are asking me for £5,000 down I "

"Certainly I am."

" What security am I to have ? "

of ytru

me
the

for

MR. UAUTLEPOD.

bOl

•* Security?"

'■ Yes;— that if I pay it I shall not be troubled again by the
meanest scoundrel that it has ever been my misfortune to meet.
How am I to know that you will not come back to-morrow ? How
am I to know that you will go at all ? Do you think it probable
that I will give you £5,000 on your own simple word P "

"Then the scoundrel will stay in England, — and will generally
tind it convenient to live in Manchester Square."

"I'll be d d if he does. Look here, sir. Between you and

me there can be a bargain, and nothing but a bargain. I will pay
the £0,000, — on certain conditions."

'* I didn't doubt at all that you would pay it."
" I will go with you to the office of this Company, and will pay
for the shares if I can receive assurance there that the matter is as
you say, and that the shares will not be placed in your power
before you have reached Guatemala."

*' You can come to-day, sir, and receive all that assurance."
" And 1 must have a written undertaking from you, — a document
which my daughter can show if it be necessary, — that you will
never claim her society again or trouble her with any application."
'* You mistake me, Mr. Wharton. My wife goes with me to
Guatemala."

"Then I will not pay one penny. Why should I? What is
your presence or absence to me except as it concerns her P Do you
think that I care for your thieats of remaining here. The police
will set that right."

"Wherever I go, my wife goes."

" We'll see to that too. If you want the money, you must leave
her. Good morning."
Mr. Wharton as he went to his chambers thought the matter
He was certainly willing to risk the £o,000 demanded if he
could rid himself and his daughter of this terrible incubus, even if
it were only for a time. If Lopez would but once go to Guatemala,
leaving his wife behind him, it would be comparatively easy to keep
them apart should he ever return. The difficulty now was not in
him but in her. The man's condT7.ct had been so outrageous, so
barefaced, so cruel that the lawyer did not doubt but that he could
turn the husband out of his house, and keep the wife, even now,
were it not that she was determined to obey the man whom she, in
opposition to all her friends, had taken as her master. "I have
done it myself and I will bear it," was all the answer she would
make when her father strove to persuade her to separate herself
from her husband. " You have got Everett," she would say.
" When a girl is married she is divided from her family; — and I
am divided." But she would willingly stay if Lopez would bid her
stay. It now .soemud that he could not go without the £5,000 ;
and, when the I'lessure came upon him, surely ho would go and
leave his wife,

in the course of chat day Mr. Wharton went to tho offices of thQ

over

862

THE PRIMK MINISTER.

San Juan mine and asked to see the Director. He was shown up
into a half-furni^hcd room, two stories high, in Coleman Street,
where he found two clerks sitting upon stools ; — and when he asked
for the Director was shown into the back room in which sat the
Secretary. The Secretary was a dark, plump little man with a
greasy face, who had the gift of assuming an air of great importance
as he twisted his chair round to face visitors who came to inquire
about the San Juan Mining Company. His name was Hartlepod ;
and if the San Juan mine "turned out trumps," as he intended
that it should, Mr. Hartlopod meant to be a great man in the City.
To Mr. Hartlepod Mr. Wharton, with considerable embarrassment,
explained as much of the joint history of himself and Lopez as he
found to be absolutely necessary. ' ' He has only left the office about
half-an-hour," said Mr. Hartlepod.

•* Of course you understand that he is my son-in-law."

"Pie has mentioned your name to us, Mr. Wharton, before
now."

'* And he is going out to Guatemala P "

" Oh yes ; — he's going out. Has he not told you as much him-
self?"

" Certainly, sir. And he has told me that he is desirous of
buying certain shares in the company before he starts."

" Probably, Mr. Wharton."

*' Indeed I believe he cannot go, unless he buys them."

*' That may be so, Mr. Wharton. No doubt he has told you all
that himself.

" 'J^he fact is, Mr. Hartlepod, I am willing, under certain stipu-
lations, to advance him the money." Mr. Hartlepod bowed. " I
need not trouble you with private affairs between myself and my
son-in-law." Again the Secretary bowed. " But it seems to hfi
for his interest that he should go."

" A very great opening indeed, Mr. Wharton. "I don't see how
a man is to have a better opening. A fine salary ! His expenses
out paid ! One of the very beet things that has come up for many
years ! And as for the capital he is to embark in the affair, he is
as safe to get 20 per cent, on it, — as safe, — as safe as the Bank
of England."

" He'U have the shares P "

" Oh yes ; — the scrip will be handed to him at once."

"And,.— and "

" If you mean about the mine, Mr. Wharton, you may take my
word that it's all real. It's not one of those sham things that melt
away like snow and leave the shareholders nowhere. There's the
prospectus, Mr. Wharton. Perhaps you have not seen that before.
Take it away and cast your eye over it at your leisure." Mr.
Wharton put the somewhat lengthy pamphlet into his pocket.
" Look at the list of Directors. We've three members of Parlia-
ment, a barf)net, and one or two City names that aro as good, — a?
good as tfle Bank of England. It that prospectus won't make »

K >

MB. BARTLEPOD.

868

man confident I don't know what will. Why, Mr. Wharton, you
don't think that your son-in-law would get those fifty Hharea t.,
par unless he was going out as our general local manager. The
shares ain't to be had. It's a large concern as far as capital goes.
You'll see if you look. About a quarter of a million paid up. But
it's all in a box as one may say. It's among ourselves. The shares
ain't in the market. Of course it's not fur me to say what should
be done between you and your son-in-law. Lopez is a friend of
mine, and a man I esteem, and all that. Nevertheless I shouldn't
think of advising you to do this or that, — or not to do it. But
when you talk of saiety, Mr. Wharton, — why, Mr. Wharton, I don't
scruple to tell you as a man who knows what these things are, that
this is an opportunity that doesn't come in a man's way perhaps
twice in his life."

Mr. Wharton found that he had nothing more to say, and went
back to Lincoln's Inn. He knew very well that Mr. Hartlepod's
assurances were not worth much. Mr. Hartlepod himself and his
belongings, the clerks in his office, the look of the rooms, and the
very nature of the praises which he had sung, all of them inspired
anything but confidence. Mr. Wharton was a man o? the world ;
and, though he knew nothing of city ways, was quite aware that
no man in his senses would lay out £5,000 on the mere word of
Mr. Hartlepod. But still he was inclined to make the payment.
If only he could secure the absence of Lopez, — if he could be sure
that Lopez would in truth go to Guatemala, and if also he could
induce the man to go without his wife, he would risk the money.
The money would, of course, be thrown away,— but he would tiirow
it away. Lopez no doubt had declared that he would not go with-
out his wife, even though the money were paid for him. But the
money was an alluring sum ! As the pressure upon the man became
greater, Mr. Wharton thought he would probably consent to leave
his wife behind him.

In his emergency the barrister went to his attorney and told him
everything. The two lawyers were closeted together for an hour,
and Mr. Wharton's last words to his old friend were as follows : —
" I will risk the money. Walker, or rather I will consent absolutely
to throw it away, — as it will be thrown away, — if it can be managed
that he^hall in truth go to this place without his wife."

864

THE PltlME MINISTER.

CHAPTER LiV.

LIZZIE.

I r\

It cannot be supposed that Ferdinand Lopez at this time was a very
happy man. He had, at any rate, once loved his wife, and would
have loved her still oould ho have trained her to think as he thought,
to share his wishes, and " to put herself into the same boat with
him," — as he was wont to describe the unison and sympathy which
he required from her. To give him his due, he did not know that
he was a villain. When he was exhorting her to " got round her
father " he was not aware that he was giving her lessons which
must shock a well-conditioned girl. He did not understand that
averythiug that she had discovered of his moral disposition since
her marriage was of a nature to disgust her. And, not understand-
ing all this, he conceived that he was grievously wronged by her
in that she adhered to her father rather than to him. This made
him unhappy, and doubly disappointed him. He had neither got
the wife that he had expected nor the fortune. But he still thought
that the fortune must come if he would only hold on to the wife
which he had got.

And then everything had gone badly with him since his marriage.
He was apt, when thinking over his affairs, to attribute all this to
the fears and hesitation and parsimony of Sexty Parker. None
of his late ventures with Sexty Parker had been successful. And
now Sexty was in a bad condition, very violent, drinking hard,
declaring himself to be a ruined man, and swearing that if tnis and
that were not done he would have bitter revenge. Sexty still
believed in the wealth of his partner's father-in-law, and stiU had
some hope of salvation from that source. Lopez would declare to
him, and up to this very time persevered in protesting, that salva-
tion was to be found m Bios. If Sexty would only risk two or
three thousand pounds more upon Bios,— or his credit to that
amount failing, the immediate money, — things might still be right.
♦' Bios be d ," said Sexty, uttering a string of heavy impreca-
tions. On that morning he had been trusting to native produce
rather than to the new Ai'rioan spirit. But now as the Guj^mala
scheme really took form and loomed on Lopez's eyesight as a thing
that might be real, he endeavoured to keep out of Sexty's way.
But in vain. Sexty too had heard of Guatemala, and in his misery

hunted Lopez about the city. " By G , I believe you're afraid

to come to Little Tankard Yard," he said one day, having caught
his victim under the equestrian statue in front of the Exchange.

" What is the good of my coming when you will do nothing when
I am there ?"

" I'll tell you what it is, Lopez, — you're not going out of the
country about this mining business, if I know it,"

" WhosaidI wt^sT'

LIZZIE.

865

writton

ight

the

pnt a Hpokft in your whfiol thoro, my
iiccotiiit (if nil fho doaliugB botwceii uh
— , they shall know thoir man."
*' You're an ass, Soxty, and always were, fjook here.

man. Til givo a
to the I'ii(( lors.

If I can
carry on as though 1 wore going to this place, I can draw £o,(KM)
from old Wharton, lie has jilremly oll'ered it. He has treated mo
with a stingini'H.s that 1 never know equalled. Had he done what
I had a right to expect, you and I would have been rich men now.
But at last 3 have got a hold upon him up to £6,(K)(). As you and
I stand, pretty nearly the whole of that will go to you. But don't
you spoil it all by making an ass of yourself."

Sexty, who was three parts drunk, looked up into his face for a

few seconds, and then made his reply. " I'm d d if I believe a

word of it." Upon this Lopez affected to laugh, and then made his
escape.

All this, as I have said, did not tend to make his life happy.
Though he had impudence enough, and callousness of conscience
enough, to ^et his bills paid by Mr. Wharton as often as he could, he
was not quite easy in his mind while doing so. His ambition had
never been high, but it had soared higher than that. He had had
great hopes. He had lived with some high people. He had
dined with lords and ladies. He had been the guost of a Duchess.
He had married the daughter of a gentleman. He had nearly been
a member of Parliament. He still belonged to what he considered
to be a first-rate club. From a great altitude he looked down upon
Sexty Parker and men of Sexty's cIeiss, because of his social suc-
cesses, and because he knew how to talk and to look like a gentle-
man. It was unpleasant to him, therefore, to be driven to the life
he was now living. And the idea of going out to Guatemala and
burying himself in a mine in Central America was not to him a
happy idea. In spite of all that he had done he had still some hope
that he might avoid that banishment. He had spoken the truth to
Sexty Parker in saying that he intended to get the £o,000 from
Mr. Wharton without that terrible personal sacrifice, though he
had hardly spoken the truth when he assured his friend that the
greater portion of that money would go to him. There were many
schemes fluctuating through his brain, and all accompanied by
many doubts. If he could get Mr. Wharton's money by giving up
his wife, should he consent to give her up P In either case should
he stay or should he go ? Should he run one further great chp,i:?o
with Bios, — and if so, by whose assistance P And if he shov.ld at
last decide that he would do so by the aid of a certain frierid that
was yet left to him, should he throw himself at that friend'? feet, the
friend being a lady, and propose to desert his wife and begin the
world again with her P For the lady in question wa? a ludy in
possession, as he believed, of very large means. Or sb juld ho cut
his throat and have done at once with all his troubles, acknowledg-
ing to himself that his career had been a failure, and that, there-
fore, it might be brought with advantage to an cud P " Aliev all,"

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"• ^^>

866

THE PRIMB MINI8TEB.

said he to himself, '* that may be the best way of winding up a
bankrupt concern."

Our old friend Lady Eustace, in these days, lived in a very
small house in a very small street bordering upon May Fair ; but
the street, thoug^h veiy small, and having diimgreeable relations
with a mews, still had an air of fashion about it. And with her
lived the widow, Mrs. Leslie, who had introduced her to Mrs. Dick
Boby, and through Mrs. Boby to Ferdinand Lopez. Lady Eustace
was in the enjoyment of a handsome income, as I hope that some
of my readers may remember, — and this income, during the last
year or two, she had learned to foster, if not with much discretion,
at any rate with great zeal. During her short life she had had
man;^ aspirations. Love, poetry, sport, religion, fashion, Bohe-
mianism had all been triea ; but in each crisis there had been a
certain care for wealth which had saved her from the folly of
squandering what she had won by her early energies in the pursuit
of her then prevailing passion. She had giyen her money to no
lover, had not lost it on race-courseis, or in building churches ; —
nor even had she materialjy damaged her resources by servants
and equipages. At the present time she was still young, and still
pretty, — though her hair and complexion took rather more time than
in the days ^en sherwon Sir Florian Eustace. She still liked a
lover, — or perhaps two, — ^though she had thoroughly convinced
herself that a lover may be bought too dear. She could still ride a
horse, though hunting regularly was too expensive for her. She
could talk religion if she could find herself close to* a well-got-up
cleryjman, — ^being quite indifferent as to the denomination of the
religion. But perhaps a wild dash for a time into fkst vulgarity
was what in her heart of hearts she liked best, — only that it was so
diflBicult to enjoy that pleasure without risk of lojing everytiiing.
And then, together wita these passions, and perhaps above them
all, there had lately sprung up in the heart of Lady Eustace a desire
to multiply her means by successful speculation. ISiis was the
friend with whom Lopez had lately become intimate, and by whose
aid he hoped to extricate himself n:om some of his difficulties.

Poor as he was he had contrived to bribe Mrs. Leslie hj hand-
some presents out of Bond Street ; — for, as he still lived in Man-
chester Square, and was the undoubted son-in-law of Mr. Wharton,
his credit was not altogether gone. In the giving of these gifts no
purport was, of course, named, but Mrs. Leslie was probably aware
that her good word with her friend was expected. " I only know
what I used to hear from Mrs. Boby," Mrs. Leslie said to her friend.
" He was mixed up with Hunkey's people, who roll in money. Old
Wharton wouldn't have given nim his daughter if he had not
been doing well."

** It's very hard to be sure," said Lizzie Eustace.

" He looks like a man who'd know how to feather his own nest,"
said li^. Leslie. " Don't you think he's very handsome f "

" I don't know that he's likely to do the better for that."

LIZZIE.

867

*• Well ; no; but there are men of whom you are sure, when
you look at them, that they'll be succeBsiul. I don't suppose he
was anythmg to begin with, but see where he is now ! "

"I believe you are in love with him, my dear," said lizzie
Eustace.

*' Not exactly. I don't know that he has eiyen me any provo-
cation. But I don't see why a woman shouldn't be in love with
him if she likes. He is a deal nicer than those fair-haired men who
haven't got a word to say to you, and yet look as though you ought
to jump down their mouths ; — like tluit fellow you were trying to
talk to last night, — that Mr. Fletcher. He could just jerk out
three words at a tune, and yet he was proud as Lucifer. I like a
man who if he likes me is neither ashamed nor afraid to say so."

" There is a romance there, you know. Mr. Fletcher was in love
with Emily Wharton, and she threw him over for Lopez. They say
ho has not held up his head since."

" She was quite right," said Mrs. Leslie. " But she is one of
those stiff-uecked creatures who are set up with pride though they
have nothine to be proud of. I suppose she had a lot of money.
Lopez would never have taken her withor<.t."

When, therefore, Lopez called one day uX the little house in the
little street he was not an unwelcome visitor. Mrs. Leslie was in
the drawing-room, but soon left it after his arrival. He had of late
been often there, and when he at once introduced the suhject on
which he was himself intent it was not unexpected. " Seven thou-
sand five hundred pounds I " said Lizzie, after listening to the pro-
position which he nad come to mpke. ** That is a very large sum
of money ! "

** Tes ; — it's a large sum of money. It's a large affair. I'm in
it to rather more than that, I believe."

" How are you to get people to drink it P" she aaked after a
pause.

" By telling them that they ought to drink it. Advertise it. It
has become a certainty now that if you will only advertise suffi-
ciently you may make a fortune by selling anyuiing. Only the
interest on the money expended increbses in so large a ratio in
accordance with the ma^tude of the operation ! If you spend a
few hundreds in advertising you throw them away. A hundred
thousand pounds well laid out makes a certainty of anything."

" What am I to get to show for my money ; — I mean immecuately,
you know ? "

" Begistered shares in the Oompany."

* • The Bios Company P "

" No; — we did propose to qall ourselves Parker and Oo., limited.
I tiiink we shall change the name. They will probably uso my
name. Lopez and Oo., limited."

*' But it's all for Bios P"

" Oh yes ;— all for Bios."

*' Aud it's to come from Oentral Africa P '*

B68

THE PBTME MINI8TKR.

" It will be rectifiad iu London, you know. Some English spirit
idrill perhaps be mixed. But I must not tell you the secrets of the
trade till you join us. That Bios is distilled from the bark of the
Duffer- tree is a certainty."

*' Have you drank any P "

" I've tasted it."

*• Is it nice ? "

"Yeij nice; — rather sweet, yon know, and will be the better
for mixing."

" Gtin ?°* suggested her ladyship.

" Perhaps so,— or whisky. 1 think I may say that you can*t do
very much better witii your money. Tou know I would not say
this to you were it not true, in such a matter 1 treat you just ae
if,— as if you were my sister."

" I know how gooa you are, — but seven thousand five hundi'ed !
I couldn't raise so much as that just at present."

"There are to be eix shares," said Loi>ez, "making £45,000
capital. Would you consent to take a share jointly with me ? That
would be three mousand seven hundred and fifty.

" But you have a share already," said Lizzie suspiciously.

" I should then divide that with Mr. Parker. We intend to
register at any rate as many as nine partners. Would you object
to hold it wiuL me P " Lop>ez, as he asked the question, lookea at
her as though he were offering her half his heart.

" No," said Lizzie, slowly, " I don't suppose I should object to
that."

" I should be doubly eager about the affair if I were in partner-
ship with you."

♦• It's such a venture."

" Nothing venture nothing have."

" But I've got something as it is, Mr. Lopez, and I don't want to
lose it all."

" There's no chance of that if you join us."

" Tou think Bios is so sure ! "

" Quite safe," said Lopez.

" Tou must give me a little more time to think about it," said
Lady Eustace at last, panting with anxiety, struggling with her-
self, anxious for the excitement whidi would come to her from
dealing in Bios, but still fearing to risk her money.

This had taken place immemately after Mr. Wharton's offer of
the £5,000, in making which he had stipulated that Emily should
be left at home. Then a few ^ lys went by, and Lopez was pressed
for his money at the ofiioe of the San Juan mine. Did he or did he
not mean to ti^e up the mining shares allotted to him P If he did
mean to do so, he must do it at once. He swore by all his gode
that of course he meant to take them up. Had not Mr. Wharton
himself been at the office saying that he mtonded to pay for them P
Was not that a suffioieut guarantee P They knew well enough that
Mr. Wharton was a man to whom the raising of £5,0U0 could be i

LIZZIE.

869

matter of no difllculty. But they did not know, never could know,
how ii]i{>088ible it wm to get anything done by Mr. Wharton. But
Mr. Wharton had promised to pay for the aharea, and wh«n monev
was concerned his word woiud surely suffice. Mr. Hartlepod,
backed by two of the Directors, said that if the thing was tp go on
at all, the monev must really be paid at once. But the conference
was ended by allowing the new local manager another fortnight in
which to complete the arrangement.

Lopez allowed four days to pass by, during each of which he was
closeted for a time with Ijady Eustace, and then made au attempt
to get at Mr. Wharton through his wife. " Your father bas said
that he wiU pay the money for me," said Lopez.

" If he has said so he certainly will do it."

" But he has promised it on the condition that you should remain
at home. Do you wish to deaett your husband ?" To this she made
no immediate answer. "Are you already anxious to be rid of me P "

" I should prefer to remam at home," she said in a very low
voice.

" Then you do wish to desert your husband P "

" What is the use of all this, Ferdinand P You do not love me.
You did not marry me because I loved you."

" By heaven I did ; — for that and that only."

** And how have you treated me P "

" What have I done to you P "

" But I do not mean to make accusations, Ferdinand. I should
ouly add to our miseries by that We should be happier apart."

" Not I. Nor is that my idea of marriage. Tell your father
that you vish to go with me, and then he wUl let us have the
money."

" I will tell him no lie, Ferdinand. If you bid me go, I will go.
Where you find a home I must find one too if it be your pleasure
to take me. But I will not ask my father to give you money
because it is my pleasure to go. Were I to say so he would not
believe me."

" It is you who have told him to give it me only on the condition
of your staying."

" I have told him nothing. He knows that I do not wish to go.
He cannot but know that. But he knows that I mean to go if you
require it."

" And you will do nothing for me P"

" Nothmg, — in regard to my father." He raised his fist with
the thought of strikingher, and she saw the motion. But his arm
fell again to his side. He had not quite come to that yot. " Surely
you will have the charity to tell me whether I am to go, if it \;>o
fixed,'* she said.

" Have I not told you so twenty times P"

" Then it is fixed. ''^

" Yes ; — it is fixed. Your father will teU you about your things.

B B

870

TUK PRIME MINISTKR.

He has promised yon some beggarly sum, — about as mu^ as a
tallaw-onaudler vould aiye his daughter."

** Whatever he does for me will be suiticient for me. I am not
afraid of my fi&ther, Ferdinand."

*' ToH shall be aJfraid of me before I haye done with you," said
he, leaving the room.

Then as he sat at his club, dining there alone, there oame across
his mind ideas of what the world would be like to him if he could
leave bis wife at home and take Lizzie Eustace with him to GKiate-
mala. Guatenuda was very distant, and it would matter little there
r^^ ther the woman he brought with him was his wife or no. It
\. . (dear enough to him that his wife desired no more of his com-
pany. What were tli^ conventions of the world to him f This
other woman had money at her own command. He could not
make it his own because he could not marry her, but he fancied
that it might be possible to bring her so for under his control as to
make the money almost as good as his own. Mr. Wharton's money
was very hard to reach ; and would be as hard to reach,-— perhaps
hiurder, — ^when Mr. Wharton was dead, as now, during his lire.
He had said a good deal to the lady since the interview of which a
report has been given. She had declared herself to be afraid of
Bios. She did not in the least doubt that great things might be ulti-
mately done with Bios, but she did not quite see the way wi^ her
small capital, — thus humbly did she speak of her wealth, — ^to be
one of those who should take the initiative in the matter. Bios
evidently required a great deal of advertisement, and Lizzie Eus-
tace had a short-sighted objection to expend what money she had
saved on the hoardiugs of London. Then he opened to her the
glories of Guatema!^\, not contenting himself with describing the
certainty of the 20 per cent., but enlarging on the luxurious happi-
ness of life in a coimtry so golden, so green, so gorgeous, and so
ffrand. It had been the very apple of the eye of the old Spaniards.
In Guatemala, ho said, Oortez and Pizarro had met and embraced.
They might have done so for anything Lizzie Eustace knew to the
contrary. And hare our hero took advantage of his name. Don
Dieeo di Lopez had been the first to raise the banner of freedom
in Guatemala when the kin^ of Spain became tyrants to their
American subjects. All is fair in love and war, and Lizzie amidst
the hard business of her life still loved a dash of romance. Yes,
he was about to change the scene and try his fortune in that golden,
green, and gorgeous country. " Tou wii! take your wife of
course," Lady Eustace had said. Then Lopez had smiled, and
shrugging his shoulders had left the room.

It was certainly the fact that she could not eat him. Othor men
befSre Lopez have had to pick up what courage they could in their
attacks upon women by remembering that fact. She had flirted
with him in iv very pleasant way, mixing up her prettinesses and
her percentages in a manner that was neouhar to herself. He did
not know her, and he knew that he did not know her ; — but still

LIZZIE.

871

there was the chance. She had thrown his wife more than once in
his face, after the fashion of women when they are wooed by
married men, sinoe the days of deopatra downwards. But he had
taken that simplv as encouragement. He had already let her
know that his wife was a vixen who troubled his life. Lizzie had

fiven him her sjonpathy, and had almost given him a tear. *' But
am not a man to be broken-hearted because I have made a mis-
take," said Lopez. ** Marriage vows are very well, but they shall
never bind me to miseiy." " Marriage vows are not very well.
They ma^ be very ill," Lizsie had replied, remembering oertaiu
passages in her own life.

There was no doubt about her mouey, and certainly she could
not eat him. The fortnight allowed him by the San Juau Oom-
any had nearly gone by when he called at the little house in the
ittle street, resolved to push lus fortune in that direction without
fear and without hesitation. Mrs. Leslie again took her departure,
leaving them together, and Lizzie allowed her friend to go, although
the last words mat Lopez had spoken had been, as he thought, a
fair prelude to the words he intended te speak to-day. '* And
what do you think of it P" he said, taking both her handla in his.

" Think of what P"

" Of our Spanish venture."

** Have you given up Bios, my friend P"

"No; certainly not," said Lopez, seating himself beside her.
" I have not taken the other half share, but I have kept my old
venture in the scheme. I believe in Bios, you know."

" Ah ; — ^it is so nice to believe."

" But I believe more firmly in the country to which I am
going."

" You are going then P " "

" Tes, my mend ; — I am goin^^. The allurementR are too strong
to be resisted. Think of that climate and of this." He probably
had not heard of the mosquitoes of Central America when he so
spoke. "Bemember that an income which gives you comfort
here will there produce for you every luxury which wealth can
purchase. It is to be a king there, or to be but very common
among commoners here."

** And yet England is a dear old country."

" Have you found it so P Think of the wrongs which you have
endured ; — of the injuries which you have suffered."

" Tes, indeed." For Lizzie Eustace had gone through hard
days in her time.

*' I certainly will fly from such a country to those golden shores
on which man may be free and unshackled."

•* And your wife P "

" Oh, Lizzie ! " Tt was the first time that he had called her
Lizzie, and she was apparently neither shocked nor abashed.
Perhaps he thought too much of this, not knowing how many men
had called her Lizzie in her time. " Do not you at least under-

-■ 'P5ir"»iTnir-Tft'»ij-.

872

THE PRIME MIMBTl!.3.

stand that a man or a woman may undergo that tie, and yet be
justified in disregarding it altogether f "

" Oh, yes ; — if there has been bigamy, or divorce, or anything
of that kind." Now Lizzie had conviotod her second husband ci
bigamy, and had freed herself after that fashion.

"To h with their prurient laws," said Lopez, rising sud-
denly from his chair. *' I will neither appeal to them nor will I
obey them. And I expect fh)m you as Uttle subservience as I
myself am prepared to pay. Lizzie Eustace, will you go with me
to that land of the sun,

'Where the rage of the Tultare, the love of the turtle.
Now mdt into sorrow, now madden to crime t *

Will you dare to escape with me fSrom the cold conventionalities,
from the miserable thraldom of this country bound in swaddling
cloths ? Lizzie Eustace, if you will say the word I will take you
to that land of glorious happmees."

But lizzie Eustace haid £4,000 a year and a balance at her
, banker's. *< Mr. Lopez," she said.

" What answer have you to make me P"

" Mr. Lopez, I think you must be a fool."

He did at laJst succeed in |;ettiug himself into tie street, and at
any rate she had not eat/Cn him.

OHAPrSE LV.

uRa, fakkeb's sob&ows.

The end of February had come, and as fax as Mrs. Lopez knew she
was to start for Guatemala in a month's time. And yet there was
so much of indecision in her husband's manner, and apparency so
little done by him in regard to peraonai preparation, tibat she could
iiardly bring herself to ferl certain that she would have to make
the journey. From day to day her father would ask her whether
she nad made her intended purchases, and she would tell him that
she had still postponed the work. Then he would say no more, for
he himself was neeitating, doubtful what he would do, and still
thinking that when at last the time should come, he would buy his
daughter's release at any price that mieht be demanded. Mr.
Wa&er, the attorney, had as yet been able to manage nothing.
He had seen Lopez more than once, and had also seen Mr. Hartle-
pod. Mi. Hartlepod had simply told him that he would be very
happy to register the shares on behalf of Lopez as soon as the
money waspaid. Lopez had been almost insolent in his bearing.
'* Did Mr. Whartoii think," he asked, " that he was going to sell

MRS. PAKKER8 SORROWS.

878

his wife for £5,000 P " "I think you'll havo to raise your offer,"
Mr. Walker had said to Mr. Wharton. That was all very well.
Mr. Wharton was willing enouffh to raise his offer. He would
have doubled his offer could he thereby haye seodred the annUiila-
tion of Lopez. "■ 1 will raise it if he will go without his wife, and

S'lVA her a writteL assuranoe that he will never trouble her again."
ut the arrangement was one which Mr. Walker found it very
difficult to oarry out. Sr thingd went on till the end of February
had come.

And during all this time Lopez was still a .resident in Mr. Whar-
ton's house. " Papa," she said to him one day, " this is the
cruellest thing of all. Why don't jou tell him that he must go F "
" Because he would t«ke yon with him."
" It would be better so. I oould come and see you."
" I did tell him to go, — in my passion. I repented of it instantly,
because I ohould have lost you. But what aid mv telling matter
to him P He was very indignant, and yet he is still here.
" You told him to go P "

" Yes ; — ^but I am glad that he did not obey me. There must
be an end to this soon, I suppose."
" I do not know, papa."
« Do you thii\)c that he will not go P "

" I feel that I know nothing, papa. You must not let him stay
here always, you know."
** An^ what will become of you when he goes P "
** I must go with him. Why should you be sacrificed also P I
will teU him that he must leave the nouse. I am not afraid of
faim, papa."
•• Not yet, my dear ; — ^not yet. We will see."
At this time Lopez declared his purpose one day of dining at the
Progress, and Mr. Wharton took advantage of the occasion to
remain at home with his daughter. Everett was now expected,
ahd there ivas a probability that he might come on this evening.
Mr. Whart«)n therefore returned from his chambers early ; but
wL«n he reached the house he was told that there was a woman in
the dining-room with Mrs. Lope;;. The servant did not know what
woman. She had asked to see Mrs. Lopez, and Mrs. Lopez had
> gone down to Her.

The woman in the dining-room was Mrs. Parker. She had called
at the house at about hal^-past five, and Emily had at once come
down when summoned by tidings that a ' ' lady wanted to see her.
Servanto have a way of announcing a woman as a ^ady, whieh
clearly expresses their own opinion that the person in question is
not a lady. So it had been on the present occasion, but Mrs.
Lopez had at once gone to her visitor- " Oh, Mra Parker, I am so
glad to see you. I hope you are well."

" Lideed, then, Mrs. L(q[>ez, I axs. very far from well. No poor
woman, who is the mother of five chil^n, was ever farther from
being well than I am."

874

THE PBIME MINISTBB.

5
■ IS

When in Mr. Lopez

'• Is anythinf? wi-ong P "

'• Wrong, mu'aiu ! Everything is wrong,
going to pay my husband all the money he has took from him r "

" Has ne taken money f "

" Taken I he has taken ererything. He has shorn my husband
as bare as a board. We're ruined, Mrs. Lopee, and it's your hus-
band has done it When we were at Doyeroourt, I told you how
it was going to be. His business has left him, and now there is
nothing. What are we to do Y " The woman was seated on a ohair,
leaning forward with her two hands on her knees. The day was
wet, the streets were half mud and half snow, and the poor woman,
who had mado herjj way through the slush, was soiled and wet.
'* I look to you to tell me what me and my children is to do. He's
youi husband, Mi-s, Lopez."

" Tes, Mrs. Parker ; he is my husband."

<* Why couldn't he let Sesty alone? Why should the Uke of
him be taking the bread out of my children's mouths f What had
we eyer done to him P Yoa*re rich."

" Indeed I am not, Mrs. Parker."

" Yes you are. You're liyine here in a grand house, and your
father's made of money. Yoirll know notning of want, let the
worst come to the worst. What are we to do, Mrs. Lopez P I'm
the wife of that poor creature, and you're the wife of the man that
has ruined him. What are we to do, Mrs. Lopez P "

" I do not u^^derstand my husband's business, Mrs. Parker."

"You're one with him, ain't you P If anybody had eyer come
to me and said my husband had robbed him, I'd neyer haye stopped
till I. knew the truth of it. K any woman bod eyer said to me that
Parker had taken the bread out of her children's mouths, do you
think that I'd sit as you are sitting P I tell you that Lopez has
robbed us, — has robbed us, and taken everything."

<* What can I say, Mrs. Parker ; — what can I do P "

"Where is he P'^

" He is not here. He is dining at his club."

" Where is that P I will go there and shame him before them
all. Don't you feel no shame P Because you'ye got things com-
fortable here, I suppose it's all nothing to you. You don't
care, though my children were starving in the gutter, — as they
will do."

*' If you knew me, Mrs. Parker, you wouldn't speak to me like
that."

" Know you ! Of course I know you. You're a lady, and your
father's a nch man, and your husband thinks no end of himself.
And we're poor people, so it don't matter whether we're robbed
and ruined or not. That's about it."

*' If I had anything, I'd give you all that I had."

" And he's taken to drilling that haixl that he's neyer rightly
sober from morning to nighii." As she told this story of her hus-
band's disgrace, the poor woman burst into tears. " Who's to

MRfl. PARRF.R R SORROWS.

876

trust him with businesB now F He's thftt brokeu-heaTtnd tliut ho
don't know which way to turn,— only to the bottle. And Lopeii
has done it ail,— done it all ! I hayen't got a father, ma'am, who
has got a house over his head for me and my babies. Only think
if you was turned out into the street with your babby, as I am like
tolie."

" I have no baby," said the wretched woman through her tears
and sobs.

*' Haven't you, Mrs. Lopez? Oh dear!" exclaimed the soft-
hearted woman, reduced at once to pity. " How was it then f "

*' He died, Mrs. Parker, — just a few davs after he was bom."

"Did he nowP Well, well. We all have our troubles, I
suppose."

** I haye mine, I know," said Emily, " and yery, yory heayj'
they are. I cannot tell you what I have to suffer."

"Isn't he good to you P"

" I cannot talk about it, Mrs. Parker. What you tell me about
yourself has added neatly to r^y sorrows. My husband is talking
of going away, — to uve out of Aigland."

" Tes, at a place they call . I forget what they call it, but

I heard it."

'* Guatemala, — ^in America."

" I know. Sexty told me. He has no bi'siness to go anywhere,
while he owes Sexty such a lot of money. He has taken every-
thing, and now he's going to Kattymaly I ' this moment Mx.
Wharton knocked at the door and entered t om. As he did so
Mrs. Parker got up and curtseyed.

"This is my fatner, Mrs. Parker," said Eauiy. " Papa, this is
Ifos. Parker. She is the wife of Mr. Paiker, who was Ferdinand's
partner. She has come here with bad news."

"Very bad news indeed, sir," said Mrs. Parker curtseying again.
Mr. Wharton frowned^ not as being angry with^ the woman, bat
feeling that some farther horror was to be told him of his son-in-
law. " I can't help coming, sir," continued Mrs. Parker. " Where
am I to go if I don't come P Mr. Lopez, sir, has ruined us root
and branch, — ^root and branch."

" That at any rate is not my fault," said Mr. Wharton.

" But she is his wife, sir. Where am I to go if not to where he
lives P Am I to put up with everything gone, and my poor husband
in the right way to go to Bedlam, and not to say a word about it to
the grand relations of him who did it all P "

"Me is a bad man," said Mr. Wharton. " I cannot make him
otherwise "

" Will he do nothinc; for us ? "

" I will tell you all 1 know about him." Then Mr. Wharton did
tell her aU that he knew, as to the appointment at Guatemala and
the amount of saUry which was to be attached to it. " Whether
he will do auything for you, I cannot say ; — I should think not,
unless he be forced. I should advise you to go to the offices of the

876

THE PRIME MINI8TKR.

1 1

' 1'

I t

Coinpauy in Col email Stievt and try to make some t«rmn there.
But I fear, — I fear it will be all useless."

"Then we may starve."

" It is not her fault," said Mr. Wharton pointing to his daughter.
" She has had no hand in it. She knows less of it all thau you do.'* ,

" It is my fault/' said Emily, bunting out into self-reproach, —
" my fault that I married him."

" Whether married or siugle he would have preyed upon Mr.
Parker to the same extent."

" Like enough," said the poor wife. " He'd prey upon anybody
as he could get a hold of. And so, Mr. Wharton, you think that
you can do nothing for me."

" If your want be immediate I can relieye it," said the barrister.
Mrs. Parker did not like the idea of accepting direct charity, but,
nevertheless, on going away did take the live sovereigns which Mr.
Wharton offered to her.

After such an interview as that the dinner between the father
and the daughter wan not very happy. She was eaten up by re-
morse. Gradually she had learned now fhghtfulwas the thing she
had dune in giving herself to a man of whom she had known
nothing. And it was not only that she had degraded herself by
loving such a man, but that a^e had been persistent in clinging to
him uough her father and all his friends had told her of the danger
which she was running. And now it seemed that she had destroyed
her father as well as herself I All that she could do was to be i>er-
sistent in her prayer that he would let her go. "I have done it,"
she said that nignt, " and I could bear it Mtter, if you would let
me bear it alone." But he only kissed her, and sobbed over her,
and held her close to his heart witix his clinffing arms, — ^in a
manner in which he had never held her in their old happy days.

He took himself to his own rooms before Lopes returned, but
she of course had to bear her husband's presence. As she had
declared to her father more than once, she was not afraid of him.
Even though he should strike her, — though he should kill her, —
she would not be afraid of him. He had already done worse to her
than anything that could follow. " Mrs. Parker has been here to-
day," she said to him that night.

" And what had Mrs. Parker to say P"
" That you had ruined her husband."

" Exactly. When a man speculates and doesn't win of course he
throws the blame on some one else. And when he is too much of
a cur to come himself, he sends his wife."
" She save you owe him money."

« What business have you to listen to what she says? If she
comes again, do not see her. Do you understand me P

" Tes, I understand. She saw papa also. If you owe him
money, should it not he paid P"

*• My dearest love, evetybody who owes anything to anybody
should always pay it. That is so self-evident that one would

WHAT THK DUCHKSH THOCOBT OF HKH ilUSBAND.

377

almost Huppoae that it might be understood without boiiig enuaci-
ated. Ifut tho tirtuo ()f paying your debts is incompatible with an
absence of money. Now, if you please, we will not say anything
more about Mrs. Parker. She is pot at any rate a fit companion
for yon."

" It was you who introdueed me to her."

" Hold your tongue about her, — and let that be an end of it. I
little knew what a world of torment I was preparing for myself
when I allowed you to come and live in your father's houtte."

CHAPTER LVI.

WHAT THE DU0HE88 THOUGHT OF HKR HUSBAND.

When the Session began it was understood in the political world
that a very strong opposition was to be organissea against ihe
(government under the guidance of Sir Orlando Drought, and that
the great sin to be imputed to the Cabinet was an utter indifiPerenoe
to the safety and honour of Qxeat Britain, as manifested by their
neglect of the navy. All the world knew that Sir Orlando had
deserted the Ooalition beoaujse he was not allowed to build new
ships, and of course Sir Orlando would make the most of his
grievance. With him was joined ICr. Boffin, the patriotic Oon»er-
vative who had never listened to the voice of the seducer, and tho
staunch remainder of the old Tory party. And with them tho
more violent of the Badicals were prepared to act, not desirous,
indeed, that new ships should be Duilt, or that a Conservative
Government should be establirihed, — or, indeed, that anything
should be done, — but animated by intense disgust that so mild
a politician as the Duke of Omnium should be Prime Minister.
The fight began at once. Sir Orlando objecting violently to cer-
tain passages in the Queen's Speech. It was all -\ery well to
say that the country was at present at peace with all the world ;
but how was peace to be maintained without a fleet P Then Sir
Orlando paid a great many compliments to the Duke, and ended
his spee<»]i by declaring him to be the most absolutely faineant
minister that had disgruied the country since the days of the Duke
of Newcastle. Mr. Monk defended the Coalition, and assured the
House that the navy was not only the most powerful nary existing,
but that it was the most powerful that ever had existed m the pos-
session of this or any other country, and was probably in absolute
efficiency superior to the combined navies of all the world. The
House was not shocked by statements so absolutely at variance with
each other, coming from two gentlemen who had lately been
members of the same Government, and who must be supposed to

878

THE PBIME MINISTF.B.

•I i

know what thev were talking about, but seemed to think that upon
the whole Sii Orlando had done his duty. For though there was
complete confideuce in the navy as a navy, and though a very small
minority would have voted for any considerably increased expense,
still it WBM well that there should be an opposition. And how can
there be an opposition without some subject for «;rumbling, — some
mattei on which a minister may be attacked f No one really
thought that the Prussians and French combined would invade our
shores and devastate our fields, and plunder Loudon, and carry our
daughters away into captivity. The state of the funds showed very
plainly that there was no such fear. But a good cry is a very good
thing, — and it is always well to rub up}tbe officials of the Admiralty
by a little wholesome abuso. Sir Orlando was thought to have done
hi£ business well. Ot course he did not risk a division upon the
address. Had he done so he would have been " nowhere. But,
as it was, he was proud of his achievement.

The ministers generallv would have been indifferent to the very
hard words that were said of them, knowing what thev were worth,
and leeling aware that a ministry which had everything too easy
must lose its interest in the country, had it not been that their chief
was very sore on the subject The old Duke's work at t>is time
consisted almost idtogether in nursing the younger D^ike. It did
sometimes occur to his elder Grace that it might be well to let his
brother retire, and that a Prime Minister, meagre lui, could not be
a successful Prime Minister, or a useful one. But if the Duke of
Omnium went the Ooalition must go too, and the Coalition had been
the offspring of the old statesman. The country was thriving under
the Coalition, and there was no real reason wny it should not last
for the next ten years. He continued, therefore, his system of
coddling, and was ready at any moment, or at every moment, to
pour, if not comfort, at any rate consolation into the ears of his
unhappy friend. In the present emergency, it was the falsehood
and general baseness of Sir Orlando which nearly broke the heart
of the Prime Minister. " How is one to live," he said, " if one
has to do with men of that kind P "

" But you haven't to do with him any longer," said the Duke of
St. Bungay.

" When I see a man who is supposed to have earned the name of
a statesman, and been high in the councils of his sovereign, induced
by personal jealousy to do as he is doing, it makes me teel that an
honest man should not place himself where he may have to deal
with such persons."

" According to that the honest men are to djesert their country
in order that the dishonest men may have everything their own
way." Our Duke could not answer this, and therefore for the
moment he yielded. But he was unhappy, saturnine, and generally
silent except when clostited with his ancient nientor. And he knew
that he was saturnine and silent, and that it behoved him as a
leader of men to be s:«nial and communicative, — ^listening to coun-

WHAT THE DUOHESS THOUGHT OP HER HltSftAND.

879

lid the Duke of

Hel even if he did not follow it, and at any rate appearing to have
confidence in his colleagues.

During this time Mr. Slide v^as not inaotiye, and in his heart
of hearts the Prime Minister was more afraid of Mr. Slide's attacks
than of those made upon him by Sir Orlando Drought. Now that
Parliament was sitting, and the minds of men were stirred to
political feeling by the renewed energy of the House, a ^at deal
was being said in many quarters about the last Silverbndge elec-
tion. The papers had taken the matter up generally, some accus-
ing the Prime Minister and some defending. But the defence was
almost as unpalatable to him as the accusation. It was admitted
on all sides that the Duke, both as a peer and as a Prime Minister,
should have abstained from any interference whatever in the
election. And it was also admitted on all sides that he had not so
abstakted, — if there was any truth at all in the allegation that he
had paid money for Mr. Lopez. But it was pleaded on his behalf
that the Dukes of Omnium had always interfered at Silverbridge,
and that no Beform Bill had ever had any effect in reducing their
influence in that borough. Frequent allusion was made to Uie
cautious Dod who, year after year, had reported that the Duke of
Omnium exercised considerable influence in the borou^. And
then the friendly newspapers went on to explain that the Duke had
in this instance stayed his hand, and that the money, if paid at all,
had been paid because the candidate who was to haye been his
nominee had been thrown over, when the Duke at the last moment
made up his mind that he would abandon the privilege which had
hitherto been always exercised by the head of his family, and which
had been exercised more than once or twice in his own &vour. But
Mr. Slide, di^ after day, repeated his question, *' We want to know
whether the Prime Minister did or did not pay the election expenses
of Mr. Lopez at the last Silverbridge election ; and if so, why he paid
them. We shall continue to ask this question till it has been
answered, and when asking it we again say that the actual corre-
spondence on the subject between tne Duke and Mr. Lopez is in
our own hands." And then, after a while, allusions were made to
the Duchess ; — ^for Mr. Slide had learned all the facts of the case
from Lopez himself. When Mr. Slide found how hard it was " to
draw his badger," as he expressed himself concerning his own
operations, he at last openly alluded to the Duchess, running the
risk of any punishment that might fall upon him Jpy action for
libel or by severe reprehension from his colleagues of the Press.
" We have as yet," he said, ** received no answers to the questions
which we have felt ourselves called upon to ask in reference to the
conduct of the Prime Minister at the Silverbridee election. We
are of opinion that all interference by peers with the constituencies
of the country should be put down by the strong hand of the law
as thoroughly and unmercifully as we are putting down ordinary
bribery. But when the offending peer is td»o the Prime Minister
of this great country, it becomes doubly the duty of those who

880

TIIE PRIME MINISIlillt.

'. '

\ivatch over fcho puhlic safety," — Mr. Slide was always speaking of
himself as watching over the public safety, — " to animadvert upon
his crime till it has been assoiled, or at any rate repented. From
what we now hear we have. reason to believe that the crime itself
is acknowledged. Had the payment on behalf of Mr. Lopez not
been made, — as it certainly was made, or the letters in our hand
would be impudent forgeries, — the charge would lone since have
been denied Silence in such a matter amounts to coi^ssion. But
we understand that the Duke intends to escape under the plea that
he has a second self, powerful as he is to exercise the baneful
influence which his territorial wealth unfortunately gives him, but
for the actions of which second self he, as a Peer or Parliament and
as Prime Minister, is not responsible. In other words we are
informed that the privilege belonging to the Palliser family at
Silverbridge was exercised, not by the Duke himself, but by the
Duchep^ ; — aiid that the Duke paid Hie money when be found tbat
the Duchess had promised more than she could perform. We
should hardly have thought that even a man so notoriously weak
as the Duke of Omnium would have endeavoured to ride out of
responsibility by throwing the blame upon his wife ; but he will
certainly hjiA that the attempt, if made, will fail.

" Against the Duchess herself we wish to spy not a word. She
is known as exercising a wide if not a discriminate hospitality.
We believe her to be a kind-hearted, bustling, ambitious lady, to
whom a ny little faults may be easily forgiven on account of her
good-nature and generosity. But we cannot accept her indiscretion
ad an excTise for a most unconstitutional act performed by the
Prime Minister of this country."

Latterly the Duchess had taken in her own copy of the *' People's
Banner." Since she had found that those around her were endea-
vouring to keep from her what was being said of her husband in
regard to the borough, she had been determitoed to see it all. She
therefore read the article from which two or three paragraphs have

Sst been given, — and having read it she handed it to her friend
rs. Finn. *• I wonder that you trouble yourself with such

trash," her friend said to her.

•* That is all very well, my dear, from you ; but we poor wretches

who are the slaves of the people have to regard what is said of us

in the • People's Banner * "

*' It wouu) be much better uir you to neglect it."

*' Just as authors are told not to read the criticisms ; — ^but I

never would believe any author who told me that he didn't read

what was said about him. I wonder when the man found out that

I was good-natured. He wouldn't find me good-natured if I could

get hold of him."

'• You are not going to allow it to tdrment you !"

" For my own r/ke, not a moment. I fancy that if I might be

Krmitted to have my own way I could answer him very easily,
deed with these dregs of the newspapers, these gutter-slanderers.

WHAT THE DUGHESS THOUGHT OF HEB HUSBAND.

881

if one would be open and say all the truth aloud, what would one
have to fear P After all, what is it that I did ? I disobeyed my
husband because I thought that he was too scrupulous. Let me
say as much, out loud to the public, — saying also that I am sorry
for it, as I am, — and who would be against me P Who would ha.Yt
a word to say after that P I should be the most popular woman in
England for a month, — and, as regards Plantagenet, Mr. Slide and
his articles would all sink into silence. But even though he were
to continue this from day to day for a twelyemonth it would not
hurt me, — but that I know how it scorches him. This mention oi
my name will make it more intolerable to him than ever. I doubt
that you know him even yet."

"1 thought that I did.^'

« Though in manner he is as dry as a stick, though ad his
pursuits are opposite to the very idea of romance, though he passes
bis days and nights in thinking how he piay take a halfpenny in
the pound off the taxes of the people without robbing the revenue,
there is a dash of chivalry about him worthy of the old poets. To
him a woman, particularly his own woman, is a thing so fine and
80 precious that the winds of heaven should hardly be allowed to
blow upon ^er. He cannot bear to think that people should even
talk of his wife. And yet. Heaven knows, poor fellow, I have
given people occasion enough to talk of me. And he has a much
higher chivalry than that of the old poets. They, or their heroes,
watched their women because they did not want to have trouble
about them, — shut them up in castles, kept them in ignorance, and
held them as far as they could out of harm's way."

" I huxlly think they succeeded," said Mrs. Finn.

" But in pure selfishness they tried all they could. But he is
too proud to watch. If you and I were hatching treason aeainst
him in the dark, and chance had brought him there, he would stop
his ears wi^ his fingers. He is all trust, even when he knows
that he is being deceived. He is honour complete from head to
foot. Ah, it was before you knew me when I tried him the hardest.
I never could quite tell you that atory, and I won't try it now ; but
he behaved like a god. I could never tell him what I felt, — but I
felt it."

" You ought to love him."

" I do ; — but what's the use of it P He is a god, but I am not a
goddess ; — and then, though he is a god, he is a dry, silent, uncon-
genial and uncomfortable god. It would have suited me much
Better to have married a sinner. But then the sinner that I would
have married was so irredeemable a scapegrace."

" I do not believe in a woman marrying a bad man in tho hope
of making him good."

"Especially not when the woman is naturally inclined to evil
herself. It will half kill him when he reads all this about me.
He has read it already, and it has alnady half killed him. For
myself I do not mind it in the least, but for his sake I mind it

882

THE PBIME MINISTER

mnoh. It will rob him of his only possible answer to the accusa-
tion. The very thing which this wretch in the newspaper says
he will say, and that he will be disgraced by saying, is the very
thing that he ou^t to say. And there would be no disgrace in
it,— beyond what 1 might well bear for my little fault, and which
I could bear so easily.'*^

" Shall you speak to him about it P "

" No ; 1 dare not. In this matter it has gone beyond speaking.
I suppose he does talk it over witii the old Duke ; out he will say
nothing to me about it, — unless he were to tell mo that he had
resigned, and that we were to start off and live in Minorca for the
next ten years. I was so proud when they made him Prime
Minister ; out I think that I am beginning to regret it now." Then
there was a pause, and the Duchess went on wim her newspapers ;
but she soon resumed her discourse. Her heart was full, and out
of a full heart the mouth speaks. ** They should have made me
Prime Minister, and have let him be Chancellor of the Exchequer.
I begin to see iJie ways of Goyemment now. I could have done
all me dirty work, i could have given away garters and ribbons,
and made my bargains while giving them. I could select sleek,
easy bishops who wouldn't be troublesome. I could nve pensions
or withhold them, and make the stupid men peers. I could have
the big noblemen at my feet, praying to be Lieutenants of Counties.
I could dole out secretaryships and lordships, and never a one
without getting something in return. I could brazen out a job
and let the 'People's Banners' and the Slides make their worst of it.
And I think I could make myself popular with my party, and do
the high-flowing patriotic talk for we benefit of the Provinoes. A
man at a regular office has to work. That's what Plantagenet is
fit for. He wants always to be doing something that shall be
really useful, and a man has to toil at that and really to know
things. But a Prime Minister should never go beyond ^neraUties
about commerce, agriculture, peace, and general philanthropy.
Of course he should have the gift of the gab, and that Plantagenet
hasn't ^t. He never wants to say anything unless he has got
something to say. I could do a Mansion House dinner to a marvel ! "

" I don't doubt that you could speak at all times. Lady Glen."

*' Oh, I do so wish that I had the opportunity," said the Duchess.

Of course the Duke had read the article in the privacy of his
own room, and of course the article had nearly maddened him
with anger and grief. As the Duchess had said, the article had
taken from him the very ground on which his friends had told him
that he could stand. He had never consented, and never would
conf out, to lay the blame publicly on his wife ; but he had begun
1o think that ne must take notice of the charge made against iiim,
aud depute some one to explain for him in the House of > Com-
mons that the injury had been done at Silverbridge by the indis-
cretion of an agent who had not fulfilled bin employer's intentions,
and that the Duke had thought it right afterwards to pay the

WHAT THE DUCHESS THOUOUT OF HKR HUSBAND.

383

le acoosa-

money in oonsequenoe of this indiscretion. He had not agreed to
this, but he had brought himself to think that he must agree to it.
But now, of course, the question would follow : — Who was the
indiscreet agent F Was the Duchess the person for whose indis-
cretion he had had to pay £500 to Mr. Lopes F And in this matter
did he not find himself in accord eyep with Mr. Slide F " We
should hardly have thought that even a man so notoriously weak
as the Duke of Omnium would have endeavoured to ride out of
responsibility by throwing the blame upon his wife." He read
and reread these words ml he knew t^em by heart. For a few
moments it seemed to him to be an evil iii the Oonstitution that
the Prime Minister should not have the power oa .'astantly crudfy-
ing so foul a slanderer ; — and yet it was the very truth of the words
that crushed him. He was weak, — he told himself; — notoriously
weak, it must be ; and it would be most mean in him to ride out
of responsibility by throwing blame upon his wife. But what ^iae
was he to do P There seemed to him to be but one course, — to get
up in the House of Lords And declare that he paid the money
because he had thought it right to do so imder circumstances whicn
he could not explain, and to declare that it was not his intention
to say another word on the subject, or to have another word said
on hu behalf.

There was a Cabinet Council held that day, but no one ventured
to speak to the Prime Minister as to the accusation. Though he
considered himself to be weak, his colleagues were all more or less
afiraid of him. There was a certain silent dignity about the man
which saved him from the evils, as it also debarred him from the
advanti^;es, of familiarity. He had spoken on the sulrjeot to Mr.
Monk and to Hiineas Finn, and, as tne reader knows, very often
to his old mentor. He had also mentioned it to his friend Lord
Cantrip, who was not in the Cabinet Coming away from the
Cabinet he took Mr. Monk's arm, and led him away to his own
room in the Treasury Chambers. " Have you happened to see an
article in the ' People's Banner ' this morning F " he asked.

" I never see the * People's Banner,' " said Mr. Monk.

"There it is; — just look at that." Whereupon Mr. Monk read
the article. " Tou understand what people call constitutional
practice as well as any one I know. As I told you before, I did
pay that man's expenses. Did I do anything unconstitutional F "

" That would depend, Duke, upon me circumstances. If you
were to back a man up by your wealth in an expensive contest,
I think it would be unconstitutional. If you set yourself to work
in that way, and oared not what you spent, you might materially
influence the elections, and buy parliamentary support for
yourself."

" But in this case the payment was made after the man had
failed, and certainly had not been promised either by me or by
any one on my behalf."

** I think it was unfortunate," said Mr. Muuk.

884

THE PRIME MINISTER.

" Certainly, certainly ; but I am not asking aato that," said t*ie
Duke impatiently. "The man had been injured by indiaoreet
persons acting on my behalf and in opposition to my wishes." He
said not a word about the Duchess; but Mr. Monk no doubt
knew that her Grace had beeu at any rate one of the indiscreet
persons. '' He applied to me for the money, alleging that he had
been injured by my agents.* That bein^ so, — ^presuming that my
story be correct, — did I act unconstitutionally r "

*' I think not,"' said Mr. Monk, " and I tiiiink that the circum-
stances, when explained, will bear you harmless."

'* Thank you ; thauk you. I did not want to trouble you about
that just at present."

CHAPTER LVII.

THE EXPLAlfATION.

Mr. Monk had been altogether unable to decipher the Duke's
purpose in the question he nad asked. About an hour afterwards
they walked down to the Houses together, Mr. Monk having been
kept at his office. " I hope I was not a little short with you just
now," said the Duke.

'< I did not find it out," said Mr. Monk smiling.

'* Tou read what was in tibe papers, and you may imagine t^ .\t
it is of a natui'e to irritate a man. I knew that no one coold
answer my question so correctly as you, and therefore I was a little
eager to keep directly to the question. It occurred to m& after-
wards that I had been — ^perhaps unoourteous."

'♦ Not atjall, Duke."

" If I was, your goodness will excuse an irritated man. If a
question were asked about this in the House of Commons; who
would be the best man to answer it ? Would you do it ? "

Mr. Monk considered awhile. "I think," he said, " that Mr.
Finn would do it with a better grace. Of course I will do it if
YOU wish it. But he has tact in such matters, and it is known tiiat
his wife is much regarded by her Grace."

" I will not have the Duchess's name mentioned," said the Duke,
turning short upon his companion.

" I cud not allude to that, but I thought that the intimacy which
existed might make it pleasant to you to employ Mr. Finn as the
exponent of your wishes."

'* I have the greatest confidence in Mr. Finn certainly, and am
on most friendly personal terms with him. It shall be so, if I
decide on answering any question in your House on a matter so
purely personal to myself.

THE EXPLANATION.

885

ItheDuice,

** I would vaggwt that yon should have the question asked in a
friendly way. Get some independent member, such as Mr. Beverley
or Sir James Deering, to ask it. The matter would then m
brought forward in no carping spirit, and you would be enabled,
through Mr. Finn, to set the matter at rest. You have probably
spoken to the Duke about it." •

" I have mentioned it to n^ n."

" Is not that what he woul« recommend P '*

The old Duke had recomme ided that the entire truth should be
told, and that the Duchess's operations should be made public.
Here was our poor Prime Minister's great difficulty. He and his
Mentor were at variance. His Mentor was advising that the
real naked truth should be told, whereas Telemaohus was intent
upon keeping the name of the actual culprit in the background.
" I will think it all over," aai^ the Prime Minister as the two parted
company at Palace Yard.

That evening he spoke to Lord Cantrip on the subject. Though
the matter was so ooious to him, he could not keep his mind from
it for a moment. Had Lord Oantrip seen the article in the
"People's £anner"P Lord Cantrip, like Mr. Monk, declared
that the paper in question did not constitute part of his usual
morning's recreation. " I won't ask you to read it,'* said the
Duke;— ** but it contains a very bitter attack upon me, — the
bitterest that has yet been made. I suppose I ought to notice the
matter P "

" If I were you," said Lord Cantrip, " I should put myself into
the hands of the Duke of St. Bungav, and do exactly what he
advisee. There is no man in England knows so well as he does
what idiould be done in such a case as this." The Prime Minister
frowned and said nothing. ** My dear Duke," continued Lord
Ganthp, " I can give you no other advice. Who is there that has
vour personal interest and your honour at heart so entirely as
his Qiace ; — and what man can be a more sagacious or more expe-
rienced adviser ? "

" I was thmking that you might ask a question about it in our
House.'-

'* You would do it for me in a manner, that — that would be free
from all offence."

*' If I did it at all, I should certainly strive to do that. But it
has never occurred to me that you would make such a suggestion.
Would you ^tive Txie a few moments to think about it?" "I
couldn't do it," Lord Cantrip said afterwards. '* By taking such a
step, even at your request, I should certainly express an opinion
that the matter was one on which Parliament was entitled to
expect that you should make an explanation. But my own opinion
is that Parliament has no buraness to meddle in the matter. I do
not think l^t every action of a minister's life should be made
matter of inquiry because a newspaper may choose to make allu-

886

THE PRIMS MINIHTRR.

Nil D

Bi'ons to it. At any rato, if any word is said about it, it should, I
think, be said in the other house/'

** Tlio Duke of St. Bungay thinks that something should be said."

" I could not myself consent even to appear to desire information
on a matter so entirely personal to yourself." The Duke bowed,
and smiled with a cold, glittering, uncomfortable smile which would
sometimes cross his face when he was not pleased, and no more was
then said upon the subject.

Attempti were made to have the question asked in a ^ different
spirit by some hostile member of the House of Commons. Sir
Orlando Drought was sounded, and he for a while did giye ear to
the suggestion. But, as he came to have the matter full before
him, he coulU not do it. The Duke had spurned his adyice as a
minister, and had refused to sanction a measure which ho, as the
head of H branch of the Goyernment, had proposed. The Duke had
so offended him that he conceiyed himself Dound to regard the
Duke as his enemy, But he knew,— -and he could not escape from
the knowled{*e, — ^tnat England did not contain a more honourablfi
man than the Duke. He was delighted that the Duke should be
re^ed, and thwarted, and caUed ill names in the matter. To be
gratified at this discomfiture of his enemy was in the nature of
parliamentary opposition. Any blow that might weaken his oppo-
nent was a blo'«ir m his fayour. But this was a blow which ha could
not strike with his own hands. There were things in parliamentary
tactics which eyeu Sir Orlando could not do. Arthur Fletcher was
also asked to undertake the task. He was the successfal candidate,
the man who had opposed Lopez, and who was declared in the
'* People's Banner " to haye emancipated that borough by his noble
conduct from the tyranny of the House of Palliser. And it wa»
thought that he might like an opportunity of making 1 imralf known
in theH<$iise. But he was simply indignant when'tbe suggestioii
was ibade to him. "What is it to me," he said, '* who paid th«
blackguard^s expenses f " '=^* J*

This went on for some weeks after Parliament had met, and for
some days eyen after tL^ article in which direct allusion was made
to the Duchess. The Prime Minister could not be' got to consent
that no notice should Ibe taken of the matter, let the papers or the
public say what they would, nor could he be induced to let the
matter be handled in the manner proposed by the elder Duke. And
during this time he was in such a feyer that those about him felt
that something must be done. Mr. Monk su^ested that if eyery-
body held his tongue, — meaning all the Duke's friends, — the thing
would ireax itself oui'. But it was apparent to those who were
nearest to the niiriister, to Mr. Warburton, for instance, and the
Duke of St. Bungay, that the man himself would be worn out first.
The happy possessor of a thick skin can hardly understand how one
not so bleesed my be hurt by the thong of a litti.e whip ! At last
*'hi\ matter was arranged. At the instigation of Mr. Mon^, Sir James
Deermg, who was reidly the father of the House, an incbpendeiio

THE EXPLANATION.

887

member, buw one who genorally voted with the Coalition, consented
to ask the question in uie House of Commons. And Fhineas Finn
was instructed by the Duke as to the answer that was to be given.
The Duke of Omnium in giving these instructions made a mystery
of the matter which he by no means himself intended. But he,
was sofsore that he could not be simple in what he said. ' ' Mr. Finn,'*
he said, ** you must promise me this, — that the name of the Duchess
shall not be mentioned."

*' Certainly not by me, if you tell me that I am not to men-
tion it."

" No one else can do so. Tlie matter will take the form of a
simple question, and though the conduct of a minister may no
douot be Tiiade the subject c^ debate,— and it is not improbable that
my conduct may do so in this instance, — it is I think impossible
th.'\t any member should make an allusion to my wife. The

Sri^ilege or power of returning a member for the borough has un-
oubtedly been exercised by our family since as well as previous to
both the Reform Bills. At the last election I thought it rij^ht to
abandon that privilege, and notified to those about me my mten-
tion. But that which a man has the power of doing he cannot
always do without the interference of tnose around mm. There
was a misconception, and among my, — my adherents, — there wore
some who ii^judiciously advised Mr. Lopez to stand on my interest.
But he did not get my intierest, and was beaten ; — and therefore
when he asked me for the money which he had spent, I paid it to
him. That is all. I think the Mouse can hardly avoid to see that
my effort Was made to discontinue an unconstitutional proceeding.'*
Sir James Deering asked the question. *' He trusted," he said,
" that the House would not think that the question of which he
had given notice and which he was about to ask was instigated by
any personal desire on his part to inquire into the conduct of the
Prime Minister. He was one who believed that the Duke of
Omnium was as little likelv as any man in England to offend by un-
constitutional practice on iiis own part. But a great deal had been
talked and written lately about the late election at Silverbridge,
and there were those who thought, — and he was one of them, — that
something should be said to stop the mouthaof cavillers. With this
object he would ask tiie Bight Honourable Gentieman who led the
House, and who was perhaps firbt in standing among the uobe
Duke's colleagues in that House, whether the noble DiUce was pre-
pared to have any statement on the subject made."

The House was full to the very corners of the galleries. Of
course it was known to everybody that the question was to be asked
and io be answered. There were some who thought that the matter
was so serious that the Prime Minister could not get over it.
Others had heard in the dubs that Lady Glen, as the Duchess was
stiU called, was to be made the soape^at. Men of all classes were
opon-mouthed in their denunciation of the meanness of Lopez, —
though no one but Mr. Wharton knew half his villainy, as he alone

888

THE PRIME MTNISTER.

4..

■'.■;

knew that the expenses had been paid twice over. In one comer
of the reporterB* gallery sat Mr. Shde, pencil in hand, prepared to
revert to nis old work on so momen^ 'anon. It was a neat

day for him. He by his own uuaboi...^J enersy liad brought a
Prime Minister to book, and bad created all this turmoil. It might
be his happy lot to be the means ot turning that Prime Minister
out of office. It was he who had watched over the nation I The
Duchess had been most anxious to be present, — but had not Ven-
tured to come without asking her hwiband's leave, which he had
most peremptorily refused to give. " i cannot understand, Olen-
cora. how you can suggest sudi a thing," ne had said.

" You make so mudi of everything, she had replied petulantly ;
but 8he had remained at home. The ladies' gallery was, however,
quite full. Mrs. Finn was there, of course, anxious not onlv tor
her friend, but eager to hear how her husband would acquit him-
self in his task. The wives and daughters of all the ministers
were there, — excepting the wife of the Prime Minister. There
never had been, in the memory of them all, a matter that was so
interesting to them, for it was the onlv matter they remembered
in which a woman's conduct might probably be called in question
in the House of Commons. And the seats appropriated to peers
were so crammed that above a dozen grey- headea old lords were
standing in the passage which divides them from the common
strangers. After all it was not, in truth, much of an affair. A
very uttle man indeed had calumniated the conduct of a minister
of the Grown, till it had been thought well that the minister
should defend himself. No ohe really believed that the Duke had
committed any ^eat offence. At the worst it was no more than
indiscretion, which Was noticeable only because a Prime Minister
should never be indiscreet. Had the taxation of the whole country
for the next year been in dispute, there would have been no such
interest ifelt. Had the welfare of the Indian Empire occupied the
House, the House would have been empty. But the hope that a
certain woman's name would have to oe mentioned, crammed it
from the floor to the ceiling.

The reader need not be told that that name was not mentioned.
Our old friend Phineas, on rising to his lege, first apologised for
doing so in place of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. But per-
haps the House would accept a statement fiom him, as the noble
Duke at the hf^-'d of the Government had asked him to make it.
Then he made his statement. " Perhaps," he said, '* no falser
accusation than this had ever been brought forward against a
minister of the Crown, for it specially charged his noble friend
with resorting to the employment of unconstitutional practices to
bolster up his parliamentery support, whereas it was known by
everybody that there would have been no matter for accusation at
all had not the Duke of his own motion abandoned a recognised
privilege, because, in his opinion, the exercise of that privilege
was opposed to the spirit of uie Constitution. Had the noble Duke

THE EXPLANATION .

889

simply nominated a candidatu, as caudidates had beeu uomiuated
at bilverbridge for 'ceuturiea past, that candidate would hate been
returned witE abuolute cestaiuty, and there would have been no
word spoken on the subject, it was not, perhaps, for him, who
had the honour of serving under his Grace, and who, as being a
part of his Grace's Government, was for the time one with nia
Grace, to expatiate at length on the nobility of the sacrifice here
made. But they all knew there at what rate was valued a seat in
that House. Thank God that privilege could not now be rated at
any money price. It could not be bought and sold. But this pri-
vilege which his noble friend had so magnanimously resigned from
purely patriotic motives, was, he believed, still in existence, and he
would ask those few who were still in the happy, or, perhaps, he
had better say in the envied, position of bein^ able to send their
friends to that House, what was their estimation of the conduct of
the Duke in this matter P It might be that there were one or two
such present, and who now heard him, — or, perhaps, one or tWo
who owed their seats to the exercise of such a privilege. They
might marvel at the magnitude of the surrender. They might
even question the sagacity of the man who could abandon so much
without a price. But he hardly thought that even they would
regard it as unconstitutional.

" This was what the Prime Minister had done, — acting not a^
Prime Minister, but as an English nobleman, in the management
of his own property and priviie^s. And now he would come to
the gist of the accusation made ; m making which, the thing which
the Duke had really done had been altogetner ignored, "^^eu the
vacancy had been declared by the acceptance of the Chiltern Hun-
dreds Dy a gentleman whose absence from the House they all
regretted, the Duke had signified to his agents his intention of
retiring altogether from the exercise of any privilege or power in
the matter. But the Duke was then, as he was also now, and
would, it was to be hoped, lonfj^ continue to be, Prime Minister of
England. He need hardly remind gentiemen in that House that
the Prime Minister was not in a position to devote his undivided
time to the management of his own property, or even to the in-
terests of the Borough of Silverbridge. That his Grace had been
earnest ini his instructions to his agents, the sequel fully proved ;
but that earnestness his agents had misinterpreted."

Then there was heard a voice in the House, " What agents?"
and from another voice, '*Name them." For there were present
some who thought it to be ubameful that the excitement of the
occasion should be lowered by keeping back f.U allusion to the
Duchess.

" I have not distinguibhed," said Phineas, assuming an indignant
tone, " the honourable gentlemen from whom those questions have
come, and therefore I have the less compunction in telling them
that it is no part of my duty on this occasion to gratifv a morbid
and an indecent curiosity." Then there was a cry of * • Order," and an

890

TBI PRIMK ICINIBTBR.

':!i

;

'§<]

Appeal to the Speaker. Certain sentlomen wiHht^ to know whethei'
inaecent wm pMrliamentary. The Speaker, with Huiue heeitatiou,
expr eaoe d hie opinion that the word, as then used, was not open to
objection from aim. He thought that it was within the scope ot a
member's rights to oharige another member with indecent curiosity.
'* If," said rhineas, rising again to his legs, for he had sat down
for a moment, '* the gentlemau who called for a name will rise in
his place and repeat the demand, I will recall the word indecent
and substitute another, — or others. I will tell him that he is one
who, regardleHS of the real conduct of the Prime Minister, either att
a man or as a servant of the Grown, is only au.'.ious to inflict an
unmanly wound in order that he may be gratified by seeing the
pain which he inflicts." Then he pauiwd, but as no fiu^er
question was asked, he coiffinutid his statement. " 1 candidate
had been brought forward," he Baid, " by those interested in the
Duke's affairs. A man whom he would not name, but who he
trosted would never succeed in his ambition to occupy a seat in
that House, had been brought forward, and certain tradesmen in
Silyerbridge had been asked to support him as the Duke's nominee.
There was no doubt about it. The House pernaps could understand
that the local adherents and neighbours ox a man so ixigh in rank
and wealth as the Duke of Omnium would not glacUy see the
privileges of thoir lord diminished. Perhape, too, it occurred to
them tnat a Prim<^ Minister could not have his eye everywhere.
There would always be worthy men in boroughs who liked to exer-
cise some second-hand authority. At any rate it was the case that
this candidate was encouraged. Then the Duke had heard it, and
had put his foot upon the little mutiny, and had stamped it out at
once. He might perhaps here," he said, " congratulate the House
on the acquisition it had received by the failure of that candidate.
So £ur, at any rate," he thought, " it must be admitted that the
Duke had been free from blame ; — ^but now he came to the grava-
men of the charge." The gravamen of the charge is so weU known
to the reader that the simple account which Phineas gave of it need
not be repeated. The Duke had paid the money, when asked for it,
because he felt that the man had been injured by incorrect repre-
sentations made to him. " I need hardly pause to stigmatise the
meanness of that application," said Phineas, " but I may perhaps
conclude by saying that whetiier the last act done by the Duke m
this matter was or was not indiscreet, I shall probably have the
House with me when I say that it savours much more strongly of
nobility than of indiscretion."

When Phineas Eiun sat down no one aroste to nay another word
on the subject. It was aftei'wards felt that it would only have been

Saoeful had Sir Orlando risen and expressed his opimon that the
ouse had heard the statement just made with perfect satisfaction.
But he did not do so, and after a short pause the ordinary business
of the day was recommenced. Then there was a speedy descent
from the galleries, and the ladies trooped out of their cage, and the

"quite sbttlko.**

891

grey-headod old poem went back to their own ohomber, and the
membera themitelyoa quickly jontled out throu|[h the duora, and Mr.
Muuk WM left to oxplain his proposed alturuUon in Uie dog tax to
a thin House of seventy or eighty membors.

The thing was then over, and people were astoniahed that so
grtiat a thing should be over with co little fuM. It really seemed
that after Pnineas Finn's Boeech there was nothing more to be said
on the matter. Everybody of course knew that the Duchess had
been the chief of the agents to whom he had alluded, but they had
known as much as that before. It was, howuTor, felt by everybody
that the matter had been brought to an end. The game, such as it
was, had been played out. Perhaps the only person who heard Mr.
Finn's speech throughout, and still hoped that the spark could be
again fanned into a flame, was Quintus Slide. He wont out and
wrote another article about the Duchess. If a man was so unable
to rule his affuirs at home, ho was certainly unfit to be Prime
Miuister. But even Quintus Slide, as he wrute his article, felt that
ho was hoping uguiust hope. The charge mi^ht be referred to hero-
after as one that had never been satisfc^torily cleared up. That
sAvao is always open tp the oppououts of a minister. After the
lapse of a few mouths an old accusation can be serviceably used,
whether at the time it was provud or disproved. Mr. Slide ])ub-
lished his article, but he felt that for the prest^ut the Silyerbridge
election papers had better be nut by among the properties of the
" People s Banner," and brought out, if necessary, for further use
at some future time.

" Mr. Finn," said the Duke, "I feel indebted to you for the
trouble you have taken."

*' It was only a pleasant duty."

** I am firateful to you for the manner in which it was per-
formed." This was aU the Duke said, and Phineas felt it to be
cold. The Duke, in truth, was grateful ; but gi'atitude with hin^
always failed to exhibit itself readily. From the world at large
Phineas Finn received great praise K>r the manner in which he
had performed his task.

CHAPTER LVin.

"quite settled."

TnE abuse which was now publicly heaped on the name of Fer-
dinand Lopez hit the man very hard ; but not so hard perhaps as
his rejection by Lady Eustace. That was an episode in his life of
which even ho felt ashamed, and of which he was unable to shake
the disgrace from his memory. He had no inner appreoiatio4

M -•

d92r

THK PniMK MINISTER.

whatsoever of what was really good or what was really bad in <^
man's coiiduct. He did not know that he had done evil in apply •
ing to the Duke for the money. He had only meant to attack th^
Duke ; and when the money had come it had been regarded as
justifiable prey. And when after receiving the Duke's money,
he had kept also Mr. Wharton's money, he had justified him-
self again by reminding himself that Mr. Wharton certainly owed
him much more than that. In a sense he was what is called
a gentleman. He knew how to speak, and how to look, how to
use a knife and fork, how to dress himself, and how to walk. But
he had not the faintest notion of the feelings of a gentleman. He
had, however, a very keen conception of the evil of being generally
ill spoken of. Even now, though he was making up his mind to
leave England for a long term of years, he understood the din-
advantage of leaving it under so heavy a cloud ; — and he understood
also that the cloud might possibly impede his going altogether.
Even in Coleman Street they were looking black upon him, and
Mr. Hartlepod went so far as to say to Lopez himself, that, " by
Jove he had put his foot in it." He had endeavoured to be courage-
ous under his burden, and every day walked into the offices of the
Mining Company, endeavouring to look as though he had com-
mitted no fault of which he had to be ashamed. But after the
second day he found that nothing was said to him of the affairs of
the Company, and on the fourth day Mr. Hartlepod informed him
that the time allowed for paying up his shares had passed by, and
that another local manager would be appointed. "The time is
not over till to-morrow," said Lopez angrily. '• I tell you what I
am told to tell you," said Mr. Hartlepod. " You will only waste
your time by coming here anymore."

He had not once seen Mr. Wharton since the statement made in
Parliament, although he had lived in the same house with him.
Everett Wharton had come home, and they two had met ; — but the
meeting had been stormy. *' It seems to me, Lopez, that you are
a scoundrel," Everett said to him one day after having heard the
whole story, — or rather many stories, — from his father. This took
place not in Manchester Square, but at the club, where Everett had
endeavoured to cut his brother-in-law. It need hardly be said that
at this time Lopez was not popular at his club. On the next day a
meeting of the whole club was to be held that the propriety of
expelling him might be discussed. But he had resolved that he
would not be cowed, that he would still show himself, and still
defend his conduct. He did not know, however, that Everett
Wharton had already made known to the Committee of the club all
the facts of the double payment.

He had addressed Everett in that soliciiude to which a man
should never be reduced of seeking to be recognised by at any rate
one acquaintance, — and now his brother-in-law had called him a
scoundrel in the presence of other men. He raised his arm as
though to use the cane in his haiul , but he was cowed by the feel-

" QUITE SETTLED."

898

ing that all there were his adyei-Hai ius. ' ' llow dare you use that
languag^e to me ! " he said very weakly.

" It 18 the language that I must use if you speak to me.'*
•• I am your brother-ia-law, and that restrains me."
*• Unfortunately .jrou are."
'• And am living in your father's house."

" That, again, is a misfortune whioh it appears difficult to
remedy. You have been told to go, and you won't go."

"Your ingratitude, sir, is marvellous! Who saved your life
when you were attacked in the park, and were too drunk to take
care of yourself ? Who has stood your friend with your close-
fisted old father when you have lost money at play that you could
not pay ? But you are one of those who would turn away from
any Denefactor in his misfortune."

*' I must certaiioily turn away fpom a man who has disgraced
himself as you have done," said Everett, leaving the room. Lopez
threw himself into an easy-chair, and rang the bell loudly for a
cup of cofiEee, and lit a cigar. He had not been turned out of the
club as yet, and the servant at any rate was bound to attend to
him.

That night he waited up for his father-in-law in Manchester
Square. He would certainly go to Quatemala now, — if it were
not too late. He would go though he were forced to leave his
wife behind him, and thus surrender any further hope for money
from Mr. Wharton beyond the sum whion he would receive as the
price of his banishment. It was true that the fortnight allowed to
him by the Company was only at an end that day, and that, there-
fore, the following n;ioming might be taken as tne last ^y named
for the payment of the money. No doubt, also, Mr. Wharton's
bill at a few days' date wotdd be accepted if that gentleman could
not at the moment give a cheque for so large a sum as was required.
And the appointment had been distinctly promised to him with no
other stipulation than that the money required for the shares should
be paid. He did not believe in Mr. Hartlepod's threat. It was
impossible, he thought, that he should be treated in so infamous a
manner merely because he had had his election expenses repaid
him by the Duke of Omnium ! He would, therefore, ask for the
money, and — renounce tha society of his wife.

As he made this resolve something like real love returned to his
heart, and he became for a while sick with regret. He assured
himself that he had loved her, and that he could love her still ; —
but why had she not been true to him ? Why had she clung lo
her father instead of clinging to her husband ? Why had she not
learned his ways, — as a wife is bound to learn the ways of the
man she marries F Why had she not helped him in his devices,
fallen into his plans, been regardful of his fortunes, and made
herself one with him ? There had been present to him at times an
idea that if he could take her away with him to that distant country
to which he Ihonjjht to go, and thus remove her from the upas

894

tHE PBIME MINISTEtt.

u'i

influence of her father's roof-treo, shti would then fall into his
views and become his wife indeed. Then he would again be tender
to her, again love her, again endeavour to make the world soft to
her. But it was too late now for that. He had failed in every-
thing as far as England was concerned, and it was chiefly by her
fault that he had failed. He would consent to' leave her ; — but,
as he thought of it in his solitude, his eyes became moist with
regret.

In these days Mr. Wharton never came home till about mid-
night, and then passed rapidly through the hall to his own room,
— and in the morning haa his breakfast brought to him in the
same room, so that he might not even see his son-in-law. His
daughter would go to him when at breakfast, and there, together
for some half-hour, they would endeavour to look forward to their
future fate. But hitherto they had never been able to look for-
ward in accord, as she still persisted in declaring that if her husband
bade her to go with him, — she would go. On this night Lopez sat
up in the dining-room, and as soon as he heard Mr. Wharton's key
in the door, he placed himself in the hall. " I wish to speak to
you to-night, sir," he said. " Would you object to come m for a
few moments ? " Then Mr. Wharton followed him into the room.
** As we live now," continued Lopez, " I have not much oppor-
tuni^of 8i)eaking to you, even on business."

*♦ Well, sir ; you can speak now,— if you have anything to say."

** The £d,000 you promised me must be paid to-morrow. It is
the last dajr."

" I promised it only on certain conditions. Had you complied
with them the money would have been paid before this."

" Just so. The conditions are very hard, Mr. Wharton. It
surprises me that such a one as you should think it right to sepa-
rate a husband from his wife."

" I think it right, sir, to separate imr daughter from such a one
as you are. I thought so before, but 1 think so doubly now. If I
can secure your j^bsence in Guatemala by the payment of this
money, and if you will give me a document that shall be prepared
by Mr. Walker and signed by yourself, assuring your wife that
you will not hereafter call upon her to live with you, the money
shall be paid."

•♦ All that will take time, Mr. Wharton."

'* I will not pay a penny without it. I can meet you at the
office in Coleman Street to-morrow, and doubtless they will accept
my written assurance to pay the money as soon as those stipula-
tions shall be complied with."

*• That would disgrace me in the office, Mr. Wharton."

" And are you not disgraced there already P Can you tell me
that they have not heard of your conduct m Colemau Street, or
iLH.t hearing it they dibi-egard it ? " His son-in-law stood frowning
at hi:n, but did not at the moment say a word. " Nevertheless, I
will meet you there if you please, at any time Ihat you may name,

*' QUITE SETTLED."

896

and if they do not objeot to employ such a man as their manager,
I shall not object on their behau."

*' To the last you are hard and cruel to me," said Lopez ; — " but
I will meet you in Coleman Street at eleven to-morrow." Then
Mr. Wharton loft the room, and Lopez was there alone amidst the
gloom of the heavy curtains and the dark paper. A London dining-
room at night Is suways dark, cavernous, and unlovely. The yerv
pictures on the walls lack brightness, and the furniture is black
and heavy. This room was large, but old-fashioned and very dark.
Here Lopez walked up and down after Mr. Wharton had left him,
trying to think how far Fate and how lar he himself were respon-
sible for his present misfortunes. No doubt he had begun the
world well. His father had been little better than a travelling
pedlar, but had made some money by selling jewellerv, and had
educated his son. Lopez could on no score impute blame to his
father for what had happened to him. And, when he thought of
the means at his disposal in his early youth, he felt that he had a
right to boast of some success. He haoL worked hard, and had won
his way upwards, and had almost lodged himself securely among
those people with whom it had been nis ambition to live. Early
in life he had found himself among those who were called gentle-
men and ladies. He had been able to assume their manners, and
had lived with them on e^ual terms. Whun thinkiog of his past
life he never forget to remind himself that he had been a ^est at
the house of the Duke of Omnium ! , And yet how was it with him
now P He was penniless. He was rejected by his father-in-law*
He was feared, and, as he thought, detested by his wife. He was
expelled from his club. He was cut by his old friends. And be
had been told very plaioly by the Secretary in Coleman Street that
his presence there was no longer desired. What should he do with
himself if Mr. Wharton's money were now refused, and if the
appointment in Guatemala were denied to him ? And thon he
thought of poor Sexty Parker and his family. He was not naturally
an ill-natured man. Though he cculd upbraid his wife for alluding
to Mrs. Parker's misery, declaring that Mrs. Parker must take the
rubs of the world just as others took them, still the misfortunes
which he had brought on her and on her children did add some-
thing to the weight of his own misfortunes. If he could not go to
Guatemala, what should he do with himself ; — where should he go ?
Thus he walked up and down the room for an hour. Would not a
pistol or a razor give him the best solution for all his difficulties P

On the following morning he kept his appointment at the office
in Coleman Street, as did Mr. Wharton also. The latter was there
lirst by some minutes, and explained to Mr. Hartlepod that he luid
come there to moot his son-in-law. Mr. Hartlepod was civil, but
very cold. Mr. Wharton saw at the first glance that the sei-vices
of Ferdinand Lopez were no longer in rec^uest by the San Juan
Milling Company ; but he sat down and waited. Now that he was
there, however painful the interview would be, ho would go through

896

THE PRIME MlNlSTEn.

I::,;:

mi H

«!1

it. At ten miuutes past eleven he made up his mind that he would
wait till the half hour, — and then ^o, with the fixed resolution that
he would never willingly spend another shilling on behalf of that
wretched man. But at a quarter past eleven the wretched man
came, — swaggering into the office, though it had not, hitherto,
been his custom to swagger. But misfortune masters all but the
great men, and upsets we best-learned lesson of even a longlife.
"I hope I have not kept you waiting, Mr. Wharton. Well,
Hartlepod, how are you to-day? So this little affair is to be
settled at last, and now these shares shall be bought and paid for.*'
Mr. Wharton did not say a word, not even rising from his chair, or
greeting his son-in-law by a word. '^ I dare say Mr. Wharton has
already explained himself," said Lopez.

•* I don't know that there is any necessity," said Mr. Hartlepod.

•• Well, — I suppose it's simple enough," continued Lopez. " Mr.
Wharton, I believe I am right in saying that you are ready to pay
the money at once."

*• Yes ; — I am ready to pay the money as soon as I am assured
that you are on your route to Guatemala. I will not pay a penny
till I know that as a fact.""

Then Mr. Hartlepod rose from his seat and spoke. ** Gentle-
men," he said, " the matter within the last few days has assumed
a different complexion."

'• As how P" exclaimed Lopez.

** The Directors have changed their mind as to sending out Mr.
Lopez as their local manager. The Directors intend to appoint
another gentleman. I had already acquainted Mr. Lopez with tho
Directors' intention."

" Then the matter is settled P " said Mr. Wharton.

•' Quite settled," said Mr. Hartlepod.

As a matter of course Lopez began to fume and to be furious.
What I — after all that had been done did the Directors mean to go
back from their word P After he had been induced to abandon his
business .in his own country, was he to be thrown over in that
way? If the Company intended to treat him like that, the
Company would very soon hear from him. Thank God there were
laws in the land. " Yesterday was the last day fixed for the pay-
ment of the money," said Mr. Hartlepod.

•* It is at any rate certain that Mr. Lopez is not to go to Guate-
mala ?" asked Mr. Wharton.

** Quite certain," said Mr. Hartlepod. Then Mr. Wharton rose
from his chair and quitted the room.

" By G , you have ruined me among you," said Lopez ; —

** ruined me in the most shameful manner. There is no mercy, no
friendship, no kindness, no forbearance anywhere ! Why am I to
be treated in this manner P"

" If you have any complaint to make," said Mr. Hartlepod, " you
had better write to the Directors. I have nothing to do but my
dutv."

'?^^:'<I''

QUITE SETTLED.

897

" By heavens, the Directors shall hear it ! " said Lopez as he left
the office.

Mr. Wharton went to his chambers and endeayoured to make up
tus mind what step he must now take in reference to this dreadfid
incubus. Ot course he could turn the man out of his house, but in
so doing it might well be that he would also turn out his own
daughter. He oelieved Lopez to be utterly without means, and a
man so destitute would generally be glad to be relieved from the
burden of his wife's sup^rt. But this man would care nothing for
ms wife's comfort ; nothing even, as Mr. "Wharton believed, for his
wile's life. He would simply use his wife as best he might as a
means for obtaining money. There was nothing to be done but to
buy him off, by so much money down, and by so much at stated
intervals as long as he should keep away. Mr. Walker must
manage it, but it was quite clear to Mr. Wharton that the Guate-
mala scheme was altogether at an end. Li the meantime a certain
sum must be offered to the man at once, on condition that he would
leave the house and do so without taking his wife with him.

iSo far Mr. Wharton had a plan, and a plan that was at least
feasible. Wretched as he was, miserable, as he thought of the
late which had befallen his daughter, — there was still a prospect
of some relief. But Iiopez as he walked out of the office had
nothing to which he could look for comfort. He slowly made his
way to Little Tankard Tard, and there he found Sexty Parker
balancing himself on the back legs of his chair, with a small
decanter of public-house sherry before him. *• What ; you here ? "
he said.

" Yes ; — I have come to say good-bye."

'* Where are you going then ^ You shan't start to Guatemala
if I know it."

•• That's all over, my boy," said Lopez smiling.

" What is it you mean ? " said Sexty, sitting square on his chair
and looking very serious.

*' I am not going to Guatemala or anywhere else. I thought I'd
just look in to tell you that I'm just done for,— that I haven't a
hope of a shilling now or hereafter. *Yoa told me the other day
that I was afraid to come here. You see that as soon as anything
i» fixed, I come and tell you everjrthing at once."

" What ^8 fixed ? "

" That I am ruined. That there isn't a penny to come from any
couroe." •

" Wharton has got money," said Sexty.

" And there is monoy iu the bank of England, — but I cannot get
at it."

*' What are you going to do, Lopez ? "

" Ah ; that's the question. ' What am I going to do ? I can say
nothing about that, but I can say, Sexty, that our affairs are ai an
end. I'm very sorry for it, old boy. We ought to have made
fortunes, but we didn't. As far as the work went, I did my best,

^'^ '•;

ilia

1 1

;

1:,:

■i

898

THF PRIME BnMISTER.

Oood-bye, old fellow. You'll do well some of these days yet, I
don't doubt. Don't teach the bairns to curse me. As for Mrs. P.
I have no hope there, I know." Then he went, leaving Sexty
Parker quite aghast.

CHAPTER LIX.

THE FIRST AND THE LAST.

When Mr. Wharton was in Ooleman Street, having his final inter-
view with Mr. Hartlepod, there came a visitor to Mrs. Lopez in
Manchester Square. Up to this date there had been great doubt
with Mr. Wharton whether at last the banishment to (-iiatemala
would become a fact. From day lo day his mind had changed. It
had been an infinite benefit that Lopez should go, if he could be
got to go alone, but as great an evil it at last he should take his
wife with him. But the father had never dared to express these
doubts to her, and she had taught herself to think that absolute
banishment with a man whom she certainly no longer loved, was
the punishment she had to pay for the evil she had done. It was
now March, and the second or third of April had been fixed for her
departure. Of course she had endeavoured from time to time to
learn all that was to be learned from her husband. Sometimes he
would be almost communicative to her ; at other times she could
get hardly a word from him. But, through it all, he gave her to
believe that she would have to go. Nor did her father make any
great effort to turn his mind the other way. If it must be so, of
what use would be such false kindness on ms part P She had tiiere-
fore gone to work to make her purchases, studying that economy
which must henceforth be the great duty of her life, and reminding
herself as to everything she bought that it would have to be worn
with tears and used in sorrow.

And then she sent a message to Arthur Fletcher. It so happened
that Sir Alured Wharton was up in London at this time with his
daughter Mary. Sir Alured did not come to Manchester Square.
There was notning that the old baronet could say in the midst of
all this misery, — nc comfort that he could give. It was well known
now to all the Whartons and all the Fletchers that this Lopez,
who had married her who was to have been the pearl of the two
families, had proved himself to be a scoundrel. The two old
Whartons met no doubt at some club, or perhaps in Stone Build-
ings, and spoke some few bitter words to each other; but Sir
Alured did not see the unfortunate young woman who had disgraced
herself by so wretched a marriage. But Mary came, and by her a
message was sent to Arthur Fletcher. "Tell him that I am going,'

THE FIRST AND THE LAST.

899

said Emily. " Tell him not to come ; but giye him my lore. He
was always one of my kindest friends.

** Why, — why, — why did you not take him ? '* said Mary, moved
by the excitement of tne moment to saegestions which were quite
at variance with the fixed propriety of her general ideas.

•' Why should you speak of that ? " said the other. '* I never
speak of him, — never think of him. But, if you see him, tell him
what I say." Arthur Fletcher was of course in the Square on the
following day,^n that very day on which Mr. Wharton learned
that, whatever might be his daughter's fate, she would not, at any
rate, be taken to Guatemala. They two had never met since the
day on which they had been brought together for a moment at the
Duchess's party at Richmond. It had of course been understood
by both of them that they were not to be allowed to see each other.
Her husband had made a pretext of an act of friendship on his part
to establish a quarrel, and both of them had been bound by that
quarrel. When a husband declares that his wife shall not know
a man, that edict must be obeyed. — or, if disobeyed, must be sub-
verted by intrigue. In this case there had been no inclination to
intrigue on either side. The order had been obeyed, and as far as
the wife was concerned, had been only a small part of the terrible
puniohment which had come upon her as the result of her marriage.
But now, when Arthur Fletcner sent up his name, she did not
hesitate as to seeing him. No doubt she nad thought it probable
that she might see him when she gave her message to her cousin.

*• I could not let you go without coming to you," he said.

"It is very good of you. Yes ;— I suppose we are going.
Guatemala sounds a long way off, Arthur, does it not ? But they
tell me it is a beautifid country." She spoke with a cheerfiu
voice, almost as though she likea the idea of her journey ; but
he looked at her with beseeching, anxious, sorrow-laden eyes.
•* After all, what is a journey of a tew weeks ? Why should I not
be as happy in Guatemala as in London P As to friends, I do not
know that it will make much difference, — except papa."

" It seeihs to me to make a difference," said he.

** I never see anybody now, — neither your people, nor the
Wharton Whartons. Indeed, I see nobody. If it were not for
papa I should be glad to go. I am told that it is a charming
country. I have not foundManchcpter Square very charming. I
am inclined to think that all the world is very much alike, and
that it does not matter very much where one hves, — or, perhaps,
what one does. But at any rate I am going, and I am very glad
to be able to say good-bye to you before I start." All this she
aaid rapidly, in a manner unlike herself. She was forcing herself
to speak so that she might save herself, if possible, from breaking
down in his presence.

" Of course I came when Mary told me."

" Yes ;— she was here. Sir Alured did not c^mp. I don't wonder
at that, however. And your mother was iu town some time ago, —

'I i

i' '

<,.

400

THE PRIME MINISTER.

but I didn't expect her to come. Why should they come f I don't
know whether you might not have better stayed away. Of course
I am a Pariah now ; but Pariah as I am, I shall be as good aa any
one else in Guatemala. Tou have seen Everett since he has been
in town, perhaps ? "

** Yes ; — I have seen him."

" I hope thev won't quarrel with Everett because of what I
have done. I have felt that more than all, — that both papa and he
have suffered because of it. Do you know, I think people are hard.
They might have thrown me on without being unkind to them.
It is that that has killed me, Arthur ; — that they should have
suffered." He sat looking at her, not knowing how to interrupt
her, or what to say. There was much that he meant to say, but he
did not know how to begin it, or how to frame his words. " When
I am gone, perhaps, it will be all right," she continued. " When
he told me tnat I was to go, that was my comfort. I think I have
taught myself to think nothing of myseu, to bear it all as a neces-
sity, to put up with it, whatever it may be, as men bear thirst in
the desert. Thank God, Arthur, I have no baby to suffer with me.
Here,— here, it is still very bad. When I think of papa creeping
in and out of his house, I sometimes feel that I must kill myself.
But our going will put an end to all that. It is much>better that
we should go. I wi^ we might start to-morrow." Then she looked
up at him, and saw that the tears were running down his face,
and as she looked she heard his sobs. " Why should you cry,
Arthur ? He never cries, — nor do I. When baoy died I cried, —
but very little. Tears are vain, foolish things. It has to be
borne, and there is an end of it. When one makes up one's mind
to that, one does not cjry. There was a poor woman here the
other day whose husband he had ruined. She wept and bewailed
herself till I pitied her almost more than myself ; — but then ahe
had children.'

"Oh. Emily I"

" Tou mustei't call me by my name, because he would be angry.
I have to do, you know, as he tells me. And I do so strive to do
it ! Through it all I have an idea that if I do my duty it will be
better for me. There are things, you know, which a husband may
tell you to do, but you cannot do. If he tells me to rob, I am not
to rob ; — am I P And now I think of it, you ought not to be here.
He would be very much displeased. But it has been so pleasant
once more to see an old friend."

" I care nothing for his anger," said Arthur moodily.

" Ah, but I do. I have to care for it."

'* Leave him ! Why don't you leave him ? "

**Whatl"

" You cannot deceive me. You do not try to deceive me. You
know that he is altogether unworthy of you."

" I will hear nothing of the kind, sir.'

•' How ca.n I speak otherwise when you yourself tell me of your

THE FIRST AND THE LAST.

401

owu misery r* Ih it possible that I should not know what he is ?
Would you have me pretond to think well of him P"

'* You can hold your tongue, Arthur."

" No ; — I cannot hold my tongue. Have I not held my tongue
ever since you married ? And if I am to speak at all, must I not
speak now P "

" There is nothing to be said that can serve us at all."

" Then it shall be said without serving. When I bid you leave
him, it is not that you may come to me. Though I love you better
than all the world put together, I do not mean that."

"Oh, Arthur, Arthur f"

'*But let your father save you. Only tell him that you will
stay with him, and he will do it. Thougn I should never see you
again, I could help to protect you. Of course, I know, — and you
know. He is a scoundrel I "

"I will not hear it," said she, rising from her seat on the sofa
with her hands up to her forehead, but still coming nearer to him
as she moved.

"Does not your father say the same thing P I will advise
nothing that he does not advise. I would not say a word to you
that he might not hear. I do love you. I have always loved you.
Bat do you think that I would hurt you with my love P "

"No; — no; — no !"

" No, indeed ;— but I would have you feel that those who loved
you of old are still anxious for your welfare. Tou said just now
that you had beon neglected."

" I spoke of papa and Everett. For myself, — of course I have
separated myself from everybody."

" Never from me. You may be ten times his wife, but you
cannot separate yourself from me. Getting up in the morning
aud going to bed at night I still tell myself that you are the one
woman that I love. Stay with us, and you shall be honoured, —
as that man's wife of course, but still as the dearest friend we
have."

" I cannot stay," she said. " He has told me that I am to go,
and I am in his hands. When you have a wife, Arthur, you will
wish her to do your bidding. I hope she will do it for your sake,
without the pain I have in doing his. Good-bye, dear friend."

She put her hand out and he grasped it, and stood for a moment
looking at her. Then he seized her in his arms and kissed her
brow and her lips. "Oh, Emily, why were you not my wifeP
My darling, my darling ! "

She had hardly extricated herself when the door opened, and
Lopez stood in the room. " Mr. Fletcher," he said, very calmly,
" what is the meaning of this P "

" He has come to bid me farewell," said Emily. " When going
on so long a journey one likes to see one's old friends, — perhaps
for the last time." There was something of indifference to hi«
auger in her tone, and something also of soom.

D D

402

THE PRIME MINIRTER.

I f

Lopez looked from one to the other, affecting an air of grea4
displeaaure. "You know, sir," he said, "that you cannot be
welcome here."

" But he has been welcome," said his wife.

** And I look upon your coming as a base act. You are here
with the intention of creating discord between me and my wife."

" I am here to tell her that she has a friend to trust to if she
eveT wants a friend," said Fletcher.

" And you think that such trust as that would be safer than
trust in her husband P I cannot turn you out of this house, sir,
because it does not belong to me, but I desire you to leave at once
the room which is occupied by my wife." Fletcher paused a
moment to say good-bye to the poor woman, while Lopez con-
tinued with increased indignation, " If you do not go at once you
will force me to desire her to retire. She shall not remain in the
same room with you."

"Good-bye, Mr. Fletcher," she said, again putting out her
hand.

iiut Lopez struck it up, not violently, so as to hurt her, but
still with eager roughness. " Not in my presence," he said. " Go,
sir, when I desire you."

" God bless you, my friend," said Arthur Fletcher. ** I pray
that I may live to see you back in the old country."

" He was kissi'^g you," said Lopez, as soon as tlie door was

shut.

" He was," said Emily.

" And you tell me so to my face, with such an air as that I"

*' What am I to tell you when you ask me P I did not bid him
kiss me."

" But afterwards you took his part as his friend."

*' Why not P I should lie to you if I pretended that I was angry
with him for what he did."

" Perhaps you will tell me that you Ioto him."

** Of course I love him. There are different kinds of love,
Ferdinand. There is that which a woman gives to a man when
she would fain mate with him. It is the sweetest love of all, if it
would only last. And there is another love, — which is not given,
but which is won, perhaps through long years, by old friends. I
have none older than AxiJiur Fletcher, and none who are dearer to
me.

" And you think it right that he should take you in his arms and
kiss you r "

" On such an occasion I could not blame him."

** You were ready enough to receive it, perhaps."

"Well; I was. He has loved me well, and I shall never see
him again. He is very dear to me, and I was parting from him for
ever. It was the first and the last, and I did not grudge it to him.
You must remember, Ferdinand, that you are taking mo across the
world from all my friends. "^

THE TENWAY JUNCTION.

403

*< Paha," he said, " that is all over. Tou are not going any-
where that I know of, — unless it be out into the streets when your
father shuts his door on you." And so saying he left the room
without another word.

CnAPTLIl LX.

THE TENWAY JTTNCTTOW,

Ain) thus the knowledge was conveyed to Mrs. Lopez that her fate
in life was not to carry her to Quatemala. At the very moment
in which she had been summoned to meet Arthur Fletcher she had
been busy with her needle preparing that almost endless collection
of garments necessary for a journey of many days at sea. And
now she was informed, by a chance expression, by a word aside, as
it were, that the journey was not to be made. " That is all over,"
he had said, — and then had left her, telling her nothing further.
Of course she stayed her needle. Whether the last word had been
true or false, she could not work again, at any rate till it had been
contradicted. If it were so, what was to be her fate P One thing
was certain to h^r ; — that she could not remain under her father's
roof. It was impossible that an arrangement so utterly distasteful
as the present one, both to her father and to herself, should be con-
tinued. But where then Gbould they live, — and of what nature
would her life be if she should be separated from her father ?

That evening she saw her father, and he corroborated her hus-
band's statement. *' It is all over now," he said, — " that scheme of
his of going to superintend the mines. The mines don't want him,
and won't have him. I can't say that I wonder at it."

*' What are we to do, papa P "

'* Ah. ; — that I cannot say. I rappose he will condescend still to
honour me with his company, I do not know why he should wish
to go to Guatemala or elsewnere. He has everything here that he
can want."

" You know, papa, that that is impossible."

" I cannot say what with him is possible or impossible. He is
bound by none of the ordinary rules of mankind."

That evening Lopez returned to his dinner in Manchester Square,
which was still regularly served for him and his wife, though the
servants who attended upon him did so under silent and oft-repeated
protest. He said not a word more as to Arthur Fletcher, nor did
he seek any ground of quarrel with his wife. But that her con-
tinued melancholy and dejection made anything like good-humour
impossible, even on his part, he would have been go(^-humoured.
When they were alone, she asked him as to their future destiny.
" Papa tells me you are not going,'* she bogan by saying.

ii:i

1j;

404

THE PRIME MINI8TEB.

" Did I not tell you bo this morning P "

** Yes ; — you said so. But I did not know you were in earnest.
Is it all oyer P"

"All over, — I suppose."

" I should have tnought that you would have told me with more,
— ^more seriousness."

" I don't know what you would have. I was serious enough.
The fact is that your father has delayed so long the payment of the

Sromised money that the thing has fallen through of necessity. I
o not know that I can blame the Company."

Then there was a pause. " And now," she said, " what do you
mean to do P "

" Upon my word I cannot say. I am quite as much in the dui k
as you can be."

" That is nonsense, Ferdinand."

" Thank you ! Let it be nonsense if you will. It seems to me
that there is a great deal of nonsense going on in the world ; but
very little of it as true as what I say now."

" But it is your duty to know. Of course you cannot stay
here."

*• Nor you, I suppose, — without me."

" I am not speak^ug of myself. If you choose, I can remain
here."

*' And— just throw me overboard altogether.".

** If you provide another home for me. I will go to it. However
poor it may be I will go to it, if you bid me. But for you,— -of
course you cannot stay here."

" Has your father told you to say so to me P "

"No; — but I can say so without his telling me. You are
banishing him from his own house. ,.j..i has put up with it while
he thought that you were going to this foreign country ; but there
must be an end of that now. You must have some scheme of
lifeP"

" Upon my soul I have none."

•• You must have some intentions for the future P "

" None in the least. I have had intentions, and they have
failed ; — from want of that support which I had a right to expect.
I have struggled and I have failed, and now I have got no inten-
tions. What are yours P"

"It is not my duty to have any purpose, as what I do must
depend on your commands." Then again there was a silence,
during which he lit a cigar, although he was sitting in the drawiug-
room. This was a profanation of the room on which even he had
never ventured before, but at the present moment she was unable
to notice it by any words. " I must tell papa," she said after a
while, " what our plans are."

" You can tell him what you please. I have literally nothing
to say to him. If he will settle an adequate income on us, payable
of course to me, I will go and live elsewhere. If he turns me into

THE TEN WAY JUNCTION.

406

ian remain

the street without provision, he must turn you too. That is all
that I have got to nay. It will come bettor from you than from
me. I am sorry, of course, that things have gone wrong with me.
When I found myself the 8on-in-law of a very rich man I thought
that I might spread my wings a bit. But my rich futher-in-law
threw me over, and now I am lu^lpless. Tou are not very cheerful,
mydour, and I think I'll go duwn to the club."

He went out of the house and did go down to the Progress. The
committee which was to be hold with the view of judging whether
he was or was not a proper person to remain a member of that
assemblage had not yet been held, and there was nothing to impede
his entrance to the club, or the execution of the command wnioh
he gave for tea and buttered toast. But no one spoke to him ; nor,
though he affected a look of comfort, did he find himself much at
his ease. Among the members of the club there was a much divided
opinion whether he should be expelled or not. There was a strong
party who declared that his conduct socially, morally, and politi-
cally, had been so bad that nothing short of expulsion would meet
the case. But there were others who said that no act had been
proved against him which the club ought to notice. He had, no
doubt, shown himself to be a blackgu»d, a man without a spark
of honour or honesty. But then, — as they said who thought his
position in the club to be unassailable, — what had the dub to do
with that P "If you turn out all the blackguards and all the dis-
honourable men where will the club be? was a question asked
with a great deal of vigour by one middle-aged gentleman who was
supposed to know the club-world verv thoroughly. He had com-
mitted no offence which the law could recognise and punish, nor
had he sinned against the club rules. " He is not required to be
a man of honour by any regulation of which I am aware," said the
middle-aged gentleman. The general opinion seemed to be that
he should be asked to go, and tihat, if he declined, no one should
speak to him. This penalty was already inflicted on him, for on
the evening in question no one did speak to him.

He drank his tea and ate his toast and read a magazine, striving
to look as comfortable and as much at bis ease as men at their clubs
generally are. He was not a bad actor, and those who saw him
and made reports as to his conduct on the following day declared
that he had apparently been quite indifferent to the disagreeable
iucidents of his position. But his indifference had been mere act-
ing. His careless manner with his wife had been all assumed.
Selfish as he was, void as he was of all principle, utterly unmanly
and even unconscious of the worth of manliness, still he was alive
to the opinions of others. He thought that the world was wrong
to condemn him, — that the world did not understand the facts of
his case, and that the world generally would have done as he had
done in similar circumstances. He did not know that there was
such a quality as honesty, nor did he understand what the word
meant. But he did know that some v^en, an unfortunate class,

406

THE PBIME MINISTER.

becaiae subject to evil report from others who were more successful,
and he was aware that he had become one of those unfortunates.
Nor could he see any remedy for his position. It was ail blank
and black before him. It may be doubted whether he got much
instruction or amusement from the pages of the magazine which
he turned.

At about twelve o'clock he left the club and took his way home-
wards. But he did not ^ straight home. It was a nasty cold
March ni^ht, with a catching wind, and occasional short showers
of something between snow and rain, — as disagreeable a night for
a gentleman to walk in as one could well conceive. Bat he went
roimd by Trafalgar Square, and along the Strand, and up somo
dirty streets by the small theatres, and so on to Holborn and by
Bloomsbury Square up to Tottenham Court Eoad, then through
some unused street into Portland Place, along the Marylebone
Boad, and back to Manchester Square by Baker Street. He had
more than doubled the distance, — apparently without any object.
He had been spoken to frequently by unfortunates of both sexes,
but had answered a word to no one. He had trudged on and on
with his umbrella over his head, but almost unconscious of the
cold and wet. And yet he was a man sedulously attentive to his
own pMbonal comfort and health, who had at any rate shown this
virtue in his mode of living, that he had never subjected himself to
danger by imprudence. But now the working of his mind kept
him warm, and, if not dry, at least indifferent to the damp. He
had thrown aside with affected nonchalance those questions which
his wife had asked him, but still it was necessary that he should
answer them. He did not suppose that he could continue to live
in Manchester Square in his present condition. Nor, if it was
necessary that he should wander forth into the world, could he
force his wife to wander with him. If he would consent to leave
her, his father-in-law would probably give him something, — some
allowance on which he might exist. But then of what sort would
be his life P

He did not fail to remind himself over and over again that he
had nearly succeeded. He had been the guest of the Prime
Minister, and had been the nominee chosen by a Duchess to repre-
sent her husband's borough in Parliament. He had been intimate
with Mills Happerton who was fast becoming a millionaire. He had
married much above himself in every way. He had achieved a
certain popularity and was conscious of intellect. But at the
present moment two or three sovereigns in his pocket were the
extent of his worldly wealth and his character was utterly ruined.
He regarded his fate as does a card-player who day after day holds
sixes and sevens whea other men have aces and kings. Fate was
against him. He saw no reason why he should not have had the
aces and liings continually, especially us fate had given him per-
haps more than his share of theui at first. He had, however, lost
rubber after rubber, — not paying his stakes for some of the last

THE TENWAY JUNCTION.

407

iziue which

rubbers lost, — ^till the players would play with him no longer. The
misfortune might have happened to any man ; — but it had happened
to hmi. There was no beginning again. A possible small lulow-
anoe and some very retired and solitary life, in which there would
be no show of honour, no flattery coming to him, was all that was
left to him.

He let himself in at the house, and found his wifiB still awake.
" I am wet to the skin," he said. " I made up my mind to walk,
and I would do it ; — but I am a fool for my pains." She made him
some feeble answer, affecting to be half asleep, and merely turned
in her bed. " I must be out early in the morning, irnnd you
make them dry my things. They neyer do anything for my
telling."
- *• You don't want them dried to-night P "

"Not to-night, of coui'se; — but after I am gone to-morrow.
They'll leave them there without putting a hand to them, if you
don t speak. I must be off before oreakiast to-morrow."

« Where are yoa going ? Do you want anything packed P "

"No; nothing. 1 sh^ be back to dinner. But I must go
down to Birmingham, to see a friend of Happerton's on business.
I will breakfast at the station. As you said to-day, something
must be done. If it's to sweep a crossing, I must sweep it."

As she ^ lay awake while he slept, she thought that those last
words were the best she had heard him speak since they were
married. There seemed to be some indication of a purpose in them.
If he would only sweep a crossing as a man shoiild sweep it, she
would stand by him, and at any rate do her duty to him, in spite
of all that had happened. Alas ! she was not old enough to have
learned that a dishonest man cannot begin even to sweep a crossing
honestly till he have in very truth repented of his former dis-
honesty. The lazy man may become lazy no longer, but there
must lutve been first a process through his mind whereby laziness
has become odious to him. And tli^t process can hardly be the
immediate result of misfortune arising from misconduct. Had
Lopez found his crossing at Birmingham he would hardly have
swept it well.

Early on the following morning he was up, and before he left
his room he kissed his wife. " Good-bye, old girl," he said ;
** dc'i't be down-hearted."

"If you have anjrthing before you to do, I will not be down-
hearted," she said.

" I shall have something to do before night, I think. Tell your
father, when you see him, that I will not trouble him here much
longer. But tell him, also, that I have no thanks to give him fur
his hospitality."

" I will not tell him that, Ferdinand."

" He shall know it, though. But I do not mean to be cross to
you. Good-bye, love." Then he stooped t)ver her and kissed her
again ; — and so he took his leaye of her.

iidi

408

THE PRIME MINISTER.

It was raining hard, and when he got into the street he looked
about for a cab, but there was none to be found. In Baker Street
he got an omnibus which took him down to the underground rail-
way, and by that he went to Gower Street. Through the rain he
walked up to the Euston Station, and there he ordered breakfast.
Could he have a mutton chop and eome tea ? And he was very
partioular^that the mutton chop should be well cooked. He was a
good-looking man, of fashionable appearance, and the young lady
who attended him noticed him and was courteous to him. He
condescended even to have a liti- o light conversation with her, and,
on the whole, he seemed to enjoy his breakfast. " Upon my word,
I should like to breakfast here every day of my life," he said. The
young lady assured him that, as far as she could see, there was no
objection to such an arrangement. ** Only it's a bore, you know,
coming out in the rain when there are no cabs," he said. Then
there were various little jokes between them, till the young lady
was quite impressed with the gentleman's pleasant a£fability.

After a while he went back into the hall and took a first-class
return ticket, not fcr Birmingham, but for the Tenway Jimction.
It is quite unnecessary to describe the Tenway Junction, as every-
body knows it. From this spot, some six or seven miles distant
from London, lines diverge east, west, and north, north-east, and
north-west, round the metropolis in every direction, and with
direct communication with every other line m and out of London.
It is a marvellous place, quite unintelligible to the uninitiated,
and yet daily used by thousands who only know that when they
get uiero, they are to do what some one tells them. The space
occupied by the convergent rails seems to be sufficient for a large
farm. And these rails always run one into another with sloping
points, and cross passages, and mysterious meandering sidings,
till it seems to the thoughtful stranger to be impossible that the
best-trained engine should know its own line. Here and there
and around there is ever a wilderness of waggons, some loaded,
some empty, some smoking with close-packed oxen, and others
furlongs m length black with coals, which look as though they
had been stranded there by chance, and were never destined to
get again into the right path of trafHc. Not a minute passes with-
out a train going here or there, some rushing by without noticing
Ten way in me least, crashing through like flasnes of substantial
lightning, and others stopping, disgorging and taking up passen-
gers by the hundreds. Men and women, — especially the meu,
for the women knowing their ignorance are generally willing to
trust to the pundits of the placd,— look doubtful, uneasy, and
bewildered. But they all do get properly placed and unplaced, so
that the spectator at last acknowledges that over all this apparent
chaos there is presiding a great genius of order. From dusky
mom to dark night, and indeed almost throughout the night,
the air is loaded with a succession of shrieks. The theory goes
that each separate shriek, — if there can be any separation whore

s.y^

THE TENWAY JUNCTION.

409

ing to
and
ced, so
)parent
dusky
night,

y gt'p-^
where

the sound is so nearly continuous, — is a separate notice to sepa-
rate ears of the coming or going of a separate train. The
stranger, as he speculates on these paudemoniac noises, is able to
realise the idea uiat were they discontinued the excitement neoes-
saryr for the minds of the pundits might be lowered, and that
activity might be lessened, and evil results might follow. But
he cannot bring himself to credit that theory of individual
notices.

At Tenway Junction there are half-a-dozen long platforms, on
which men and women and luggage are crowded. On one of these
for awhile Ferdinand Lopez walked backwards and forwards as
though waiting for the coming of some especial train. The crowd
is ever so great that a man might be supposed to walk there from
morning to night without exciting special notice. But the pundits
are very clever, and have much experience in men and women. A
well-taught pundit, who has exercised authority for a year or two
at such a station as that of Tenway, will know within a minute of
tne appearance of each stranger what is his purpose there, — whether
he be going or has just come, whether he is himself on the way or
waiting for others, whether he should be treated with civility or
with some curt command, — so that if his purport be honeet all
necessary asBistance ma^ be rendered him. As Lopez was walking
up and down, with smilmgface and leisurely pace, now reading an
advertisement and now watching the contortions of some amazed
T^ossenger, a certain pimdit asked him his business. He was wait-
mg, he said, for a train from Liverpool, intending, when his friend
arrived, to go with him to Dulwich by a train which went round
the west of London. It was all feasible, and the pundit told him
that the stopping train from Liverpool was due there in six minutes,
but that the express from the North would pass first. Lope^
thanked the pundit and gave him sixpence, — which made the
pundit suspicious. A pundit hopes to be paid when he handles
luggage, but has no such expectation when he merely gives infor-
mation.

The pundit still had his eye on our friend when the shriek and
the whirr of the express from the north was heard. Lopez walked
quickly up towards the edge of the platform, when the pundit
followed ium, telling him that this was not his train. Lopez then
ran a few yards along the platform, not noticing the man, reaching
a spot that was unoccupied ; — and there he stood fixed. And as he
stood the express flashed by. " I am fond of seeing them pass
like that," said Lopez to the man, who had followed him.

" But you shouldn't do it, sir," said the suspicious pundit. " No
one isn't allovY^ed to stand near like that. The very hair of it might
take you ofi^ your 'legs when jou're not used to it."

" AH ri^ht, old feUow," said Lopez, retreating. The next train
was the Liverpool train ; and it seemed that our friend's friend had
not come, for when the Liverpool passeit^ors had cleared themselves
off, he wt^s still walking up and down the platform. " He'll coiqq

410

THE PBIME MINISTER.

by the next," said Lopez to the pundit, who now followed him
about and kept an eye on him.

"There ain't auother from Liverpool stopping here till tho
2.20," said the pundit. '* You had better come again if you mean
to meet him by that."

*' He has come on part of the way, and will reach this by some
other train," said Lopez.

*' There ain't nothing he can come by," said the pundit. ** Gen-
tlemen can't wait here all day, sir. The herders is against waiting
on the platform."

**AIL right," said Lopez, moving away as though to make his
exit through the station.

Now Tenway Jiinction is so big a place, and so scattered, that it
is impossible that all the pundits should by any combined activity
maintain to the letter that order of which our special pundit had
spoken. Lopez, departing from the platform which he had hitherto
occupied, was soon to be seen on another, walking up and down,
and again waiting. But the old pundit had had hid eye upon him,
and mid followed him round. At that moment there came a
shriek louder than all the other shrieks,-^ and the morning express
down from Euston to Liverness was seen coming round the curve
at a thousand miles an hour. Lopez turned round and looked at
it, and again walked towards the edge of the platform. But now
it was not exactly the edge that he neared, but a descent to a path-
way, — an inclined plane leading down to the level of the rails, and
made there for certain purposes of traffic. As he did so the pundit
called to him, and then made a rush at him, — for our friend's back
was turned to the coming train. But Lopez heeded not the call,
and the rush was too late. With quick, but still with gentle and
apparently unhurried steps, he walked down before the flying
engine and iii a moment had been knocked into bloody atoms.

CHAPTEE LXI.

THE WIDOW AND HBB FRIENDS.

¥: ]

The catastrophe described in the last chapter had taken place during
the first week in March. By the end of that month old Mr. Wharton
had probably reconciled himself to the tragedy, although in fact it
had afifected him very deeply. Li the first days after the news had
reached him he seemed to be bowed to the ground. > Stone Buildings
were neglected, and the Eldon saw nothing of him. Indeed, ho
barely left the house from which he had been so long banished by
the presence of his son-in-law. It seemed to Everett, who now
came to liye with him and his Hister, as though his fatber vn

THE WIDOW AND HER FRIENDS.

411

overcome by the horror of the afTair. But after awhile he recovered
himself, and appeared one morning in court with his wig and
gown, and argued a case, — which was now unusual with him, — as
though to show the world that a dreadful episode in his life wag
pass^, and should be thought of no more. At this period, three
or four weeks after the occurrence, — he rarely spoke to his daugh-
ter about Lopez ; but to Everett the man's name would be often
on his tongue. " I do not know that there could have been an^
other deliverance," he said to his son one day. "I thought it
would have killed me when I first heard it, and it nearly killed
her. But, at any rate, now there is peace."

But the widow seemed to feel it more as time went on. At first
she was stunned, and for a while absolutely senseless. It was not
till two days after the occurrence that the fact became known to
her, — nor known as a certainty to her father and brother. It seemed
as though the man had been careful to carry with him no record
of identity, the nature of which would permit it to outlive the
crash of the train. No card was found, no scrap of paper with his
name ; and it was discovered at last that when he leh Uie house on
the fatal morning he had been careful to dress himself in shirt and
socks, with handkerchief and collar that had been newly purchased
for his proposed journey and which bore no mark. The fragments
of his body set identity at defiance, and even his watch hM been
crumpled into ashes. Of course the fact became certain with no
great delav. The man himself was missing, and was accurately
described both by the young lady from the ififreshment room, and
by the suspicious pundit who had actually seen the thing done.
There was first behef that it was so, which was not communicated
to Emily, — and then certainty.

There was an inquest held of course, — well, we will say on the
body, — and, singularly enough, great difference of opinion as to the
manner, though of course none as to the immediate cause of the
death .Had it been accidental, or premeditated P The pundit,
who in the performance of his duties on the Tenwa^ platforms was
so efficient and valuable, gave half-a-dozen opinions in half-a-dozen
minutes when subjected to the questions of the Coroner. In his own
mind he had npt the least douot in the world as to what had hap-
pened. But he was made to believe that he was not to speak ms
own mind. The gentleman, he said, certainly might have walked
down by accident. The gentleman's back was turned, and it was
possible that the gentleman did not hear the train. He was quite
certain the gentleman knew of the train ; but yet he could not say.
The gentleman, walked down before the train o' purpose ; but per-
haps he didn't mean to do himself an injury. There was a deal of
this, till the Coroner, putting all his wrath into his brow, told the man
that he was a disgrace to the service, and expressed a hope that the
Company would no longer employ a man so evidently unfit for his
position. But the man was in truth a conscientious and useful rail-
way pundit, with a large fumily, and evident capabilities tor hifj

412

THE PRIME MINISTER.

f;li

business. At last a verdict was given, — that the man's name was
Ferdinand Lopez, that he had been crushed by an express train
on the London and North Western Line, and that there was no
evidence to show how his presence on the line had been occasioned.
Of course Mr. Wharton had employed counsel, and of course the
counsel's object had been to avoid a verdict of felo de se. Appended
to the verdict was a recommendation from the jury that the Bail-
way Company should be advised to signalise their express trains
more clearly at the Tenway Junction Station.

When these tidings were told to the widow she had already given
way to many fears. Lopez had gone,- purporting, — as he said, — to
be back to cunner. He had not come then, nor on the following
morning ; nor had he written. Then she remembered all that he
had done and said ; — how he had kissed her, and left a parting
malediction for her father. She did not at first imagine that he
had destroyed himself, but that he had gone away, intending to
vanish as other men before now have vanished. As she thought of
this something almost like love came back upon her heart. Of
course he was bad. Even in h sorrow, even when alarmed as to
his fate, she could not deny that. But her oath to him had not
been to love him only while he was good. She had made herself a
part of him, and was she not bound to be true to him, whether good
or bad ? She implored her father and she implored her bi'other to
be ceaseless in their endeavours to urace him, — sometimes seeming
almost to fear that in this respect she could not folly trust them.
Then she disc3rned from their manner a doubt as to her husband's
fate. " Oh, papa, if you think anything, tell me what you think,"
she said late on the evening of the second day. He was then nearly
sure that the man who had been killed at Tenway was Ferdinand
Lopez ; — but he was not quite sure, and he would not tell her. But
on the following morning, somewhat before noon, having himself
gone out early to Euston Square, he came back to his own house, —
and then he told her all. For the first hour she did not shed a tear
or lose her consciousness of the horror of the thing ; — but sat still
and silent, gazing at nothin^^, casting back her mind over the
history of her life, and the misery which she had brought on all
who belonged to her. Then at last she gave way, fell into tears,
hysteric sobbings, convulsions so violent ds for a time to take the
appearance of epileptic fits, and was at last exhausted and, happily
for herself, unconscious.

After that she was ill for many weeks,— so ill that at times both
her father and her brother thought that she would die. Wben the
first month or six weeks had passed by she would often speak of
^er husband, especially to her father, and always speaking of him
as though she had brought him to his untimely fate. Nor could
she endure at this time that her father should say a word against
him, even when she obliged the old man to speak of one whose
conduct had been so infamous. It had all been her doing ! Had
^9 not married him there would have been no misfortune ! Sl|e

THE WIDOW AND HEB FRIENDS.

418

did not say that he had heen noble, true, or honest, — but she
asserted that all the evils which had come upon him had been pro-
duced by herself. " My dear," her father said to her one eyenine,
<< it is a matter which we cannot forget, but on which it is wmI
that we should be silent."

" I shall always know what that silence means," she replied.

*' It will never mean condemnation of you by me," said he.

** But I have destroyed your life, — and his. I know I oueht not
to have married him, because you bade me not. And I know
that I should have been gentler with him, and more obedient, when
I was his wife. I sometimes wish that I were a Catholic, and
that I could go into a convent, and bury it all amidst sackcloths
and ashes."

" That would not bury it," said her father.

** But I should at least be buried. If I were out of sight, you
might forget it all."

She once stirred Everett up to speak more plainly than her father
ever dared to do, and then also she herself iiBed language that was
ver^ plain. " My darling," said her brother once,when ane had been
trying to make out that her husband had been more sinned against
than sinning, — "he was a bad man. It is better that th^ truth
should be told."

" And who is a good man P " she said, raising herself in her bed
and looking him full in the face with her d. ep-sunken oyes. " If
there be any truth in our religion, are we not all bad P Who is to
tell the shades of difference in badness P He was not a drunkard,
or a gambler. Through it all he was true to his wife." She, poor
creature, was of course ignorant of that little scene in the httle
street near May Fair, in which Lopez had offered to carry Lizzie
Eustace away with him to Guatemala. "He was industrious.
His ideas about monev were not the same as yours or papa's. How
was he worse than others P It happened that his faults were dis-
tasteful to you — and so, perhaps, were his virtues."

" His faults, such as they were, brought all these miseries."

" He would have been successful now if he ha^I never seen me.
But why should we talk of it ? We shall never agree. And you,
Everett, can nev^ * understand all that has passed through my
mind during the last two years."

There were two or three persons who attempted to see her at this
period, but she avoided them all. First came Mrs. Koby, who, as
her nearest nei^;hbour, as her aunt, ad as an aunt who had been
so nearly allied to her, had almost a right to demand admittance.
But she would not see Mrs. Eoby. She sent down word to say that
she was too iU. And when Mrs. Roby wrote to her, she pot her
father to answer the notes. " Tou had better let it drop," the old
man said at last to his sister-in-law. " Of course she remembers
that it was you who brought them together."

" But I cUdn't bring them together, Mr. Wharton. How often
am I to tell you so ? It was Everett who brought Mr. Lopez here."

1 '

414

THE PRIME MINISTER.

** Tlie marriage was made up in your house, and it has destroyed
me and my child. I will not quarrel with my wife's sister if I can
help it, but at present you had better keep apart." Then he had
left her abruptly, and Mrs. Boby had not dared either to write or
to call again.

At this time Arthur Fletcher saw both Everett and Mr. Wharton
frequently, but he did not go to the Square, oontentinff himself
wim asking whether he might be allow^ to do so. "Not yet,
Arthur," said the old man. " I am sure she thinks of you as one
of her best friends, but she could not see you yet."

"She would have nothing to fear," said Arthur. "We knew
each other when we were children, and I should be now only as I
was then."

" Not yet, Arthur ; — not yet," said the barrister.

Then mere came a letter, or rather two letters, from Mary Whar-
ton ; — one to Mr. Wharton and the other to Emily. To tell the
tmih as to these letters, they contained the combined wisdom and
tenderness of Wharton Hall and Longbams. As soon as the fate of
Lopez had been ascertained and thoroughly discussed in Hereford-
shire, there went forth an edict that Emily had suffered punishment
sufficient and was to be forgiven. Old Mrs. Fletcher did not come
to this at once, — having some deep-seated feeling which she did not
dare to express even to her son, though she muttered it to her
daughter-in-law, that Arthur would be disgraced for ever were he
to marry the widow of such a man as Ferdinand Lopez. But when
this question of receiving Emily back into family favour was mooted
in the Longbams Parliament no one alluded to the possibility of
such a marriage. There was the fact that she whom they had all
loved had been freed by a great tragedy from the husband whom
the^ had all condemned, — and also the Knowledge that the poor
victim had suffered greatly duiing the period of her married life.
Mrs. Fletcher had frowned, and shaken her head, and made a little
speech about the duties of women, and the necessarily fatal conse-
quences when those duties are neglected. There were present
tiiere, with the old lady, John Fletcher and his wife. Sir Alured and
Lady Wharton, and Mary Wharton. Arthur was not in the
county, nor could the discussion have been held in his presence.
"I can only say," said John, getting up and looking away from
his mother, " that she shall always find a home at Longbams when
she chooses to come here, and I hope Sir Alured will say the same
as to Wharton Hall." After all, John Fletcher was king in these
parts, and Mrs. Fletcher, with many noddings and some sobbing,
had to give way to Eing John. The end of ail this was that Mary
Wharton wrote her letters. In that to Mr. Wharton she asked
whether it would not be better that her cousin should change the
scene and come at once into the counliy . Let her come and stay a
month at Wharton, and then go on to Longbams. She might be
sure that there would be no company at either house. In June
the Fletchers would go up to town for a week, and then Emily

THE WirOW AND HER FRIENDS.

415

might return to Wharton Hall, It was a lona; letter, and Mary
gave many reasons why the poor sufferer would be better in the
country than in town. Thb letter to Emily herself was shorter,
but full of affection. " Dov do, do come. You know how we all
love you. Let it be as it used to be. Ton always liked l^e oountrr.
I will devote myself to try and comfort you." But Emily could
not as yet submit to receive devotion even from her cousin
Mary. Through it all, and under it all, — though she would ever
defend her husband because he was dead, — she knew that she
had disgraced the Whartons and brought a load of sorrow
upon the Fletchers, and she was too proud to be forgiven so
quickly.

Then she received another tender of affection from a quarter whence
she certainly did not expect it. The Duchess of Omnium wrote to
her. The JJuchess, though she had lately been considerably re-
strained by the condition of the Duke's mind, and by the effects of
her own political and social mistakes, still from time to time made
renewed efforts to keep together the Coalition by giving dinners,
balls, aud garden parties, and by binding to herself the gratitude
and worship of young parliamentary aspirants. In carrying out
her plans, she had lately showered her courtesies upon Arthur
Fleteher, who had been made welcome even by the Duke as the
sitting member for Silverbridge. With Arthur she had of course
discussed the conduct of Lopez as to the election bills, and had been
very loud in condemning him. And from Arthur also she had
heard something of the sorrows of Emily Lopez. Arthur had been
very desirous that the Duchess, who haa received them both at her
house, should distingpiish between the husband and the wife. Then
had come the tragedy, to which the notoriety of the man's conduct
of course gave additional interest. It was believed that Lopez had
destroyed himself because of the disgrace which had fallen upon
him from the Silverbridge affair. And for much of that Silverbridffe
affair the Duchess herself was responsible. She waited till a couple
of months had gone by, and then, in the beginning of May, sent
to the widow what was intended to be, and indeed was, a very kind
note. The Duchess had heard the sad story with the ^eatest grief.
She hoped that Mrs. Lopez would permit her to avail herself of a
short acquaintance to express her sincere sympathy. She would not
venture to call as yet, but hopeci that before long she might be
allowed to come to Manchester Square.

This note touched the poor woman to whom it was written, not
because she herself was soucitous to be acquainted with the Duchess
of Omnium, but because the application seemed to her to contain
something like an acquittal, or at any rate a pardon, of her hus-
band. His sin in that measure of the Silverbridge election, — a sin
which her father had been loud in denouncing before the wreteh
had destroyed himself, — had been especially against the Duke of
Omnium. And now the Duchess came forward to say that it
should be forgiven And forgotten. When she showed the letter tc

in !

416

THE PRIME MINISTER.

her father, and asked him what she should say in answer to it, he
only shook his head. " It is meant for kindness, papa."

" Yes ; — I think it is. There are people who nave no right to
be kind to me. If a man itopped me in the street and offered me
half-a-orown it might be kindness ;— but I don't want the man's
half-crown."

" I don't think it is the same, papa. There is a reason here."

" Perhaps so, my dear ; but I do not see the reason."

She became very red, but eren to him she would not explain her
ideas. *' I think I shall answer it."

"Certainly answer it. Tour compliments to the Duchess and
thank her for her kind inquiries."

" But she says she will come here."

** I should not notice that."

" Very well, papa. If you think so, of course t will not. Per-
haps it would be an inconvenience, if she were really to come."
On the next day she did write a note, not quite so cold as that
which her father proposed, but still saying nothing as to the offered
visit. She felt, she said, very gAteful tor the Ihichess's kind re-
membrance of her. The Duchess would perhaps understand that
at present her sorrow overwhelmed her.

' And there was one other tender of kindness which was more
surprising than even that from the Duchess. The reader may
perhaps remember that Ferdinand Lopez and Lady Eustrtce had
not parted when they last saw each other on the pleasantest terms.
He had been very affectionate, but when he had proposed to devote
his whole life to her and to canj her off to Guatemala she had
simply told him that he was — a rool. Then he had escaped from
her nouse and had never again seen Lizzie Eustace. She had not
thought very much about it. Had he returned to her the next
day with (M)me more tempting proposition for making money she
would havv"^ listened to him, — and had he begged her pardon for
what had tahen place on the former day she would have merely
laughed. She was not more offended than she would have been
had he asked her for half her fortune instead of her person and her
honour. But, as it was, he had escaped and had never again shown
himself in the little street near May Fair. Then she had the
tidings of his death, first seeing the account in a very sensational
articfo from the pen of Mr. Quintus Slide himself. She was imme-
diately filled with an intense interest which was infinitely increased
by the (axst that the man had but a few days before declared him-
self to be her lover. It wan bringing her almost as near to the
event as though she had seen it! She was, perhaps, entitled
to t^ink that she had caused it ! Nay ; — in one sense she had
caused it, for he certainly would not have destroyed himself had
she consented to jeo with him to Guatemala or elsewhere. And
she knew his wire. An uninteresting, dowdy creature she had
called her. But, nevertheless, they ha^ been in company together
more than once. So she presented her compliments, and expressed

rUINEAS FINN HAS A BOOK TO RKA1>.

417

it, he

ghtto
i^me
man's

>re."

kin her

388 aud

. Per-
come."
as that
J offered
kind re-
uid that

as more
ier may
t/xe had
it terms.
devote
she had
id from
had not
;he next
>ney she
ion for
merely
kve been
and her
shown
had the
sational
imme-
icreased
him-
_ to the
entitled
she had
^self had
re. And
she had
I together
Expressed

her sorrow, and hoped that she might be allowed to call. There
had beeii no one for whom she had felt more sincere respect and
esteem than for her late friend Mr. Ferdinand Lopez. To this note
there was sent an answer written by Mr. Wharton himself.

*• Madam,

*' My daughter is too ill to see even her own friends.
" I am, Mudam,

" Your obedient servant,

" Abel Wharton."

After this, life went on in a very quiet way at Manchester Square
for many weeks. Gradually Mrs. Lopez recoveiod her capabihty of
attending to the duties of life. Gradually she became again aMe to
interest herself in her brother's j^ursuits and in her father's co^^-
forts, and the house returned to its old form as it had been before
these terrible t^o years, in which the happiness of the Wharton
and Fletcher families had been marred, ana scotched, and almost
destroyed for ever by the interference of Ferdinand Lopez. But
Mrs. Lopez never for a moment forgot that she had done the mis-
chief,-'aud that the black enduring cloud had been created solely
uy her own perversity and solf-wiU. Though she would still
defend her late husband if any attack were made upon his memory,
not the less did she feel thai hers had been the fault, though the
punishment had come upon them all.

CHAPTEE LXII.

FHINBA8 FINN HAS A BOOK TO BEAD.

The sensation created by the man's death was by no means con-
fined to Manchester Square, but was very general in the metropolis,
aud, indeed, throughout the country. As the catastrophe became
the subject of general conversation, many people learned that the
Silverbrid^e affair had not, in truth, had much to do with it. The
man had killed himself, as. many other men have done before him,
because he had run through his money and had no chance left of
redeeming himself. But to the world at large, the disgrace brought
upon him by the explanation given in Parliament was the cipparent
cause of his self-immolation, and there were not vanting those
who felt and expressed a sympathy for a man who could feel so
acutely the effect of his own wrong-doing. No doubt he had done
wiong in asking the Duko for the money. But the request, though
wrong, might almost be justified. There could be no doubt, these
apologists said, that he had been ill-treated between the Duke aud
the Duchess. No doubt Phineas Finn, who was now described by

£ E

418

THE PRIME MINISTER.

lome opponents ae the Duke's creature, had been able to make out
a story in the Duke's fayour. But all tho world knew what was
the worth and what was the truth of ministerial explanations t
The Coalition was very strong ; and oven the question in the House,
which should have been hostile, had beon asked in a friendly spirit.
In this way there came to be a party who spoke and wrote of
Ferdinand Lopez as though he had been a martyr.

Of course Mr. Quintus Slide was in the front rank of these
accusers. Ho may be said to have led the little army which made
this matter a pretext for a special attack upon the Ministiy. Mr.
Slide was especially hostile to the Prime Minister, but h«^ was not
less hotly the enemy of Phineas Finn. Against Phineas Finn he
had old grud^s, which, howeyer, age had neyer cooled. He could,
therefore, write with a most powerful pen when discussing^ the
death of that unfortunate man, the late candidate for SUyerbndge,
crushing his two foes in the single grasp of his journalistic fist.
Phineas had certainly said some hard things against Lopez, though
he had not mentioned the man's name. He had congratulated the
House that it had not been contaminated by the presence of so
base a creature, and he had said that he would not pause to stig-
matize the meanness of tiie application for money which Lopez had
made. Had Lopez continued to live and to endure " the slings
and arrows of outrageous fortune," no one would haye ventured to
say that these words would have inflicted too severe a punishment.
But death wipes out man^ faults, and a self-inflicted death caused
by remorse will, in the minds of many, wash a blackamoor almost
white. Thus it came to pass that some heavy weapons were hurled
at Phineas Finn, but none so heayy as those hurled by Quintus
Slide. Should not this Irish knight, who was so ready with
his lance in the defence of the Prime Minister, asked Mr. Slide,
have remembered the past events of his own rather peculiar life P
Had not he, too, been poor, and driven in his poverty to rather
questionable straits ? Had not he been abject in his petition for
office, — and in what degree were such petitions less dis^^racefiil
than a re<]^ue8t for money which had been hopelessly expended on
an impossible object, attempted at the instance of the ^at Croesus
who, when asked to pay it, had at once acknowledged the neoesFiity
of doing so ? Could not Mr. Finn remember that he himself had
stood in danger of his life before a British juiy, and that, th'^ugh
he had been, no doubt properly, acquitted of the crime imputed to
him, circumstances ha!d come out against hira during the trial
which, if not as criminal, were at any rate almost as disgraceful P
Could he not have had some mercy on a broken politico adven-
turer who, in his aspirations for public life, had shown none of that
greed hj which Mr. Phineas Finn had been characterized in all
ue relations of life P As for the Prime Minister, ** We," as Mr.
Quintus Slide always described himself, — " We do not wish to add
to the agony which the fate of Mr. Lopez must have brought upon
him. He has hounded that poor man to his death in revenge for

PIIINEAH FINN HAS A nOOK TO RFAD.

410

the trifling t*\im of money which he WM called on to pay for him.
It may to that the first blame Iav not with the Prime Minis-
ter himself, but with the Prime Minister's wife. With that we
have nothing to do. Tho whole thing lies in a nutshell. The bare
mention of the name of her Oraoe the Duchess in Parliament
would have saved the Duke, at any rate as effeotualljr as he has
been saved by the aervioes of his man- of-all- work, Phineas Finn,
and would have saved him without driving noor Ferdinand Lopez
to insanity. But rather than do this he allowed his servant to
make statements about mysterious agents, which we are justified
in stigmatizing as untrue, and to throw tihe whole blame where
but least of the blame was due. We all know the result. It was
found in those gory shreds and tatters of a poor human being with
which the Tenway Bailway Station was bespattered."

Of course such an article had considerable effect. It was appa-
rent at once that there was ample room for an action aM lioel
aeainst the newspaper, on the pm of Phineas Finn if not on that
of the Duke. But it was equally apparent that Mr. Quintus Slide
must have been very well awaxe of tnis when he wrote the article.
Such an action, even if Huocessful, may bring with it to the man
puuished more of goo(4 than of evil. Any pecuniary penalty
might be more than recouped by the largeness of the advertisement
which such an action would produce. Mr. Slide no doubt calcu-
lated that he would carry with him a great body of public feeling
by the mere fact that he had attacked a Prime Minister and a
Duke. If he could only get all the publicans in London to take
his paper because of his patriotic and Dold conduct, the fortune of
the paper would be made. There is no better trade than that of
martyrdom, if the would-be mart\r knows how far he may judi-
ciously go, and in what direction. ' All this Mr. Quintus Slide was
supposed to have considered very '^ell.

And Phineas Finn knew that his enemy had also considered the
nature of the matters which he would have been able to drag into
Court if there should be a trial. Allusions, very strong allusions,
had been made to former periods of Mr. Finn's life. And though
there was but little, if anything, in the past circumstances of which
he was ashamed, — but little, u anything, which he thought would
subject him personally to the odium of good men, could they be
made accurately known in all their details,^ — it would, he was well
aware, be impossible that such accuracy should be achieved. And
the story if told inaccurately would not suit him. And then, there
was a reason against any public proceeding much stronger even
than this. Whether the telling of tho story would or would not
suit him, it certainly would not suit others. As has been before
remarked, there are former chronicles respecting Phineas Finn,
and in them may be found adequate causC) for this conviction on
his part. To no outsider was this history ^uown better than to
Mr. Quintus Slide, and therefore Mr. Quintiis Slide could dare
almost to defy i he law.

■I

•>t-

:(i

f I

420

THE PRIME MINISTER.

But not the less oil this aooount were there many who told
Fhineas that he ought to bring the action. Among these none
were more eager than his old friend Lord Chiltem, me Master of
the Brake hounds, a man who really loved Fhineas, who also loved
the abstract idea of justice, and who could not endure the thought
that a miscreant sh . old go unpunished. Hunting was over for the
season in the Brake country, and Lord Chiltem rushed up to
London, having this object among others of a very pressing nature
on his mind. His saddler had to be seen, — and threatenea,^n a
certain matter touching the horses' backs. A draught of hounds
were being sent down to a friend in Scotland. And there was a
Committee of Masters to sit on a moot question concerning a
neutral covert in the XXX country, of wmch Committee he was
one. But the d-^ire to punish Slide was almost as strong in his
indignant mind u^ those other matters referring more especially to
the profession of his life. *' Phineas," he said, *• you are bound to
do it. If yokj will allow a fellow like that to say such things of
you, why, by heaven, any man may say anything of anybody.

Now Phineas could luurdly explam to Lord ChUtem his objection
to the proposed action. A lady was closely concerned, and that
lady was Lord Chiltem's sister. "I certainly shall not," said
Phineas.

"And why?"

" Just becau.ie ue wishes me to do it. I should be falling into
the little pit tha; he has dug for me."

** He couldn't hurS yoa. What have you got to be afraid of?
Euat ccelum."

"There are certain angek, Ohiltern, living up in that heaven
which you wish me to puu about our ears, as to whom, if all their
heart and all their wishes and all their doings could be known,
nothing but praise could be spoken ; but who would still be dragged
with soiled wings through the dirt if this man were empower^ to
bring witness aner witness into court. My wife would oe named.
For aught I know, your wife."

♦♦ By G , he'd find himself wrong there."

"Leave a chimney-sweep alone when you see him, Chiltem.
Should he run against you, then remember that it is one of the
necessary penalties of clean linen that it is apt to be soiled."

«« I'm d d if I'd let him off."

* ' Yes, you would, old fellow. When you come to see clearly what
you would gain and what you would lose, you would not meddle
with him."

His wife was at first inclined to think that an action should be
taken, but she was more easily convinced than Lord Chiltern. " I
had not thought," she said, " of poor Lady Laura. But is it not
horrible that a man should be able to go on like that, and that
there should be no punishment P" In answer to this he only
shrugged his shoulders.

But the greatest pressure came upon him from another source.

(

PHINEAS FINN HAS A BOOK TO READ.

421

ler source.

He did not in truth suffer much himself from what was said in the
"People's Banner." He had become used to the "People's
Banner," and had found out that in no relation of life was he less
pleasantly situated because of the maledictions heaped upon him
in the columns of that newspaper. His position in i)ubhc life did
not seem to be weakened by them. His personal friends did not
fall off because of them. Those who loved him did not love him
less. It had not been so with him always, but now, at last, he
was hardened against Mr. Quintus Slide. But the poor Duke was
by no means equally strong. This attack upon him, this denunci-
ation of his cruelty, this assurance that he had caused the death of
Ferdinand Lopez, was yery grievous to him. It was not that he
really felt hinlself to be guilty of the man's blood, but that any one
should say that he was guilty. It was of no use to point out to
him that other newspapers h,.d sufficiently vindicated nis conduct
in that respect, that it was already publicly known that Lopez had
received payment for those election expenses from Mr. Wharton
before the application had been made to him, and that therefore the
man's dishonesty was patent to all the world. It was equally
futile to explain to him that the man's last act had been m no
degree caused by what had been said in Parliament, but had been
the result of his continued failures in life and final absolute ruin.
He fretted and fumed and was very wretched, — and at last
expressed his opinion that legal steps should be taken to punish
the " People's Banner." Now it had been already acknowledged,
on the dictum of no less a man than Sir Gregory Grogram, the
Attorney-General, that the action for libel, if taken at aU, must be
taken, not on the part of the Prime Minister, but on that of
Phineas Finn. Sir Timothy Beeswax had indeed doubted, but it
had come to be understood by all the members of the Ooalition
that Sir Timothy Beeswax always did doubt whatever was said by
Sir Gregory Grogram. " The iJuke thinks that something should
be done," said Mr. Warburton, the Duke's private Secretary, to
Phineas Finn.

" Not by me, I hope," said Phineas.

" Nobody else can do it. That is to say it must be done in your
\ame. Of course it would be a Government matter, as far as
uxpense goes, and all that."

" I am sorry the Duke should think so."

*' I don't see that it could hurt you."

•' I am sorry the Duke should think so," repeated Phineas, —
" because nothing can be done in my name. I have made up my
mind about it. I think the Duke is wrong in wishing it, and I
lielieve that were any action taken, we should only be playing into
the hands of that wretched fellow, Quintus Slide. I have long been
conversant with Mr. Quintus Slide, and have quite made up my
mind that I will never play upon his pipe. And you may tell the
Duke that there are other reasons. The man has referred to my
past life, and in seeking to justify those remarks he would l>e

422

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

enabled to drag before the public circumstances and stories, and
perhaps persons, in a manner that I personally should disregard,
but which, for the sake of others, I am bound to preyent. You
will explain all this to the Duke ?"

*• I am afraid you will find the Duke very urgent."

" I must then express my great sorrow tnat I canuot oblige the
Duke. I trust I need harcUy say that the Duke has no colleague
more devoted to his interest than I am. Were he to wish me to
change m^ office, or to abandon it, or to undertake any political
duty withm the compass of my small powers, he would find me
ready to obey his behests. But in this matter others are concerned,
and I cannot make my judgment subordinate to his." The private
Secretary looked very serious, and simply said that h6 would do his
best to explain these objections to his Qrace.

That the Duke would take his refusal in bad part Phineas felt
nearly certain. He had been a little surprised at the coldness of
the Minister's manner to him after the statement he had made in
the House, and had mentioned the matter to his wife. *' Tou hardly
know him," she had said, " as well as I do."

'• Certainly not. You ought to know him very intimately, and
I have had but little personal friendship with him. But it was a
moment in which the man might, for tne moment, have been cor-
dial."

" It was not a moment for his cordiality. The Duchess says that
if you want to get a really genial smile from him you must talk to
him about cork soles. I know exactly what she means. He loves
to be simple, but he does not know how to show people that he likes
it. Lady Rosina found him out by accident."

" Don t suppose that I am in the least aggrieved," he had said.
And now he spoke again to his wife in the same spirit. '* War-
burton clearly thinks that he will be offended, and Warburton, I
suppose, knows his mind."

" I don't see why he should. I have been reading it longer, and
I still find it very difficult. Lady Glen has been at the work for
the last fifteen years, and sometimes owns that there are passages
she has not mastered yet. I fancy Mr. Warburton is afraid of him,
and is a little given to fancy that everybody should bow down to
him. Now if tnere is anything certain about the Duke it is this,
— that he doesn't want any one to bow down to him. He hates all
bowing down."

'* I don't think he loves those who oppose him."

" It is not the opposition he hates, but the cause in the man's
mind which may produce it. When Sir Orlando opposed him, and
he thought that Sir Orlando's opposition was founded on jealousy,
then he despised Sir Orlando. But had he believed in Sir Orlando's
belief in the new ships, he would have been capable of pressing Sir
Orlando to his bosom, although he might have been forced to oppose
Sir Orlando's ships in the Cabinet."

" He is a Sir Bayard to you," said Phineas, laughing.

PHlf EAS FINN HAS A BOOK TO READ.

428

"Bather a Don Quixote, whom I take t<^haye been the better
man of the two. I'll tell you what he is, Fhineas, and how he is
better than all the real knijghts of whom I have ever read in story.
He is a man altogether without guUe, and entirely devoted to ms
country. Do not quarrel with him, if you can help it."

Fhineas had not the slightest desire to quarrel with his chief ;
but he did think it to be not improbable that his chief would (juarrel
with him. It was notorious to him as a member of the Oabmet, —
as a colleague living with other colleagues by whom the Prime
Minister was coddled, and especial^ as me husband of his wife, who
lived almost continually with the Prime Minister's wife, — that the
Duke was cut to the <^mok by the accusation that he had hounded
Ferdinand Lopez to his death. The Prime Minister had defended
himself in the House against the first charge by means of Fhineas
Finn, and now required Fhineas to defend him from the second
charge in another way. This he was obliged to refuse to do. And
then the Minister's private Secretary looked very grave, and left him
with the impression that the Duke would be much annoyed, if not
offended. And already there had grown up an idea that the Duke
would have on the list of his colleagues none who were personally
disagreeable to himself. Though he was by no means a strong
Minister in regard to political measures, or tue proper dominion of
his party, still men were afraid of him. It was not that he would
call upon them to resign, but that, if aggrieved, he would resign
himself. Sir Orlando Drought had rebelled and had tried a fall with
the Prime Minister, — and had greatly Mled. Fhineas determined
that if frowned upon he woiild resign, but that he. certainly would
bring no action for libel against the " Peonle's Banner.*'

A week passed after ne had seen Warburton before he by
chance ound himself alone with the Prime Minister. This occurred
at the house in Carlton Q^dens, at which he was a frequent
visitor, — and could hardly have ceased to be so without being
noticed, as his wife spent half her time there. It was evident to
him then that the occasion was sought for by the Duke. " Mr.
Finn, "said the Duke, " I wanted to have a word or two with you."

" Certainly," said Fhineas, arresting his steps.

" Warburton spoke to you about that, — that newspaper."

' ' Yes, Duke. He seemed to think that there should oe an action
for Ubel."

** I thought so too. It was very bad, you know."

"Yes; — it was bad. I have known the 'People's Banner' for
some time, and it is always bad."

' ' No doubt ; — no doubt. It is bad, very bad. Is it not sad that there
should be such dishonesty, and that nothing can be done to stop it?
Warburton says that you won't hear of an action in your name."

" There are reasons, Duke."

" No doubt ; — no doubt. Well ; — there's an end of it. I owaJL
think the man should be punished. I am not often vindictive, hvSlrf^
think that he should be punished. Uu weyer, I suppose it cannot be.'^n^^.

424

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

** I don't see the Miny."

" So be it. So be it. It muet be entirely for you to judge,
Are you not longing to get into the country, Mr. Finn ? "

" Hardly yet, said Fhineas, surprised. "It's only June, and
we have two months more of it. What is the use of longing
yetP"

"Two months more I " said the Duke. " Two months certainly.
But eyen two months will come to an end. We go down to Match-
ing quietly, — very quietly, -when the time does r^me. You must
promise that you'll come with us. Eh P I mak(' ■ point of it, Mr.
Finn."

Fhineas did promise, and thought that he had succeeded in
mastering one of the difficult passages in that book.

politi
allies
ringt
word
almos
to be
who i

CHAir-TER LXm.

THE DUCHESS AND HER FRIEND.

But the Duke, though he was by far too magnanimous to be angry
with Fhineas Finn because Fhineas would not fall into his views
respecting the proposed action, was not the less tormented and
goaded by what the newspapers said. The assertion that he had
hounded Ferdinand Lopez to his death, that by his defence of him-
self he had bro^ght the man's blood on his head, was made and
repeated till those around him did not dare to mention the name of
Lopez in his hearing. Even his wife- was restrained and became
fearful, and in her heart of hearts began almost to wish for thai;
retirement to which he occasionally alluded as a distant Elysium
which he should never be allowed to reach. He was beginning to
have the worn look of an old man. His scanty hair was turning
grey, aud his long thin cheeks longer and thinner. Of what he
did when sitting alone in his chamber, either at home or at the
Treasury Ghanmer, she knew less and less from day to day, and
she began to think that much of his sorrow arose from the fact that
among them they would allow him to do nothing. There was no
specie^ subject now which stirred him to eagerness and brought
upon herself explanations which were tedious and unintelligible
to her, but evidently delightful to him. There were no quints or
semitenths now, no aspirations for decimal perfection, no delight-
fully fatiguing hours spent in the manipulation of the multipuca-
tion table. And she could not but observe that the old Duke now
spoke to her much less fre(]^uentiy of her husband's political posi-
tion than had been his habit. Through the first year and a half of
the present ministerial arrangement ne had been constant in his
advice to her, and had always, even when things were difficult,
been cheery and full of hope. He still came frequently to the

THE DUOHESB AND HER FRIEND.

125

house, but did uot offcpn see her. And when he did see her he
seemed to avoid all allusion either to the political successes or the
political reverses of the Coalition. And even her other special
allies seemed to labour under unusual restraint with her. Bar-
rington Erie seldom told her any news. Mr. Battler never had a
word for her. Warburton, who had ever been discreet, became
almost petrified by discretion. And even Phineas Finn had grown
to be solemn, silent, and uncommunicative. "Have you nenrd
who is the new Prime Minister P " she said to Mrs. Finn one day.

'* I as there beei! a change ? "

" I suppose so. Everything h£ become so quiet that I cannot
imagine that Plantagenet is still in office. Do you know what
anybody is doing ? "

•* The world is going on very smoothly, I take it."

" I hate smoothness. It always means treachery and danger.
I feel sure that there will be a great blow up before long. I smell
it in the air. Don't you laremble for your husband ? "

•* Why should I ? He likes being m office because it gives him
something to do ; but he would never be an idle man. As long as
he has a seat in Parliament I shall be contented."

" To have been Prime Minister is something after all, and they
can't rob him of that," said the Duchess recurring again to her
own husband. " I half fancy sometimes that the charm of the
thing is growing upon him."

•♦ Upon the Duke P "

<'Tes. He is always talking of the delight he will have in
givinf^ it up. He is always Cincinnatus, going back to his peaches
and his ploughs. But I fear he is beginning to feel that the salt
would be gone out of his life if he ceasod to be the first man in
the kin^om. He has never said so, but there is a nervousness
about him when I suggest to him the name of this or that man
as his successor which alarms me. And I think he is becoming a
tyrant with his own men. He spoke the other drt.y of Lord Drum-
mond almost as though he meant to have him ^(^pped. It isn't
what one expected from him ; — is it ? "

" The weight of the load on his mind makes him irritable."

** Either mat, or having no load. If he had really much to do
he wouldn't surely have time to think so much of ti at poor wretch
who destroyed hiniself. Such sensitiveness is sin:^fy a disease.
One can never punish any fault in the world if the sinner can re-
venge himself upon us by rushing into etemi^7. Sometimes I sc*
him shiver and shudder, and then I know that he is thinking of
Lopez."

*' I can understand all that, Lady Glen."

** It isn't as it should be, though you can understand it. I'll bet
you a ^inea that Sir Timothy Beeswax has to go out before the
beginnmg of next Session."

" I've no objection. But why Sir Timothy P "

" He mentioned Lopez' name the other day before Plantagenet.

4?.r>

THE PRIMB MINISTER.

I heard him. Plantagenet pulled that long face of his, looking as
though he meant to impose silence on the whole world for the next
six weeks. But Sir Timothy is brass itself, a sounding cymbal of
brass that nothing can silence. He went on to decli^ with that
loud yoice of his that the death of Lopez was a jgood riddance of
bad rubbish. Plantagenet turned away and left the room and
shut himself up. He didn't declare to himself that he'd dismiss
Sir Timothy, because that's not the way of his mind. But you'll
see that Sir Timothy will have to go."

" That at any rate will be a good riddance of bad rubbish," said
Mrs. Finn who did not loye Sir Timothy Beeswax.

Soon after thaV the Duchess made up her mind that she would
interrogate the Doke of St. Bungay as to the present state of affairs.
It was then the end of June, and nearly one of those long and
tedious months had gone by of which the Duke spoke so feeungly
when he asked Phineas Finn to come down to Matching. Hope
had been expressed in more than one quurter that this would be
a short Session. Such hopes are much more common in June than
in July, and, though rarely yerifie I, serye to keep up the drooping
spirits of languid senators. " I suppose we shall Be early out of
town, Duke,' she said one day.

" I think so. I don't see what there is to keep us. It often
happens that ministers are a great deal better in the country than
in London, and I fancy it wiU be so this year."

** You neyer think of the poor girls who hayen't got their hus-
bands yet."

"They should make better use of th^ir time. Besideii, they can
get their husbands in the country."

" It's quite true that they never get to the end of their labours.
They are not like you members of Parliament who can shut up your
porraolios and go and shoot grouse. They haye to keep at their
work spring and summer, autumn and winter,— year after year !
How they must hate the men they persecute ! "

" I don't think we can put off gomg for their sake."

" Men are always selfish, I know. What do you think of Plan-
tagenet lately ? " The question was put yery abruptly, without a
moment's notice, and there was no ayoiding it.

"Think of him I"

' Yes ; —what do you think of his condition ;— of his happiness,
his health, his capacity of endurance P Will he be able to go on
much longer P Now, my dear Duke, don't stare at me like that.
You know, and I know, that you hayen't spoken a word to me for
the last two months. And you know, and I know, how many thin.wa
there are of which we are both thinking in common. You hayen't
quarrelled with Plantagenet ? "

** Quarrelled with him I Good heayens, no."

" Of course I know you still call him your noble colleague, and
your noble friend, and make one of the same team with him and all
that. But it useil to be so much more than that."

THE OU0HES8 AND HER FRIEND.

427

" It is still more than that ; — very much more."

" It was you who made him Prime Mioiater."

" No, DO, no ; — and again no. He made himself Prime Minister
by obtaiiiing the confidenoe of the House of Commons. There is
no other possible way in which a man can become Prime Ministet
in this country."

" If I were not very serious at this moment, Duke, I should make

an allusion to the Marines." No other human being could have

said this to the Duke of St. Bungay, except the young woman whom
he had petted aU his life as Lady Glencora. ''But I am very
serious, she continued, "and I may say not very happy. Of
course the big wigs of a party have to settle among themselves
who shall be their leader, and when this parhr was formed they
settled, at your advice, that Plantagenet should be the man."

<< My dear Lady Glen, I cannot allow that to pass without con-
tradiction."

" Do not suppose that I am finding fault, or even that I am un-
grateful. No one rejoiced as I rejoiced. No one still feels so much
pride in it as I feel. I would have given ten years of my life to
make him Prime Minister, and now I would give five to keep him
so. It is like it was to be king, wh^i men struggled among them-
selves who should be king. Whatever he may be, I am ambitious.
I love to think that other men should look to him as being above
them, and that something of this should come down upon me as
his wife. I do not know whether it was not the hapjftiest moment
of my life when he told me that the Queen had sent for him."

" It was not so with him."

♦• No, Duke, — no ! He and I are very different. He only wants
to he useful. At any rate, that was all he did want."

" He is still the same. "

" A man cannot always be carrying a huge load up a hill without
having his back bent."

" I don't know that the load need be so heavy. Duchess."

"Ah, but what is the load? It is not going to the Treasury
Chambers at eleven or twelve in the moiuiug, and sitting four or
five times a week in the House of Lords till seven or eight o'clock.
He was never ill when he would remain in the House of Commons
till two in the morning, and not have a decent dinner above twice
in the -veek. The load I speak of isn't work."

" What is it then P" said the Duke, who in truth understood it
all nearly as well as the Duchess herself.

'* It is hard to explain, but it is very heavy."

" Eesponsibility, my dear, will always be heavy."

"But it is hardly that; — certainly not that alone. It is the^
feeling that so many people blame him for so many things, and
the doubt in his own mind whether ho may not deserve it. And
then he becomes fretful, and conscious that such fretfulness is
beneath him and injurious fo his honour. He condemns men in
his mind, and condemns himself for condescending to condemn

428

THE PBIME MINISTER.

them. He spends one quarter of an hour in thinking that an he is
Prime Minister he will be Prime Minister down to his fingers' endu,
and the next in resolving that he never ought to have been Prime
Minister at all." Here something like a frown passed aoross the
old man's brow, which was, however, no indication of anger.
" Dear Duke," she said, " you must not be angry with me. Who
is there to whom I can speak but you P "

" Angry, my desir ! No, indeed ! "

*< Because you looked as though you would scold me." At this
he smiled. "And of course all uiis tells upon his health."

"Do you think he is ill?"

" He never says so. There is no special illness. But he is thin
and wan and careworn. He does not eat and he does not sleep.
Of course I watch him."

•* Does his doctor see him P **

'* Never. When I asked him ontje to say a word to Sir James
Thorax, — for he was getting hoarse, you know, — he only shook his
head and turned on ms heels. When he was in the other House,
and speaking every night, he would see Thorax constantly, and do
just >vhat he was told. He used to like opening his mouth and
having Sir James to look down it. But now he won't let any one
touch him."

*• What would you have me do, Lady Glen ? "

" I don't know."

" Do you think that he is so far out of health that he ought to
give it up ? "

**I don't say that. I don't dare to say it. I don't dare to
recommend anything. No consideration of health would tell with
him at all. If he were to die to-morrow as the penalty of doing
something useful to-night, he wouldn't think twice about it. Q
you wanted to make him stay where he is the way to do 'it would
be to tell him that his health was failing him. I don't know that
he t es want to give up now."

*• The autumn months will do everything for him; — only let him
be quiet."

'* You are coming to Matching, Duke P "

•* I suppose so, — if you ask me,— for a week or two."

" You must come. I am quite nervous if you desert us. I think
he becomes more estranged every day from edl the others. I know
you won't do a mischief by repeating what I say."

" I hope not."

'* He seems to me to turn his nose up at everybody. He used to
like Mr. Monk ; but he envies Mr. Monk, because Mr. Monk is
Chancellor of the Exchequer. I asked him whether we shouldn't
have Lord Drummond at Matching, and he told me angrily that I
might ask all the Government if I liked."

♦' Drummond contradicted him the other day."

" I knew there was something. He has got to be like a bear with
a sore head, Duke You should have seen his face the other day

THE DUCHESS AND KBR FRIKXD.

420

when Mr. Battler made some suggestion to him about the piu>per
way of dividing farms."

'< I don't think he eyer liked Battler."

« What of that P Don't I have to smile upon men whom T. hate
like poison ; — and women too, whioh is worse ? Do you think that
I love old Lady Bamsden, or Mrs. MaoPhersoa P He used to be so
fond of Lord Cantrip."

" I think he likes Lord Cantrip," said tho Duke.

*'He asked his lordship to do something, and Lord Cantrip
uoolined."

" I know all about that," said the Duke.

" And now he looks gloomy at Lord Cantrip. His friends won't
stand that kmd of thing, you know, for ever."

'* He is always courteous to Finn," said the Duke.

*• Yes ; — just now he is on good terms with Mr. Finn. He would
never be harsh to Mr. Finn, because he knows that Mrs. Finn is
the one really intimate female friend whom I have in the world.
After all, Diike, besides Plantagenet and the children, thore are
only two persons in the world whom I really love. There are only
you and she. She will never desert me, — and you must not desert
me either." Then ho put his hand behind her waist, and stooped
over her and kissed her brow, und swore to her that he would never
desert her.

But what was he to do P He knew, without being told by the
Duchess, that his colleague and chief was becoming, from day to
day, more difficult to manage. He had 'been right enough in
laying it down as a general rule that Prime Ministers are selected
for tluit position by me general confidence of the House of Com-
mons ;— out he was aware at the same time that it had hardly been
80 in the present instance. There had come to be a dead lock in
affairs, during which neither of the two old and well-recognised
leaders of paries could command a sufficient following for the
carrying on of a govc^ment. With unusual patience uiese two
gontiemen had now for the greater part of three Sessions sat by,
offering but little opposition to the Coalition, but of course biding
their time. They, too, called themselves, — perhaps thought them-
selves, — Cincinnatuses. But their ploughs and peaches did not
suffice to them, and they longed again to be in every mouth, and
to have, if not their deeds, then even their omissions blazoned in
every paragraph. The palate accustomed to Cayenne pepper can
hardly be gratified by simple salt. When that dead lock had come,
politicians who were really anxious for the country had been
forced to look about for a Premier, — and in the search the old
Duke had been the foremost. The Duchess had hardly said more
than the ti'uth when she declared that her husband's promotiun
had been effected by their old friend. But it is sometimes easier
to make than to unmake. Perhaps the time had now in truth
come, in which it would be better for the country that the usual
state of things should again exist. Perhaps,— nay, the Duke now

480

THE PRIME MINISTER.

thought that he saw that it was so, — Mr. Gresham mij^ht again
have a liberal maiority at his back if the Duke of Omnium oould
find some graceful mode of retiring. But who was to tell all this
to the Duke of Omnium f There was only one man in all England
to whom such a task was possible, and thiat was the old Duke lum-
self, — who during the last two years had been constantly urgent
with his friend not to retire ! How often since he had taken ofiice
had the conscientious and timid Minister begged of his friend per-
mission to abandon his high office I But that permission had always
been refused, and now, for the last three months, the request had
not been repeated. The Duchess p/obably was right in saying
that her husoand " didn't want to give it up now."

But he, the Duke of St. Bungay, had brought his friend into the
trouble, and it was certainly his duty to extricate him from it.
The admonition misht come in the rude shape of repeated minori-
ties in the House of Commons. Hitherto the numoer of votee at
the commend of the Ministry had not been very much impaired. A
few always fall off as time goes on. Aristides becomes too just, and
the mind of man is greedy of novelty. Sir Orlando also, had taken
-with him a few, and it may be that two or three had told them-
selves that there could not be all that smoke raised by the " People's
Banner " without some fire below it. But there was a good working
majority, — very much at Mr. Monk's command, — and Mr. Monk
was moved by none of that feeling of rebellion which had urged
Sir Orlando on to his destruction. It was difficult to find a cause
for resignation. And yet the Duke of St. Bungay, who had
watched the House of Commons closely for nearly half a century,
was aware that the Coalition which he had created had done its
work, and was almost convinced that it would not be permitted to
remain verjr much longer in power. He had seen symptoms of
impatience in Mr. Daubeny, and Mr. Gresham had snorted once
and twice, as though eager for the battle.

CHAPTER LXIV.

THE NEW K.O.

Early in June had died the Marquis of Mount Fidgett. In all Eng-
land there was no older family than that of tho Fichy Fidgetts,
whose baronial castle of Fichy Fellows is still kept up, the glory
of archaeologists and the charm of tourists. Some people declare it
to be the most perfect castle residence in the country. It is admitted
to have been completed in the time of Edward VI., and is thought
to have been commenced in the days of Edward I. It has always
belonged to the Fichy Fidgett faimly, who with a persistence that

THE nf:v &.O.

481

is becominff rarer every day, has dung to every acre that it ever
owned, and has added acre to acre iu every age. Tho consequence
has been that the existing Marauia of Mount Fidgett has always
been possessed of great territorial influence, and has been flattered,
cajoled, and revere by one Prime Minister after another. Now the
late Marquis had been, as was the custom with theFichy Fidgetts,
a man of pleasure. If the truth may be spoken openly, it should
be admitted that he had been a man of sin. The auty of keeping
togeliier the family property he had performed with a perfect zeal.
It nad always been acknowledged on behalf of the existing Mar-
quis, that in whatever manner ne might spend his money, however
base might be the gullies into which his wealth descended, he never
spent more than he had to spend. Perhaps there was but little
praise in this, as he could hardly have got beyond his enormous
income unless he had thrown it away on race-courses and roulette
tables. But it had long been remarked of the Mount Fidgett mar-
quises that thev were too wise to gamble. The family had not been
an honour to the country, but had nevertheless been honoured by
the country. The man who had just died had perhaps been as
selfish and as sensual a bruto as had everldisgraced numanity ; — but
nevertheless he had been a Knight of the Oartor. He had been

Eossessed of considerable parliamentary interest, and the Prime
[inistor of the day had not dared not to make him a Knight of
the Qarter. All the Marquises of Mount Fidgett had for many
years past been Enights of the Gartor. On the last occasion a good
deal had been said about it. A feeling had even then begun to
prevail that the highest personal honour in the gift of the Crown
should not be bestowed upon a man whose whole life was a dis-
grace, and who did indeed seem to deserve every punishment which
nuniMi or divine wrath could inflict. He had a large family, but
they were all illegitimate. Wives generally he liked, but of his
own wife he very soon broke the heart. Of all the companies with
which he consorted he was the admitted king, but his suojecte could
<V> no man any honour. The Castle of Fichy Fellows was visited
by the world at large, but no man or woman with a character to
lose went into any house really inhabited by the Marquis. And
yet he had become a Knight of the Qarter, and was therefore, pre-
sumably, one of those noble Englishmen to whom the majesty of
the day was willing to confide the honour, and glory, and safety of
the Crown. There were many who disliked this. That a base
reprobate should become a Marquis and a peer of Parliament was
in accordance with the constitution of the country. Marquises and
peers are not as a rule reprobates, and the misfortune was one which
could not be avoided. He might have illused his own wife and
other wives' husbands without fecial remark, had he not been
made a Knight of the Qarter. Tne Minister of the day, however,
had known the value of the man's support, and, being thick-skinned,
had lived through the reproaches uttered without much damage to
himself. Now tiie wicked Marquis was dead, and it was the privi-

482

TlIK I'UIMU M1NI8TKR.

lege aud the duty of the Duke of Omnmiu to select anotiher
Kuight.

There was a good deal said about it at the time. There was a
rumour, — no doubt a false rumour, — that the Grown insisted in
this instance on dictating a choice to the Duke of Omnium. But
even were it so, the Duke could not have been very much agnieyed,
as the choice dictated was supposed to be that of himself. The late
Duke had been a Knight, and when he had died, it was thought
that his successor would succeed also to the ribbon. The new Duke
had been at that time in the Cabinet, and had remained there, but
had accepted an office inferior in rank to that which he had formerly
iilled. The whole history of these things has been written, and
may be road by the curious. The Duchess, newly a duchess then
and very keen in reference to her husband's rank, had instigated
him to demand the ribboi. as his right. This he had not only
declined to do, but had gone out of the way to say that he thought
it should be bestowed elsewhere. It had been bestowed elsewhere,
and there had been a very general feeling that he had been passed
over because his easy temperament in such matters had been seen
and utilised. Now, whether the Crown interfered or not, — a mat-
ter on which no one short of a writer of newspaper articles dares
to make a suggestion till time shall have made mellow the doings
of sovereigns and their ministers, — the sug^stion was made. Tne
Duke of St. Bungay ventured to say to hi8 friend that no other
selection was possible.

" Becommeud her Majesty to give it to myself ! " said the Prime
Minister.

" You will find it to be her Majesty's wish. It has been very
common. Sir Robert Walpole had it."

" I am not Sir Bobert Walpole." The Duke named other exam-
ples of Prime Ministers who had been gartered by themselves.
But our Prime Minister declared it to be out of the question. No
houour of that description should be conferred upon him as long as
he held his present position. The old Duke was much in earnest^
and there was a great deal said on the subject, — but at last it became
clear, not only to him, but to the members of the Cabinet generally,
and then to the outside world, that the Prime Minister would not
consent to accept the vacant honour.

For nearly a month after this the question subsided. A Minister
is not bound to bestow a Garter the day after it becomes vacant.
There are other Knights to guard the throne, and one may be spared
for a short interval. But during that interval many eves were turned
towards the stall in St. George's Chapel. A good thing shoidd be
given away like a clap of thunder if envy, hatred, and malice are
to be avoided. A broad blue ribbon across the chest is of all deco-
rations the most becoming, or, at any rate, the most desired. Aud
there was, I fear, an impression on the minds of some men that the
Duke in such matters was weak and might b& persuaded. Then
there came to him an application in the form of a letter from the

THE NEW K.O.

488

new Marqtiis of Mount Fidgett, — amau whom he had noyer Heen,
und i)t whom ho had never heard. The new MarnuiH hud hitherto
resided in Ituly, and men only knew of him that he wtw odious to
his uncle. But he had inherited all the Fiohy Fidgett estates, and
was now possessed of immense wealth and great honour. Ue
ventured, he said, to represent to the Prime Minister that for
generations paLt the Marouisee of Mount Fid^tt had been
honoured by the (iarter. His political status in the country
was exactly that enjoyed by his late uncle ; but he intended that
his political career should be very different. He was quite pre-
pared to support the Coalition. " What is he that he should ex-
pect to be made a Knight of the Garter K " said our Duke to the
Old l)uke.

" Re is the Marquis of Mount Fidg^ett, and next to yoursolf,
perhaps, the richest peer of Great Britain."

" Have riches anything to do with it f "

" Something oertaioly. You would not name a pauper peer."

" Yes ; — ^if ne was a man whose career had been nignly nonour-
able to the country. Such a man, of course, could not be a pauper,
but I do not think his want of wealth should stand in the way of
his being honoured by the Garter."

" Wealth, rank, and territorial influence have been generally
thought to have something to do with it."

" And character nothing I "

" My dear Duke, I have not said so."

" Something ver^r much Uke it, my friend, if you advocate the
claim of the Marquis of Mount Fidgett. Did you approve of the
selection of the late Marquis ? "

" I was in the Oaliinet at the time, and will therefore say nothing
against it. But I have never heard anything against this man's
character."

" Nor in favour of it. To my thinking he has as much claim,
and no more, as that man who just opened the door. He was
never seen in the Lower House."

" Surely that cannot signify."

*' You think, then, that he should have it P "

"You know what I think," said the elder statesman thou&;ht-
fully. " In my opinion there is no doubt that you would host
consult the honour of the country by allowing her Majesty to
bestow this act of grace upon a subject who has deserved so well
from her Majesty as yourself."

" It is quite impossible."

" It seems to me," said the Duke, not appearing to noti^ o the
refusal of his friend, "that in this peculiar position you sLcnM
allow yourself to be persuaded to lay aside your own feeling. No
man of high character is desirous of securing to himself decora-
tions which he may bestow upon others."

" Just so."

< But here the decoration bestowed upon the chief whom we all

484

THE PRIME MINISTER.

follow, would confer a wider honoar upon many than it could do if
given to any one else."

** The same may be said of any Prime Minister."

" Not so. A commoner, without high permanent rank or large
fortune, is not lowered in the world's esteem by not being of the
Order. Tou will permit me to say — ^that a Duke of Omnium has
not reached that position which he ought to enjoy unless he be a
Knight of the Garter." It murt be borne in mind that the old
Duke, who used this argument, had himself worn the ribbon for
the last thirty years. * • But if "

'*WeU;— well."

* ' But if vou are, — 1 must call it obstinate."

" I am obtttinate in that respect."

" Then," said the Duke of St. Bungay, "I should recommend
her Majesty to ^ye it to the Marquis."

"Never, said the Prime Minister, with very unaccustomed
energy. " I will never sanction the payment of such a price tor
services which should never be bought or sold."

*• It would give no offence."

" That is not enough, my friend. Here is a man of whom I
only know that he has bought a great many marble statues. He
has done nothing for his country, and nothing for his sovereign."

" If you are determined to look to what you call desert alone, I
would name Lord Drummond." The Prime Minister frowned and
looked unhappy. It was quite true that Lord Drummond had
contradicted ^im, and that he had felt the injury grievously.
" Lord Drummond has been very true to us."

" Yes ;— true to us ! What is that ? "

"He is in every respect a man of character, and well looked
upon in the couniry. There would be some enmity and a good
deal of envy — which might be avoided by either of the other courses
I have proposed ; but those courses you will not take. I take it for
granted tnat you are anxious to secure the support of those who
generally act with Lord Drummond."

" I don't know that I am." The old Dn\e shrugged his shoul-
ders. •• What I mean is, that I do not think lliat we ought to pay
an increased price for their support. His lordship is very well as
the Head of an Office ; but he is not nearly so great a man as my
friend Lord Cantrip."

** Cantrip would not join us. There is no evil in politics so
great as that of seeming to buy the men who v/ill not come without
buying. These rewards are fairly given for f«olitical support."

" I had not, in truth, thought of Lord Cantrip."

" He does not expect it any more than my butler."

" I only named him as having a claim stronger than any that
Lord Drummond can put forward. I have a man in my mind to
whom I think such an honour is fairly due. What do you say to
Lord Earlybird f " The old Duke opened his mouth and lifted up
bis hands m unaffected surprise.

THE NEW K.O.

485

The Earl of Earlybird was an old man of a very peculiar cha-
racter. He had never opened his mouth in the House of Loitls
and had ueyer sat in the House of Commons. The political world
knew him not at all. He had a house in town, but very rarely
iiyed there. Early Park, in the parish of Bird, had been his resi-
dence since he first came to the title forty years ago, and had been
the scene of all bis labonrs. He was a nobleman possessed of a
moderate fortune, and, as men said of him, of a moderate intellect.
He had married early in life and was blessed with « large family.
But he had certainly not been an idle man. For nearly half a
century he had devoted himself to the improvement of the labour-
ing classes, especially in reference to their abodes and education,
and had gradually, without any desire on his own part, worked
himself up into public notice. He was not an eloquent man, but
he would take the chair at meeting after meeting, and sit with
admirable patience for long hours to hear the eloquence of others.
He was a man ver^ simple in his tastes, and had brought up his
family to follow his habits. He had therefore been aole to do
munificent things with moderate means, and in the long course of
years had failed in hiding his munificence from the public. ^ Lord
Earlybird, till after middle life, had not been much considered,
but gradually there had gto'^n up a foaling that there were not
very mar/ better men in the country . He was a fat bald-headed
old man, who was always pulling his spectacles on and off, nearly

blind, very awkward, and altogether indifferent to appearance.
Probably he had no more idea of the Gkrter in his own mind than
he had of a Cardinal's hat. But he had grown into fame, and had
not escaped the notice of the Prime Minister.

"Do ^ou know anything against Lord Earlybird?" asked the
?rim6 Minister.
" Certainly nothing against him, Duke."
*' Nor anything in Ms favour ? '*
" I know him very well, — I think I may say intimately. Thpre

sn't a better man breathing.*'
" An honour to the peerage !" said the Prime Minister.
*' An honour to humanity rather," said the other, " as being ot

ill men the least selfish and most philanthropical."
" What more can be said for a man P "
' ' But according to my view he is not the sort of person whom

jne would wish to see made a Knight of the Giirter. If he had the

fibbon he would never wear it."
" The honour surely does not consist in it's outward sign. I

am entitled to wear some kind of coronet, but I do not walk about

mth it on my head. He is a man of a great heart and of many

virtues. Surely the country, and her Majesty on behalf of the

country, should delight to honour such a man."
"I really doubt whether you look at the matter in the riffht

lieht," said the ancient statesman, who was in truth friBhtenedat

what was being proposed. ♦• You must not be angry nith me if I

speak plainly.'^

436

THE PRIME MINISTER.

'■

,; 1

"My friend, I do not think that it is within youi- puwex- to
make me angry.''

*• Well then, — I will get you for a moment to listen to my view
on the matter. There are certain great prizes in the gift of the
Grown and of the Ministers of the Crown, — the greatest of which
are now traditionally at the disposal of the Prime Minister. These
are always given to party friends. I may perhaps agree with you
that party support should not be looked to alone. Let us acknow-
ledge that character and services should be taken into account.
But the very theory of our Government will be overset by a
reversal of the rule which I have attempted to describe. You will
ofPend all your own friends, and only incur the ridicule of your
opponents. It is no doubt desirable that the high seats of the
country should be filled by men of both parties. I would not wish
to see every Lord-Lieutenant of a county a Whig." Li his en-
thusiasm the old Duke went back to his old phraseology. " But I
know that my opponents when their turn comes wiU appoint their
friends to the Lieutenancies, and that so the balance will be main-
tained. If you or I appoint their friends, they won't appoint ours.
Lord Earlybird's proxy has been in the hands of the conservative
leader of me House of Lords ever since he succeeded his father."
Then the old man paused, but his Mend waited to listen whether
the lecture were finished before he spoke, and the Duke of St.
Bunga3/ continued. " And, moreover, though Lord Early bird is a
very good man, — so much so that many of us may well envy him,
— he is not just the man fitted for this destination. A Knight of
tho Garter should be a man prone to show himself, a public man,
one whose work in the counliy has brought him face to face with
his fellows. There is an aptness, a propriety, a fitness in these
things which one can understand perhaps better than ei^lain."

"Those fitnesses and aptnesses change, I think, from i^iiy to
day. There was a time when a- knight should be a fightiiig man."

" That has gone by."

*' And the aptnesses and fitnesses in accordance with which the
sovereign of the day was induced to grace with the Garter such a
man as the late Marquis of Mount Fidgett have, I hope, gone bvr
You will admit that?"

" There is no such man proposed."

"And other fitnesses and aptnesses will go by, till the time will
come when the man to be selected as Lieutenant of a county will
be the man whose selection will be most beneficial to the county,
and Knights of the Garter will be chosen for their real virtues."

" I think you are Quixotic. A Prime Minister is of all men
bound to follow the traditions of his country, or, when he leaves
them, to leave them with very gradual steps.

" And if he break that law and throw over all that thraldom ;—
what then P"

" He will lose the confidence which has made him what he is."

" It is well that I know the penalty. It is hardly heavy enough

THERE MUST BE TIME.

487

to enforce strict obedience. As for the matter in dispute it had better
stand over yet for a few days." When the Prime Minister said this
the old Buke knew very well that he intended to haye his own way.

And so it was. A week passed by and then the younger Duke
wrote to the elder Duke sajring that he had given to the matter all
the consideration in his power, and that he had at last resolved to
recommend her Majesty to bestow ihe ribbon on Lord Earlybird.
He would not, however, take any step for a few days so that his
triend might have an opportunity of making further remonstrance if
he pleased. No further remonstrance was made, and Lord Earlybird,
much to his own amazement, was nominated to the vacant Garter.

The appointment was one certainly not popular with any of the
Prime Mmister's friends. With some, such as Lord Drummond,
it indicated a determination on the part of the Duke to declare his
freedom from all those bonds which had hitherto been binding
on the Heads of Government. Had the Duke selected himself
certainly no offence would have been given. Had the Marquis of
Mount Fidgett been the happy man, excuses would have been
made. But it was unpardonable to Lord Drummond that he
should have been passed over and that the Garter should have
been given to Lord £)arlybird. To the poor old Duke the offence
was ox a different nature. He had intended to use a very strong
word when he told his friend that his proposed conduct 'would be
Quixotic. The Duke of Omnium would surely know that the
Duke of St. Bungay could not support a Quixotic Prime Minister.
And yet the younger Duke, the Telemachus of the last two years,
—after hearing that word, — ^had rebelled asainst his Mentor, and
had obstinately adhered to his Quixotism! The greed of power
had fallen upon the man, — so said the dear old Duke to himself, —
and the mairs fall was certain. Alas, alas ; had he been allowed to
go before the poison had entered his veins, how much less would
have been his sufferiug !

CHAPTER TiXV.

THERE MUST BE TIME.

At the end of the third week in July, when the Session was still
sitting, and when no day had been absolutely as yet fixed for the
escape of members, Mi. Wharton received a letter from his friend
Arthur Fletcher which certaiuly surprised him very much, and
which left him for a day or two unable to decide what answer
ought to be given. It will be remembered f hut Ferdinand Lopoz
tlostroyed himnelf in March, now three moutha since. The act had
been more thau a nine days' v,onder, having been kept in the

488

THE PRIME MINISTER.

memory of many men by the sedulous elTorts of Quintus Slide, and
by the fact that the name of so great a man as the Prime Minister
was concerned in the matter. But gradually the feeling about
Ferdinand Lopez had died away, and his fate, though it had out-
lived the nommal nine days, had sunk into ^neral oblivion before
the end of the ninth week. The Prime Minister had not forgotten
the man, nor had Quintus Slide. The name was still common in
the columns of the " People's Banner," and was never mentioned
without being read by the unfortunate Duke. But others had
ceased to talk of Ferdinand Lopez.

To the mind, however, of Arthur Fletcher the fact of the man's
death was always present. A dreadful incubus had come upon his
life, blighting all his prospects, obscuring all his sun by a great
cloud, covering up all nis hopes, and changing for him all his out-
look into the world. It was not only that Emily Wharton should
not have become his wife, but that the woman whom he loved with
so perfect a love should have been sacrificed to so vile a creature as
this man. He never blamed her, — but looked upon his fate as
Fate. Then on a sudden he heard that the incubus was removed.
The man who had made him and her wretched had by a sudden
stroke been taken away and annihilated. There was nothing now
between him and her, — ^but a memory. He oould certainly forgive,
if she could forget.

Of course he had felt at the first moment that time must pass by.
He had become certain that her mad love for the man had perished.
He had been made sure that she had repented her own deed in
sackcloth and ashes. It had been acknowledged to him by her
father that she had been anxious to be separated from her husband,
if her husband would consent to such a separation. And then,
remembering as he did his last interview with her, having; in his
mind as he did every ctrcumstance of that caress which ne had
given her, — down to the very quiver of the fingers he had pressed,
— he could not but flatter himself that at last he had touched her
heart. But there must be time ! The conventions of the world
operate on all hearts, especially on the female heart, and teach that
new vows, too quickly given, are disgraceful. The world has
seemed to decide that a widow should take two years before she
can bestow herself on a second man without a touch of scandal.
But the two years is to include everything, the courtship of the
second as well as the burial of the first, — and not only the court-
ship, but the preparation of the dresses and the wedding itself.
And then this case was diflFerent from aU others. Of course there
must be time, but surely not here a full period of two years ! Why
should the life of two young persons be so wasted, if it were the
case that they loved each other P There was horror here, remorse,
pity, perhaps pardon ; but there was no love, — none of that love
which is always for a time increased in its fervour by the loss of
the loved object ; none of that passionate devotion which must at
first make the very idea of another miui's love intolerable. Th(MO

THKa£ MUST BE TIME.

489

had been a great escape, — an escape which could not but be
inwardly acknowledged, however lit^i^e prone the tongue might be
to confess it. Of course there must be time ; — but how much time P
He argued it in his mind daily, and at each daily argument the
time considered by him to be appropriate was shortened. Three
months had passed and he had not yet seen her. He had resolved
that he would not even attempt to see her till her father should
consent. But surely a period had passed sufficient to justify him
in applying for that permission. And then he bethought himself
that it would be best in applying for that permission to tell every-
thing to Mr. Wharton. He well knew that he would be telling no
secret Mr. Wharton knew the state of his feelings as well as he
knew it himself. If ever there was a case in which time might be
abridged, this was one; and therefore he wrote his letter, — as
follows ; —

"a, Court, Temple,

"24th July, 187— .

*♦ My dear Mr. Wharton,

" It is a matter of great regret to me that we should see so
little of each other, — and especiaUy of regret that I should never
now see Emily.

" I may as well rush into the matter at once. Of course this
lettei wiU not be shown to her, and therefore I may write as I
woulx; speak if I were with you. The wretched man whom she
married is gone, and my love for her is the same as it was before
she had ever seen him, and as it has always been from that day to
this. I could not address you or even uiink of her as yet, did I
not know that that marriage had been unfortunate. But it has not
altered her to me in the least. It has been a dreadful trouble to
us all, — to her, to you, to me, and to all connected with us. But
it id over, and I think that it should be looked back upon as a
black chasm which we have bridged and got over, and to which we
need never cast back our eyes.

" I have no right to think that, though she might some day love
another man, she would, therefore, love me ; but I think that I
have a right to tnr, and I know that I should have your good- will.
It is a question of time, but if I let time go by, some one else may
slip in. Who caa tell ? 1 wpuld not be thought to press indecently,
but I do feel that here the ordinary^rules which govern men and
women are not to be followed. He made her unhappy almost
from the first day. She had made a mistake which you and she
and all acknowledged. She has been punished ; and so have I, —
very severely I can assure you. Wouldn't it be a good thing to
bring all this t^ an end as soon as possible, — if it can be brought
to an end in the way I want ?

" Pray tell me what you think. I would propose that you
should ask her to see me, and then say just as much as you please.
Of coui-se I should not press her at first. You might at»k me to
dinner, and all that kind of thing, and so she would get used to

440

TH£ PBIME MINISTER.

me. It ifl not as though we had not been very, very old friends.
Bat I know yon will do the best. I have put off writing to you
till I sometimes think that I shall go mad over it if I sit still any
longer.

" Your affectionate friend,

" Akthub Fletcher."

When Mi . Wharton got this letter he was very much puzzled.
Gould he have had his wish, he too would have left the chasm
behind him as proposed by his young friend, and have never cast
an eye back upon the frightful abyss. He would willingly have
allowed the whole Lopez incident to be passed over as an episode in
their lives, which, if it could not be forgotten, should at any rate
never be mentioned. They had all been severely punished, as
Fletcher had said, and if the matter could end there ne would be
well content to bear on his own shoulders all that remained of that
punishment, and to let everything begin again. But he knew very
well it could not be so wim her. Even yet it was impossible to
induce Emily to think of her husband without regret. It had been
only too manifest during the last year of their married life that
she had felt horror rather than love towards him. When there
had been a question of his leaving her behind, should he go to
Central America, she had always expressed herself more than
willing to comply with such an arrangement. She would go with
him should he order her to do so, but would infinitely eooner remain
in England. And then, too, she had spoken of him while alive with
disdain and disgust, and had submitted to hear her father describe
him as infsimous. Her life had been one long misery, under which
she had seemed gradually to be perishing. Now she was relieved, and
hei health was re-established. A certain amount of unjoyous
cheerfulness was returning to her. It was impossible to doubt that
she must have known that a great burden had fallen from her back.
And yet she would never allow his name to be mentioned without
giving some outward sign of affection for his memory. If he was
bad, so were others bad. There were many worse than he. Such
were the excuses she made for her late husband. Old Mr. Whar-
ton, who really thought that in all his experience he had never
known any one worse than his son-in-law, would sometimes become
testy, and at last resolved that he would altogether hold liis tongue.
But he could hardly hold his tongue now.

He, no doubt, had already formed his hopes in regard to Arthui
Fletcher. He had trusted that the man whom he had taught him-
self some years since to regard as his wished-for son-in-law, might
be constant and strong enough in his love to forget all that was
past, and to be still willing to redeem his daughter from misery.
But as days had crept on since the scene at the Ten way Junction,
he had become aware that time must do much before such relief
would be accepted, it was, however, still possible that the presence
of the man might do something. Hitherto, since the deed had been

THERE MUST BK TIME.

441

done, no stranger had dined in Mancbobter Square. She herself
had seen no visitor. She had hardly left the house except to op to
ohuroh, and then had been enveloped in the deepest crape. Once
or twice she had allowed herself to be driven out in a carria^,
and, when she had done so, her father had always accompanied
her. No widow, since the seclusion of widows was first ordained,
had been more strict in maintainine the restraints of widowhood as
enjoined. How then could he bid her receive a new lover, — or
how sug'gest to her that a lover was possible ? And yet he did not
like to answer Arthur Fletcher without naming some period for
the present mourning, — some time at which he might at least
show himself in Manchester Square.

" I have had a letter from Arthur Fletcher," he said to his
daughter a day or two after he had received it. He was sitting
after dinner, and Everett was also in the room.

" Is he in Herefordshire P " she asked.

" No ; — he is up in town, attending to the House of Commons, I
suppose. He had something to say to me, and as we are not in the
way of meeting he wrote. He wants to come and see you."

" Not yet, papa.**

" He talked of coming and dining here."

** Oh yes ; pray let mm come."

*• You would not mind that P "

" I would dine early and be out of the way.
glad if you would have somebody sometimes. I
men that I was such a— such a restraint to you."

But this was not what Mr. Wharton desired.

I should be so
shouldn't think

I shouldn't like

that, ^ , iear. Of course he would know that you were in the
ho>ise."

" Upon my word, I think you might meet an old friend like
that," said Everett.

She looked at her brother, and then at her father, and burst into
tears. " Oi course you shall not be pressed if it would be irksome
to you," said her father.

" It is the first plunge that hurts," said Everett. -' If you could
once bring yourself to do it, you would find afterwards that you
were more comfortable."

" Papa," she said slowly, '' I know what it means. His good-
ness I shall always remember. Tou may tell him I say so. But
I cannot meet hiin yet." Then they pressed her no further. Of
course she had understood. Her father could not even ask her to say
a word which might give comfort to Arthur as to some long distant
time.

He went down to the House of Commons the next day, and saw
his young Mend there. Then they walked up and down West-
minster Hall for nearly an hour, talking over the matter with the
most absolute freedom. '* It cannot be tor the benefit of any one,"
said Arthur Fletcher, ** ttat she should immolate herself like an
Indian widow,-— and for the sake of such a man as that | Of course

442

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

II I

J !

I have no right to dictate to you, h cdly, perhaps, to give au
opinion."

'* Yes, yes, yes."

** It does seem to me then, that you ought to foroe her out of
that kind of thing. Why should she not go down to Hereford-
shire r'

" In time, Arthur, — in time."

'* But people's lives are running away."

"My dear fellow, if you were to see her you would know how
vain it would I; ' to trj to hurry her. There must be time."

CHAPTEE LXVI.

THE END OF THE SE8SIUN.

The Duke of St. Bungay had been very much disappointed. He
had contradictv^d vith a repetition of noes the assertion of the
Duchess that ha hal been the Warwick who had placed the Prime
Minister's crown on the head of the Duke of Omnium, but no doubt
he felt in his heart that he had done so much towards it that his
advice respecting the vacant Garter, when given with so much
weight, should have been followed. He was an old man, and had
known the secrets of Cabinet Councils when his younger friend
was a little boy. He had given advice to Lord John, and had
been one of the iirst to congratulate Sir Bobert Peel when that
statesman became a free-trader. He had sat in conclave with
THE Duke, and had listened to the bold liberalism of old Earl
Grey, both in the Lower and the Upper House. He had been
always great in council, never giving his advice unasked, nor
throwing his pearls before swine, and cautious at all times to avoid
excesses on this side or on that. He had never allowed himself a
hobby of his own to ride, had never been ambitious, had never
sought to be the ostensible leader of men. But he did nov^ think
that when, with all his experience, he spoke very much in earnest,
some attention should be paid to what he said. When he had
described a certain line of conduct as Quixotic he had been very
much in earnest. He did not usually indulge in strong language,
and Quixotic, when applied to the conduct of a Prime Minister was,
to his ideas, very strong. The thing described as Quixotic had now
been done, and the Diu:e of St. Bungay was a disappointed man.

For an hour or two he thought that he must gentiy secede from
all private councils with the Prime Minister. To resign, or to put
impediments in the way of his own chief, did not belong to his
character. That line of strategy had come into fashion since ho
bad learnt his political rudiments, and was very odious to him.

THE END OF THE 9KM3ION.

448

But in all party compacts there must be inner parties, peculiar
bonds, and confidences stricter, stronger, and also sweeter than
those which bind together the twenty or thirty gentlemen who
form a Government. From those closer ties which had hitherto
bound him to the Duke of Omnium he thought, for a while, that
he must divorce himself. Surely on such a subject as the nomi-
rujion of a Knight of the Garter his advice might have been ta^en,
- if only because it had come from him I And so he kept himself
apart for a day or two, and even in the House of Lords ceased to
whisper kindly, cheerful words into the ears of his next neighbour.

But various remembrances crowded in upon him by degrees,
compelling him to moderate and at last to abandon his purpose.
Among these the first was the memory of the kiss which he had
given the Duchess. The woman had told him that nhe loved him,
uiat he was one of the very few whom she did love, -a-^d the word
had gone straight into bis old heart. She had baue im not to
desert her ; and he had not only given her his pro: ise, but he had
converted that promise to a sacred pled^ by a Hss. He had
known well why she had exacted the promise. The turmoil in her
husband's mind, the agony which he sometimes ondured when
people spoke ill of him, the aversion which he ~\ad at first genu-
inely felt to an office for which he hardly thou^^t himself fit, and
now the gradual love of power created by the exercise of power,
had all been seen by her, and had created that solicitude which had
induced her to ask for the promise. The old Duke had known them
both weU, but had hardly as yet given the Duchess credit for so true
a devotion to her husband. It now seemed to him that though she
had failed to love the man, she had given her entire heart to the
Prime Minister. He sympathized witii her altogether, and, at any
rate, could not go back from his promise.

And then he remembered, too, that if this man did anything
amiss in the high office which he had been made to fill, he who had
induced him to fill it was responsible. What right had he, the
Duke of St. Bungay, to be angry because his friend was not all
wise at all points P Let the Droughts and the Drummonds and
the Beeswaxes quarrel among themselves or with their colleagues.
He belonged to a different s^ool, in the teachings of which there
was less perhaps of excitement and more of long-suffering ; — but
surely, also, more of nobility. He was, at any rate, too old to
change, and he would therefore be true to his friend through evil
and through good. Having thought this all out he again whis-
pered some cilery word to the Prime Minister, as they sat listening
to the denunciations of Lord Fawn, a liberal lord, much used to
business, but who had not been received into the Coalition. The
first whisper and the second whisper the Prime Minister received
very coldly. He had fully appreciated the discontinuance of the
whispers, and was aware of the cause. He Lad made a selection on
his own unassisted judgment in opposition to his old friend's advice,
and this was the result, Ijet it be so ! All his friends were turning

444

TUE PRIMR MINIHTEB.

away from him and he would have to stand alone. If so, he would
stand alone till the pendulum of the House of Commons had told
him that it was time for him to retire. But ffradually the deter-
mined good-humour of the old man preyailed. " He has a won-
derful gift of saying nothing with second-rate dignity," whispered
the repentant friend, speaking of Lord Fawn.

" A very honest man," said the Prime Minister in return.

" A sort of bastard honesty, — by precept out of stupidity. There
is no real conviction in it, begotten oy thought.'* This little bit of
criticism, harsh as it was, had the effect, and the Prime lilLnister
became less miserable than he had been.

But Lord Dmmmond forgave nothing. He still held his office,
but more than once he was seen in private conference with both Sir
Orlando and Mr. Boffin. He did not attempt to conceal his anger.
Lord Earlybird ! An old woman ! One whom no other man in Eng-
land would have thought of making a Eni^ht of the Garter I It was
not, he said, personal disappointment in himself. There were half-
a-dozen peers whom he would willingly have seen so graced with-
out the sli ,' test chagrin. But this must have been done simply
to show tL. Duke's power, and to let the world understand that he
owed nothing and would pay nothing to his supporters. It was
almost a disgrace, said Lord Dmmmond, to belong to a Government
the Head of which could so commit himself ! The Session was
nearly at an end, and Lord Drummond thought that no step could
be conveniently taken now. But it was quite clear to him that
this state of things could not be continued. It was observed that
Lord Drummond and the Prime Minister never spoke to each other
in the House, and that the Secretary of State tor the Colonies, —
tbat being the office which he held, — never rose in his place after
Lord Early bird's nomination, unless to say a word or two as to his
own pecuhar duties. It was very soon known to all the world that
there was war to the knife between Lord Drummond and the
Prime Minister.

And, strange to say, there seemed to be some feeling of general
discontent on this very trifling subject. When Aristides has been
much too just the oyster-shells become numerous. It was said that
the Duke had been guilty of pretentious love of virtue in taking
Lord Earlybird out of his own path of life and forcing him to write
K. G. after his name. There came out an article, of course in the
** People's Banner," headed, '* Our Prime Minister's Good Works,"
in which poor Lord Earlybird was ridiculed in a very unbecoming
manner, and in which it was asserted that the thiiu[ was done as a
counterpoise to the iniquity displayed in " hounmng Ferdinand
Lopez to his death." Whenever Ferdinand Lopez was mentioned
he had always been hounded. And then the article went on to
declare that either the Prime Minister had quarrelled with all his
colleagues, or else that all his colleagues had quarrelled with the
Prime Minister. Mr. Slide did not care which it might be, but,
whichever it might be, the poor country had to suffer when such a

THE END OF THE SESSION.

446

state of thiiif^B was permitted. It was notoriouH that neither the
Duke of St. Bungay nor Lord Druminond would now oven 8))eak
to their own chief, so thoroughly were they disgusted with his oon-
duot. Indeed it seemed that the only ally the Prime Minister had
in his own Cabinet was the Irish adyenturer, Mr. Phineas Finn.
Lord Earlybird never read a word of all this, and was altogether
undisturbed as he sat in his chair in Exeter Hall, — or just at this
time of the year more frequently in the provinces. But the Duke
of Omnium read it all. After what had passed he did not dare to
show it to his brother Duke. He did not dare to tell his friend
that it was said in the newspapers that they did not speak to each
other. But every word from Mr. Slide's pen settled on his own
memory, and added to his torments. It came to be a fixed idea in
the DuWs mind that Mr. Slide was a gadfly sent to the earth for
the express purpose of worrying him.

And as a matter of course the Prime Minister in his own mind
blamed himself for what he had done. It is the chief torment of a
person constituted as he was that strong as may be the determi-
nation to do a thing, fixed as may be the conviction that that thing
ought to be done, no sooner has it been perfected than the objections
of others, which before had been inefficacious, become suddenly
endowed with truth and force. He did not like bein^ told by Mr.
Slide that he ought not to have set his Cabinet against him, but
when he had in fact done so, then he believed what Mr. Slide
told him. As soon almost as the irrevocable letter had been winged
on its way to Lord Earlybird, he saw the absurdity of sending it.
Who was he that he should venture to set aside all the traditions
of office ? A Pitt or a Peel or a Palmerston might have done so,
because they had been abnormally strong. They had been Prime
Ministers by the work of their own hands, holding their powers
against the whole Trorld. But he, — he told himself daily that he
was only there by sufferance, because at the moment no one else
could be found to take it. In such a condition should he not haye
been bound by the traditions of office, bound by the advice of one
so experienced and so true as the Dxike of St. Bungay P And for
whom had he broken through these traditions and tilrown away
this advice P For a man who had no power whatever to help him
or any other Minister of the Crown ; — lor one whose every pursuit
in life was at variance with the acquisition of such honours as that
now thrust upon him ! He could see his own obstinacy, and could
even hate the pretentious love of virtue which he had himself
displayed.

" Have you seen Lord Earlybird with his ribbon ? " his wife said
to him.

" I do not know Lord Earlybird by sight," he replied angrily.

" Nor any one else either. But he would have come and shown
himself to you, if he had had a spark of gratitude in his composition.
As far as I can learn you have sacrificed the Ministry for his sake."

*' I did my duty as best I knew how to do it," iaid the Duke,

ft ,ftl.

446

THE PRIMR MINISTER.

almost with forooity, " aud it littlo booomos you to taunt me with
any defioienoy."

"Plantageuet!"

" I am driven," ho said, " almost beyond myself, and it kills me
when you take poii; against me."

" Take part against you I ISurely there was very little in what I
said." And yet, as she spoke, she repented bitterly that she had
at the moment allowed herself to relapse into the sort of badinage
whioh had been usual with her before she had understood the
extent of his sufferings. " If I trouble you by what I say, I will
certainly hold my tongue."

" Don't repeat to me what that man says in the newspaper."

"Tou shouldn't rogard the man, Plantagenot. You snouldn't
allow the paper to come into your hands."

" Am I to be afraid of seeing what men say of me ? Never !
But you need not repeat it, at any rate if it be false." She had not
seen the article in question or she certainly would not have re-
peated the accusation which it contained. "I have quarrelled
with no colleague. If such a one as Lord Drummond chooses to
think himself injured, am I to stoop to him P Nothing strikes
me so much in all this as the ill-nature of the world at large.
When they used to bait a bear tied to a stake, every one around
woidd clieer tiie dogs and help to torment the helpless animal.
It is much the same now, only they have a man instead of a bear
for their pleasure."

" I will never help the dogs again," she said, coming up to him
and clinging within the embrace of his arm.

He knew that he had been Quixotic, and he would sit in his
chair repeating the word to himself aloud, till he himself began to
fear tihat he would do it in company. But the thing had been
done and could -not be undone. He had had the bestowal of one
Garter, and he had given it to Lord Earlybird I It was,— he told
himself, but not correctl^r,— the only thing that he had done on his
own undivided responsibility since he had been Prime Minister.

The last days of July had passed, and it had been at la( t decided
that the Session should close on the 11th of August. Now the
Uti^ of August was thought to be a great deal too near tlie 12^h to
allow of such an arrangement being considered satisfactory, i^
great many members were very angry at the arrangement. It had
been said all through June and into July that it was to be an early
Session, and yet^hmgs had been so mismanaged that when the end
came everything could not be finishBd without keeping members
of Parliament in town up to the 11th of August ! In the memory
of present legislators there had never been anything so awk-
ward. The fault, if there was a fault, was attributable to Mr.
Monk. In all probability the delay was unavoidable. A minister
cannot control long-winded gentlemen, and when gentlemen are
very long-winded there must be delay. No doubt a strong minister
can exercise some control, and it is certain that long-winded gentle-

THE END OF THE SESSION.

447

men find au unusunl scope for thoir breath when tho reigning
dynasty is weak, in that way Mr. Monk and tho Duko may have
been responsible, but they were blamed as though they, for theii
own special amusement, detained gentlemen in town. Indeed the
gentlemen were not detained. They grumbled and growled and
then fled, — but their grumblings and growlings were heard even
at'ter their departure.

" Well ; — what do you think of it all P " the Duke said one day to
Mr. Monk, at the Treasury, affecting an air of cheery good humour.

** 1 think," said Mr. Monk, " that the country is very prosperous.
I don't know that I ever remember trade to haye been more eyenly
satisfactory."

** Ah, yes. That's yery well for the country, and ought, I sup-
pose, to satisfy us."

" It satisfies me," said Mr. Monk.

" And me, in a way. But if you were walking about in a very

t tight pair of boots, in an agony with your feet, would you be able
'ust then to relish the news that agricultural wages in that parish
tad gone up sixpence a ^reek P "

" I'd take my boots off, and then try," said Mr. Monk.

" That's just what I'm thinking of doing. If I had my boots off
all that prosperity would be so pleasant to me ! But you see you
can't take your boots off in company. And it may be that you
have a walk before you, and that no boots will be worse for your
feet even than tight ones."

" We'll have our boots off soon, Duke," said Mr. Monk, speak-
ing of the recess.

" And when shall we be quit of them altogether P Joking apart,
they have to be worn if the country requires it."

♦• Certainly, Duke."

" And it may be that you and I think that upon the whole they
may be worn with advantage, What does the country say to
that ? '»

** The country has never said the reverse. We have not had a
majority against us this Session on an^r Gk>vernment (][uestion."

" But we have had narrowing majorities. What will the House
do as to t^e Lords' amendments on the Bankruptcy Bill P " There
was a bill that had ^ne down from the House of Commons, but
had not ^>riginated with the Gk)vemment. It had, however, been
fostered by Ministers in the House of Lords, and had been sent
back with certain amendments for which the Lord Chancellor had
made himself responsible. It was therefore now almost a Govern-
ment measure. The manipulation of this measure had been one
of the causes of the prolonged sitting of the Houses.

" Gro^ram says they will take the amendments."

*♦ An.i if they don't P"

*' Why then, said Mr. Monk, ** the Lords must take our rejec-
tion."

*' And we shall have been beaten," said the Duke.

448

THE PRIME MINISTER.

:-(\

•' Ulldoubtedl3^*'

" Aud beaten simply because the 11' )ii9e desires to beat us. I am
told that Sir Timothy Beeswax intends to speak and vote against
the amendments."

" What, — Sir Timothy on one side, and Sir Gregory on the
other?"

" So Lord Eamsden tells me," said the Duke. " li it be so what
are we to do."

" Certainly not go out in August,'' said Mr. Monk.

When the time came for the consideration ol the Lords' amend-
ments in the House of Commons, — and it did not come rill the 8tli
of August, — the matter was exactly as the Duke had said. Sir
Gregory Grogram, with a great deal of earnestness, supported the
Lords' amendments, — as he was in honoui bound to do. The
amendment had come from his chief, the Lord Chancellor , and had
indeed been discussed with Sir Gregorj^ boiore it had been proposed.
He was very much in earnest ; — but it was evident trom Sir Gre-

Sory's earnestness that he expected a violent opposition. Imme-
iately after him rose Sir Timothy. Now Sir Timothy was a pre-
tentious man, who assumed to be not only an advocate but a
lawyer. And he assumed also to be a political magnate. He went
into the matter at great length. He began by saying that it was
not a party question. The biU, which he had had the honour of sup-

Eorting before it went from their own House, had been a private
ill. As such it had received a general support from the Govern-
ment. It had been materially altered in the other House under
the auspices of his noble friend on the woolsack, but from those
alterations he was obliged to dissent. Then he said some very
heavy things against the Lord Chancellor, and increased in acerbity
as he described what he called the altered mind of his honourable
and learned friend the Attorney-General. He then made some very
uncomplimentary allusions to the Prime Minister, whom ha accused
of being more than ordinarily reserved with his subordinates. The
speech was manifestly arranged aud delivered with the express view
of damaging the Coalition, of which at the time he himself made
a part. Men observed that things were very much altered when
such a course as that was taken m the House of Commons. But
that was the course taken on this occasion by Sir Timothy Bees-
wax, and was so far taken with success that the Lords' amend-
ments were rejected and the Government was beaten in a thin
House, by a large majority, — composed partly of its own men.
*' What am I to do ? " asked the Prime Minister of the old Duke.

The old Duke's answer was exactly the same as that given by
Mr. Monk. "We cannot resign in August." And then he went
on. " We must wait and see how things go at the beginning of
next Session. The chief question is whether Sir Timothy should
not be asked to resign."

Then the Session was at an end, and they who had been staunch
to the last got out of town as quick as the trains could carry them.

MRS. LOPEZ PREPARES TO MOVE.

449

I. lam
against

on the

80 what

amend-
1 the 8tJi
aid. Sir
)rted the
do. The
, and had
proposed,
air (ire-
Imme-
as a pre-
ite but a
He went
bat it was
ar of Bup-
a private
B Goveru-
use under
com those
BOToe very
a acerbity
.onourable
some very
v9 accused
568. The
[press view
Iself made
[ered when
ons. But
thy Bees-
Is' amend-
in a thin
|own men.
►Id Duke.

given by
In he went
ginning of
ihy should

jn staunch
irry them.

CHAPTER LXVII.

MRS LOPEZ PREPARES TO MOVE.

The Duoheso of Omnium was not the most discreet woman in the
world. That was admitted by her best friends, and was the great
sin alleged against her by her worst enemies. In her desire to say
sharp things, she would say the sharp thing in the wrong place,
and in her wish to be good-natured she was apt to run into
offences. Just as she was about to leave town, which did not take
place for some days after Parliament had risen, she made an indis-
creet proposition to her husband. " Should you mind my asking
Mrs. Lopez down to Matching F We shall only be a very small
party."

Now the very name of Lopez was terrible to the Duke's ears.
Anything which recalled the wretch and that wretched tragedy to
the Duke's mind gave him a stab. The Duchess ought to have
felt that any communication between her husband and even the
man's widow was to be avoided rather than sought. *' Quite out
of the question I " said the Duke, drawing himself up.

«' Why out of the question P"

" There are a thousand reasons. I could not have it.*'

" Then I will say nothing more about it. But there is a romance
there, — something quite touching."

" You don't mean that she has a lover P "

" Well ;— yes."

" And she lost her husband only the other day, — ^lost him in so
terrible a manner ! If that is so certainly I do not wish to see her
again."

" Ah, that is because you don't know the story."

•* I don't wish to know it."

" The man who now wants to marry her knew her long before
Bhe had seen Lopez, and had offered to her ever so many times.
He is a fine fellow, and you know him."

"I had rather not hear any more about it," said the Duke,
walking away.

There was an end to the Duchess's scheme of getting Emily
down to Matching, — a scheme which could hardly have been suc-
cessful even had me Duke not objected to it. But yet the Duchess
would not abandon her project of befriending the widow. She had
injured Lopez. She had liked what she had seen of Mrs. Lopez.
And she was now endeavouring to take Arthur Fletcher by the
hand. She called therefore at Manchester Square on the day before
she started for Matching, and left a card and a note. This was on
the 15th of August, when London was as empty as it ever is. The
streets at the West End were deserted. The houses were shut up.
The very sweepers of the crossings seemed to have gone out of

G9'

450

THE PRIME MINISTER.

town. The public offices were manned by one or twoKinfortunateg
bach, who consoled themselves by reading novels at then* desks.
Half the cab-drivers had gone apparently to the seaside, — or to
bed. The shops were stiU open, but ail the respectable shop-
keepers were either in Switzerland or at their marine villas. The
travelling world had divided itself into Cookites and Hookites ; —
those who escaped trouble under the auspices of Mr. Cook, and
those who boldly combated the extortions of foreign innkeepers and
the Anti-Anglican tendencies of foreign railway officials * on theii'
own hooks.' The Duchess of Omnium was nevertheless in town,
and the Duke might still be seen going in at the back entrance of
the Treasury Chambers every day at eleven o'clock. Mr. Warbur-
ton thought it very hard, for he, too, could shoot grouse ; but he
would have perished rather than have spoken a word.

The Duchess did not ask to see Mrs. Lopez, but left her card and
a note. She had not liked, she said, to leave town without calling,
though she would not seek to be admitted. She hoped that Mrs.
Lopes; was recovering her health, and trusted that on her return
to town she might be allowed to renew her acquaintance. The
note was very simple, and could not be taken as other than friendly.
If she had been simply Mrs. Palliser, and her husband had been a
junior clerk in the Treasury, such a visit would have been a
courtesy ; and it was not less so because it was made by the
Duchess of Omnium and by the wife of the_ Prime Minister. But
yet among all the poor widow's acquaintances she was the only one
who had ventured to call since Lopez had destroyed himself. Mrs.
Boby had been told not to come. Lady Eustace had been sternly
rejected. Even old Mrs. Fletcher when she had been up in town
had, after a very solemn meeting with Mr. Wha/ton, contented
herself with sending her love. Tt had come to pass that the idea
of being immured was growing to be natural to Emily herself.
The longer that it was continued the more did it seem to be impos-
sible to ner that she should break from her seclusion. But yet she
was gratified by the note from the Duchess.

" She means to be civil, papa."

** Oh yes ; — ^but there are people whose civility I don't want."

"Certainly. I did not want the civility of that horrid Lady
Eustace. But I can understand this. She thinks that she did
Ferdinand an injury."

*• When you begin, my dear, — and I hope it will be soon,— to
get back to the world, you will find it more comfortable, I think,
to find yourself among your own people."

•* I don't want to go Dack," she said, sobbing bitterly.

' ' But I want you to go back. All vho know you want you to
go back. Only don't begin at that end."

'• You don't suppose, papa, that I wish to go to the Duchess ?"

** 1 wish you t( go somewhere. It can't be good for you to
remain here. Indeed I shall think it wicked, or at any rat« weak,
if you continue to seclude yoursell"."

ev«i

cau(

to]

all

eithi

totd

did
him
131

MRS. LOPEZ PREPARES TO MOVE.

451

rtunates
jr desks.
), — or to
)le shop-
las. The
okites ;—
3ook, and
epcrs and

« on their
1 in town,
atrance of

"Warbur-
e ; but he

ir card and
ut calling,
I that Mrs.
her return
inoe. The
in friendly,
bad been a
ave been a
ade by the
lister. But
ihe only one
Qself. Mrs.
)een eternly
up in town
contented
uat the idea
fiily herself,
tobeimpos-
But yet she

j't want."
^orrid Lady
biat she did

I be soon,— to
ble, I think,

] want you to

, 'Duchess ?"
,d for you to
ay rat« weak,

" Where ahall I go ?" she said implorirgly.
" To Wharlon. I certainly think you ought to go there fir^t."
"If you would go, papa, and leave me here,— just this once.
Next year I will go, — if they ask me."

" When I may be dead, for aught that any of us know."
** Do not say that, papa. Of course any one may die."
*' I certainly shall not go without you. You may take that as
certain. Is it likely tl^at I should leave you alone in August and
September in this great gloomy house ? If you stay, I shall stay."
Now this meant a great deal more than it had meant in former
years. Since Lopez had died Mr. Wharton had not once dined at
the Eldon. He came home regularly at six o'clock, sat with his
daughter an hour before dinner, and then remained with her all
the evening. It seemed as though he were determined to force her
out of her solitude by her natural consideration for him. She
would implore him to go to his club and have his rubber, but he
would never give way. No ; — he didn't care for the Eldon, and
disliked whist. So he said. Till at last he spoke more plainly.
*• You are dull enough here all day, and I will not leave you in
the eveuiugs." There was a pertinacious tenderness in this which
she had not expected from tho antecedents of his life. When,
therefore, he told her that he would not go into the country with-
out her, she felt herself almost constrained to yield.

And she would have yielded at once but for one fear. How coiild
she insure to herself that Arthur Fletcher should not be there P Of
course he would be at Longbams, and how could she prevent his
coming over from Longbarns to Wharton ? She could hardly bi ing
herself to ask the question of her father. But she felt an insuper-
able objection to finding herself in Arthur's presence. Of course
she loved him. Of course in all the world he was of all the dearest
to her. Of course if she could wipe out the past as with a wet
towel, if she could put the crape off her mind as well as from
her limbs, she would become his wife with the greatest joy. But
the very feeling that she loved him was disgraceful to her in her
own thoughts. She had allowed his caress while Lopez was still
her husband, — the husband who had ill-used her and betrayed her,
who had sought to drag her down to his own depth of baseness.
But now she could not endure to think that that other man should
ev**n touch her. It was forbidden to her, she believed, by all the
canons of womanhood even to think of love again. There ought
to be nothing left for her but crape and weepers. She had done it
all by her own obstinacy, and she could make no compensation
either to her family, or to the world, or to her own feelings, but
by drinking the cup of her misery down to ihe very dregs. Even
to think of joy would in her be a treason. On that occasion she
did not yield to her father, conquering him as she had conquered
him before by the pleading of her lo.jlts rather than of her words.

But a day or two nfferwards he came to her witVi arjj;umout8 of
a very different kind, llo at any rate must go to Wharton imme-

■V^*

i i

452

THE PRIME MINISTER.

♦ilatoly, in reference to a letter cf vital importance wh^-'. he bad
received from Sir Alured. The reader may perhaps remember that
Sir Alured's heir — the heir to the title and property — was a nephew
tbr whom he entertained no aflfection whatever. This Wharton
had been discarded by all the Whartons as a profligate drunkard.
Some years ago Sir Alured had endeavoured to reclaim the man,
and had spent perhaps more money than he had been justified in
doing in the endeavour, seeing that, as prest)nt occupier of the pro-
)erty, he was bound to provide for his own daughters, and that at
lis death every acre must go to this ne'er-do-well. The money had
)een allowed to flow like water for a irwelvemonth, and had done no
good whatever. There had then been no hope. The man was
strong and likely to Uve, — and after a while married a wife, some
woman that he took from the very streets. This had been his last
known achievement, and from that moment not even had his
name been mentioned at Wharton. Now there came the tidings of
hi& death. It was said that he had perished in some attempt to
cross some glaciers in Switzerland ; — but by degrees it appeared
that the glacier itself had been less dangerous than the brandy
which he had swallowed whilst on his joiu-ney. At any ru,tii he
was dead. As to that Sir Alured's letter was certain. AniS he
was equally certain that he had le/t no son.

These tidings were quite as important to Mr. Wharton as to Sir
Alured, — more important to Everett Wharton than to either of
them, as he would inherit all after the death of those two old men.
At this moment he was away yachting with a friend, and e , on his
address was unknown. Letters for him were to be seut to Oban,
and might, or might not, reach him in the course of a month. But
in a man of Sir Alured's feelings, this catastrophe produced a great
change. The heir to 1 > title and ,4. jrty was one whom he was
bound to regard with afl'ection and 1*' lost with reverence, — if it
were only possible for him to do so. With his late heir it had been
impossible. But Everett Wharton he had always liked. Everett
had not been quite all that his father and uncle had wished. But
his faults had been exactly those which would be cured, — or would
almost be made virtues, — by the possession of a title and property.
Distaste for a profession and aptitude for Parliament would become
a young man who was heir not only to the VVharton eetatee, but to
half his father's money.

Sir Alured in his letter exprtjsed.a hope that Everett might be
informed instantly. He would have written himself had he known
Everett's address. But he did know that his elder cousin was in
town, u . '' he besought his elder cousin to come at once, — quite at
once, — to Wharton. Emily, he said, would of course accompany
her father on such au c ocasion. Then there were long letters from
Mar\ Wharton, and ;VOii from Lady Wharton, to Emily. The
■VliiartonB n-ast have been very much moved when Lady Wharton
wald be induced to write & long letter. The Whart/ons were very
Tr;U«.l. T.jvcd. They were in a state of enthxisiasm at theso newa,

CH1!i>

*j#^-X -.,;->":

MK3. LOPE^ I'REPABBB TO MOVE.

453

amounting almost to fory. It seemed as though they thought that
every tenant and labourer on the estate, and every tenant and
labourer's wife, would be in an abnormal condition and imfit
for the duties of life, till they should have seen Everett as heir of
the property. Lady Wharton went so far as to tell Emily which
bedroom was being prepared for Everett, — a bedroom very different
in honour from any by the occupation of which he had as yet
been graced. And there were twenty points as to new wills and
new deeds as to which the present baronet wanted the immediate
advice of his cousin. There were a score of things which could
now be done which were before impossible. Trees could be cut
down, and buildings put up ; and a little bit of land sold, and a
little bit of land Dought; — the doing of aU which would give
new life to Sir Alured. A life interest in an estate is a much
pleasanter thing when the heir is a friend who can be walked
about the property, than when he is an enemy who must be kept
at arm's length. All these delights could now be Sir Alured's, —
if the old heir would give him his counsel and the young one his
assistance.

This change in affairs occasioned some flutter also in Manchester
Square. It could not make much difference personally to old Mr.
Wharton. He was, in fact, as old as the baronet, and did not pay
much regard to his own chance of succession. But the position was
one which would suit his son admirably, and he was now on good
teims with his son. He had convinced himself that Lopez had
done all that he could to separate them, and therefore found him-
self to be more bound to his son than ever. '* We must go at once "
he said to his daughter, speaking almost as though he had forgo ttc
her misery for the moment.

*' I suppose you and Everett ought to be there."

" Heav9n knows where Everett is. I ought to be there, and 1
suppose that on such an occasion as this you will condescend to go
with me."

'* Oondedeend, papa ; — what does that mean P "

'■* You know I cannot go alone. It is out of the question that I
should leave y.ou here."

"Why, papa?"

"And at such a time the family ought to come together. Of
coursa they will take it verj much amiss if you refuse. What will
Lady Wharton think if you refuse after her writing such a letter
as that ? It is my duty to tell you that you ought to go. You
cannot think that it is right to throw over every friend that you
have in the world."

There was a great deal more said in which it almost seemed that
the father's tenderness had been worn out. His ^ordswere much
rougher and more imperious than any that he had yet spoken since
his daughter liad become a widow, but they were also more effica-
cious, and therefore probably more salutary. Aftei- 1 woiity-four hours
of this she found that she was obliged to yield, and a telegram was

■K-* ■ vJ

^^' , ,

silftSii

.r !

' ' ' 1

rr^¥'

hi%,.

454

THE PRIME MINISTER.

•f. • t

Bent to Wharton, — ^by no means the first telegram that had been
sent since the news had arrived, — saying that Emily would accom-
pany her father. They were to occupy themselves for two days
mrtner in preparations for their journey.

These preparations to Emily were so sad as almost to break her
heart. She had never as yet packed up her widow's weeds. She
had never as yet even contemplated the necessity of coming down
to dinner in thorn before other eyes than those of her father and
brother. She had as yet made none of those struggles with which
widows seek to lessen the deformity of their costume. It was in-
cumbent on her now to get a ribbon or two less ghastly than those
weepers which had, for the last five months, hung about her face
and shoulders. And then how should she look if he were to be
there ? It was not to be expected that the Whartons should seclude
themselves because of her grief. This very change in the circum-
stances of the property would be sure, of itself, to bring the
Fletchers to Wharton, — and then how should she look at him, how
answer him if he spoke to her tenderly ? It is very hard for a
woman to tell a lie to a man when she loves him. She may speak
the words. She may be able to assure him that he is indifferent to
her. But v^hen a woman really loves a man, as she loved this man,
there is a desire to touch him which quivers at her fineers'-ends, a
longing t; look at him which she cam ->t keep out of her eyes, an
inofination tc be near him which affects every motion of her body.
She cannot refrain herself from excessive attention to his words.
She has a god to worahip, and she cannot control her admiration.
Of all this Emily herself felt much, — but felt at the same time
that she 'vould never pardon herself if she betrayed her love by a
gleam of her eye by the tone of a word, or the movement of a finger.
What, — should she be known to love again after such a mistake
as hers, afroi- such a catastrophe ?

The evening before they started who should bustle into the house
but Everett hioiself. It was then about six o'clock, and he was

?;oing to leu re London by the night mail. That he should be a
ittle givf 1 to bustle on such an occasion may perhaps be forgiven
him. Ih. had uenrd the news down on the Scotch coast, and had
flown up to TiDudoi, telegraphing as he did so backwards and for-
wards t<^ Wharton. Of course ho felt that the destruction of his
cousin among i&e {<iaciers, — whether by brandy or ice he did not
much care,— liad m-de him for the nonce one of the important
people of the world. Tho young man who would not so feel might
be the bettor philosopher, but one might doubt whether he would
bo tba better young man. lie quite agreed with his father that it
war his sister's duty to go to Wharton, and he was now in a posi-
tion to speak with authority as to the duties of members of his
family. lie could uct wait, even for one night, in order that he
might travel with them. Sir Alured was impatient. Sir Alured
wanted him in Hevefordshire. Sir Alured had said that on such an
occaaiou he, the heir, ought to be on the property with the shortest

THE PRIME MINISTER S POLITICAL CREED.

455

possible delay. His father smiled ; — but with an approyinff smile.
Everett therefore started by the night mail, leaving his father and
sister to follow him on the morrow.

6.1

CHAPTER LXVIIT,

THE PRIME minister's POLITICAL CREED.

The Duke, before he went to Matching, twice reminded Phineas
Finn that he was expected there in a day or two. " The Duchess
says that your wife is coming to-morrow," the Duke said on the
day of his departure. But Phmeas could not go then. His services
to his country were required among the dockyards and ships, and
he postponed his visit till the end of September. Then he started
for Matching, having the double pleasure before him of meeting
his wife and his noble host and hostess. He found a small party
there, but not so small as the Duchess had once sug^sted to him.
** Your wife will be there, of course, Mr. Finn. She is too good to
desert me in my troubles. And there will probably be Lady Eosina
De Oourcy. Lady Eosina is to the Duke what your wife is to me.
I don't suppose there will be anybody else, — except, perhaps, Mr.
Warburton." But Lady Eosina was not there. In place of Ladv
Eosina there were the Duke and Duchess of St. Bungay, with
their daughters, two or three Palliser offshoots, with their wives,
and Barrington Erie. There were, too, the Bishop of the diocese
with his wife, and three or four others, coming and going, so that
the party never seemed to be too small. •* We asked Mr. Rattler,"
said the Duchess in a whisper to Phineas, " but he declined, with
a string of florid compliments. When Mr. Rattler won't come to
the Prime Minister's house, you may depend that something is
going to happen. It is like pigs carrying straws in their mouths.
Mr. Rattler is my pig." Phineas only laughed and said that he
did not believe Rattler to be a better pig than any ona else.

It was soon apparent to Phineas that the Duke's manner to him
was entirely altered, so much so that he was compelled to acknow-
ledge to himself that he had not hitherto read the Duke's character
aright. Hitherto he had never found the Duke pleasant in conver-
sation. Looking back he could hardly remember that he had in
truth ever conversed with the Duke. The man had seemed to shut
himself up as soon as he had uttered certain words which the cir-
cumstances of the moment had demanded. Whether it was arro-
gance or shyness Phineas had not known. His wife had said that
the Duke was shy. Had he been arrogant the effect would have
been tho .same. He was unbending, hard, and lucid only when
he spoke on some detail of business, or on some point of policy.

nii

!^'j '

:ll

466

THE PRIME MINISTER.

But now he smiled, and though hesitating a little at first, very
soon fell into the ways of a pleasant country host. " You shoot,
said the Duke. Phineas did shoot but cared very little about it.
" But you hunt." Phineas was very fond of riding to hounds. ** I
am beginning to think," said the Duke, ' ' that I have made a mistake
in not caring for such things. When I was very young I gave
them up, because it appeared that other men devoted too much
time to them. One might as well not eat because some men are
gluttons."

•* Only that you would die if you did not eat."

" Bread, I suppose, would keep me alive, but still one eats meat
without being a glutton. I very often regret the want of amuse-
ments, and particularly of those which would throw me more among
my fellow-creatures. A man is alone when reading, alone when
writing, alone when thinking. Even sitting in Parliament he is
very much alone, though there be a crowd around him. Now a
man can hardly be thoroughly useful unless he knows his fellow-
men, and how is he to know them if he shuts himself up ? If I
had to begin again I think I would cultivate the amusements of
the time.

Not long after this the Duke asked him whether he was going to
join the shooting men (fn. that morning. Phineas declared that his
hands were too full of business for any amusement before lunch.
" Then," said the Duke, " will you walk with me in the afternoon ?
There is nothing I really like so much an a walk. There are some
very pretty points where the river skirts the park. And I will
show you the spot on which Sir Guy de Pallieer performed the
feat fov which the king gave him this property. It was a grand
time when a man could get half- a- dozen parishes because he tickled
the king's fancy."

'* But suppose he didn't tickle the king's fancy P"

** Ah, then indeed, it might go otherwise with him. But I am
glad to say that Sir Guy was an accomplished courtier."

The walk was taken, and the pretty bends of the river were
seen ; but they were looked at without much earnestness, and Sir
Guy's great deed was not again mentioned. The conversation went
away to other matters. Of course it was not long before the Prime
Minister was deep in discussing the probabilities of the next Session.
It was soon apparent to Phineas that the Duke was no longer
desirous of resigning, though he spoke very freely of the probable
necessity there might be for him to do so. At the present moment
he was in his best humour. His feet were on his own property.
He could see the prosperity around him. The spot was the one
which he loved best in all the world. He liked his present com-
panion, who was one to whom he was entitled to speak with free-
dom. But there was still present to him the sense of some injury
from which he could not free himself. Of course he did not know
that he had been haughty to Sir Orlando, to Sir Timothy, and
others. But he did kno«7 that he had intended to be true, and he

us,

atnuse-

THE PRIME MINISTER S POLITICAL CREED.

467

thought that they had been treacherous. Twelve months ago there
had been a goal before him which he might attain, a winning-post
which was still within his reach. There was in store for him the
tranquillity of retiAemont which he would enjoy as soon as a sense
of duty would permit him to seize it. But now the prospect of that
happiness had gradually vanished from him. That retirement was
no longer a winning-post for him. The poison of place and power
and dignity had got into his blood. As he looked forward he feared
rather than sighud for retirement. " You think it will go against
us," he said.

Phineas did think so. There was hardly a man high up in the
party who did not think so. When one branch of a Coalition has
gradually dropped oflF, the other branch will hardly flourish long.
And then the tints of a political Coalition are so neutral and uu-
alluring that men will only endure them when they feel that no
more pronounced colours are within their reach. "After all,"
said Phineas, " the innings has not been a bad one. It has been
of service to the country, and has lasted longer than most men
expected."

" If it has been of service to the country, that is everything. It
should at least be everything. With the statesman to whom it is
not everjrthing tliere must De something wrong." The Duke, as
he said this, was preaching to himself. He was telling himself
that, though he saw the better way, he was allowing himself to
walk on in that which was worse. For it was not only Phineas who
could see the change, — or the old Duke, or the Duchess. It was
apparent to the man himself, though he could not prevent it. "I
sometimes think," he said, "that we whom chance has led to be
meddlers in the game of politics sometimes give 'ourselves hardly
time enough to tnink what we are about."

" A man may have to work so hard," said Phineas, " that he
has no time for thinking."

" Or more probably, may be so eager in party conflict that he
will hardly keep his mind cool enough for thought. It seems to
me that many men, — men whom you and I know, — embrace the
profession of politics not only without political convictions, but
without seeing that it is proper that they should entertain them.
Chance brings a young man under the guidance of this or that
elder man. He has come of a Whig family, as was my case, — or
from some old Tory stock ; and loyalty keeps him true to the
interests which have first pushed him forward into the world.
There is no conviction there."

" Convictions grow."

" Yes; — the conviction that it is the man's duty to be a staunch
Liberal, but not tho reason why. Or a man sees his opening on
this side or on that, — as is the case with the lawyers. Or he has
a body of men at his back ready to support him on this side or on
that, as we see with commercial men. Or perhaps he has some
vague idea that aristocracy is pleasant, and he becomes a Couser-

ill

458

THE PRIME MINISTER,

1^ il

4 ,

yative, — or that democracy is prospering, and he becomes a Liberal.
You are a Liberal, Mr. Fmn.

" Certainly, Duke."

"Why?"

•'Well ;— after what you have said I will not boast of myself.
Experience, however, seems to show me that liberalism is demetnded
by the country."

** So, perhaps, at certain epochs, may the Devil and all his works ;
but you will hardly say that you will carry the Devil's colours
because the country may like the Devil. It is not suiHcient, 1
think, to say that liberalism is demanded. Tou should first know
what liberalism means, and then assure yourself that the thing
itself is good. I dare say you have done so ; but I see some who
never make the inquiry."

" I will not claim to be better than my neighbours, — I mean my
real neighbours."

*' 1 understand ; I understand," said the Duke laughing. " You
prefer some good Samaritan on the opposition benches to Sir
Timothy and the Pharisees. It is hard to come wounded out of
the fight, and then to see him who should be your ftiend not only
walking by on the other side, but flinging a stone at you as ho
goes. But I did not mean just now to allude to the details of recent
misfortunes, though there is no one to whom I could do so more
openly than to you. I was trying yesterday to explain to myself
why I have, all my life, sat on what is called the 'liberal side of the
House to which I have belonged."

•• Did you succeed ?"

"I began life. with the misfortune of a ready-made political
creed. There was a seat in the House for me when I was twenty-
one. Nobody took the trouble to ask me my opinions. It was a
matter of course that I should be a Liberal. My uncle, whom
nothing could ever induce to move in politics himself, took it for
granted that I should run straight, — as he would have said. It
was a tradition of the family, and was as inseparable from it as
any of the titles which he had inherited. The property might be
sold or squandered, — but the political creed was fixed as adamant.
I don't know that I .ever had a wish to rebel, but I think that I
took it at first very much as a matter of course."

" A man seldom in(]^uires very deeply at twenty-one."

*' And if he does it is ten to one but he comes to a wrong con-
clusion. But since then I have satisfied myself that chance put me
into the right course. It has b'jen, I dare say, the same with you
as with mo. We both went ir office early, and the anxiety to do
special duties well probably d 'ired us both from thinking much
of the great question. When a. /nan has to be on the alert to keep
Ireland quiet, or to prevent peculation in the dockyards, or to raise
the revenue while he lowers the taxes, he feels himself to be p "'ed
from the necessity of investigating principles. In this way I si (>-
times think that ministers, or they who have been ministers i id

THE PRIME MINIHTER 8 POLITICAL CRKBD.

459

who have to watoh ministers from the Opposition benches, have
less opportuiiity of becoming real politicians than the men who sit
in Parliament with empty hands and with time at their own dis-
posal. But when a man nas been placed by circumstances as I am
now, he does begin to think."

•' And yet you have not empty hands."

"They are not so full, perhaps, as you think. At any rate I
cannot content myself with a single branch of the public service as
I used to do in old days. Do not suppose that I claim tu have
made any grand political invention, but I think that I have at least
labelled my own thoughts. I suppose what we all desire is to tbi-
prove the condition of the people by whom we are employed, and
to advance our country, or at any rate to save it from retrogression."

" That of course."

*' So much is of course. I give credit to my opponents in Par-
liament for that desire quite as readily as I do to uiy colleagues
or to myself. The idea that political virtue is all on one side
is both mischievous and absurd. We allow ourselves to talk in
that way because indignation, scorn, and sometimes, I fear, vitupe-
ration, are the fuel with which the necessary heat of debate is
maintfiined."

" There are some men who are very fond of poking the fire," said
Fhineas.

•* Well ; I won't name any one at present," said the Duke, " but I
have seen gentlemen of your country very handy with the pokers."
Phineas laughed, knowing that he had been considered by some to
have been a little violent when defending the Duke. " But we ^ut
all that aside when we really think, and can give the Conservative
credit for philanthropy and patriotism as readily as the Liberal.
The Conservative who has had any idea of the meaning of the name
which he carries, wishes, I suppose, to maintain the differences and
the distances which separate the highly placed from their lower
brethren. He thinks that God has divided the world as he finds it
divided, and that he may best do his duty by making the inferior
man happy and contented in his position, teaching him that the
place which he holds is his by God's ordinance."

" And it is so."

" Hardly in the sense that I mean. But that is the great con-
servative lesson. That lesson seems to me to be hardly compatible
with continual improvement in the condition of the lower man. But
with the Conservative all such improvement is to be based on the
idea of the maintenance of those distances. I as a duke am to be
kept as far apart from the man who drives my horses as was my
ancestor from the man who drove his, or who rode after him to
the wars, — and that is to go on for ever. There is much to be said
for such a scheme. Let the lords be, all of them, men with loving
hearts, and clear intellect, and noble instincts, and it is possible that
they should use their powers so beneficently as to spread happiness
over the earth. It is one of the millenniums which the mind of

'^1

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Corporation

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WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) •72.4S03

4?^V

460

THE PBIKE MINISTER.

man can oonoeive, and seems to be that which the OouseryatiTe
mind does conceive."

<« But the other men who aze not lords don't want that kind ot
happiness."

" If such happiness were attainable it misht be well to constrain
men to accept it. But the lords of this world are fallible men ; and
though as units they ought to be and perhaps are better than those
others who have fewer advantages, they are much more likely as
units to go astray in opinion than the bodies of men whom tiiey
would seek to govern. We know that power does corrupt, and
thaf we cannot trust kings to have loving hearts, and clear intel-
lects, and noble instincts. Men as they come to think about it and
to look forward, and to look back, will not believe in such a mil-
lennium as that."

** Do they believe in any millennium P"

" I think they do after a fashion, and I think that I do mjrself.
That is my idea of Conservatism. The doctrine of Liberalism is, of
course, ttie reverse. The Liberal, if he have any fixed idea at all,
must I think have conceived the idea of lessening distances, — of
bringing the coachman and the duke neaier together, — ^nearer and
nearer, till a millennium shall be reached hy **

y By equality P" asked Phineas, eagerlv mterruptin^ the Prime
Minister, and snowing his dissent by me tone of his voice.

'* I did not use the word, which is open to many olg'ections. In
the first place the millennium, whidi I have pcxrhaps rashly
named, is so distant that we need not even think of it as possible.
Men's intellects are at present so various that we cannot even
realise tiie idea of equality, and here in Bngland we have been
taujg;ht to hate the word by the evil effects of those absurd attempts
which have been made elsewhere to proclaim it as a fact accom-

Cihed by the scratch of a pen or by a chisel on a stone. We have
n injured in that, because a good word signifying a grand idea
has been driven out of the vocabulary of good men. EqiuQity would
be a heaven, if we could attain it. How can we to whom so much
has been given dare to think otherwise f How can you look at
the bowed back and bent legs and abject fisoe of that poor plough-
man, who winter and summer has to drag his rheumatic mnbs to
his work, while you go a hunting or sit in pride of place among the
foremost few of your country, and say that it all is as it ought to
be P Touare a Liberal because you Imow that it is not all as it
ought to be, and because you would still march on to some nearer
approach to equality ; though Ihe thing itself is so great, so glorious,
so godlike, — ^nay so absolutely divine, — ^that you have been dis-
gusted by the'very promise of it, because its perfection is unattain-
able. Men have asserted a mock equality tUl the vory idea of
equality stinks in men's nostrils."

The Duke in his enthusiasm had thrown off his hat, and was
sitting on a wooden seat which they had reached, looking up among
the clouds. His left hand was clenched, and f^m tune to time

THE PRIME MINISTER 8 POLITICAL CREED.

461

eryatiTe

^Idndot

onBtrain
len; and
Lftn those
likely as
iom tiiey
upt, and
»ar intel-
lut it and
ch amil-

myself,
lism is, of
lea at all,
uioes, — of
learer and

the Prime

itions. In
,pB nushly
9 possible,
inot even
laye been

1 attempts
bot aocom-

We have

id idea

ity would
X so much
ju look at
bt plough-
10 umbs to
,,_iong the
it oTight to
it all as it
»me nearer
. glorious,
been dis-
unattain-
idea of

|t, and was

I up among
10 to time

with his left he rubbed the thin hairs on his brow. He had begun
in a low voice, with a somewhat sUpshod enunciation of his words,
but had gradually become clear, resonant, and even eloquent.
Fhineas kaew that there were ertoriee told of certain bursts of
words which had come from him in former days in the House of
Commons. These had oooasionaUy surprised men and induced
them to declare that Planty Pall, — as he was then often called, —
was a dark horse. But they had been few and far between, and
Fhineas had nerer heard them. Now he gazed at his companion
in silence, wondering whether the speaker would go on with his
speech. But the face changed on a sudden, and tiie Duke with an
awkward motion snatched up his hat. " I hope you ain't coid,"
he said. . > i ,i,-. ,^

" Not at aU," said Fhineas.

" I came here because of that bend of the river. I am always
ver^ fond of that bend. We don't go oyer the hyer. That is Mi.
Upjohn's property."

*' The member for the county P "

" Yes; and a very good member he is too, though he doesn't
support U8;-*-aa old-school Tory, but a great friend of my undo,
who after all had a good deal of the Torv about him. I wonder
whether he is at home. I must remind the Duchess to ask him to
dinner. Tou know him of course.'

** Only by just seeing him in the House."

" You'd like him venr much. When in the country he always
wears knee breecdies and gaiters, which I think a very comfortable
dress "

" Troublesome, Duke; isn't itP"

"I never tried it, and I shouldn't dare now. Gk)odiMss, me;
it's past five o'clock, and we've got two miles to get home. I
haven't looked at a letter, and Warburtcm will think tiwt I've
thrown myself into the river beouuse of Sir Timothy Beeswax."
Then tiiey started to go home at a faab pace.

" I shan't forset, Duke," said Fhineai, **
Oonseryatiyes and Liberals."

" I don't think I ventured on a definition ;— only a few loose
ideas whidh had been troubling me lately. I say, Finn I "

♦•Your Grace P"

" Don't you go and tell Bamsden and Drummond that I have
beon preaohing equality, or we shall have a pretty mess. I don't
know that it would serve me with my dear friend, the Duke."

" I will be discretion itself."

" Equality is a dream. But sometimes one likes to dream, —
especially as there is no danger that Matching will fly fix>m me in
a dream. I doubt whether I could bear the test that has been
attempted in other ooontries."

" Tnat poor ploughman would hardly get his share, Duke."

*' No ;— that 8 wMre it is. We can only do a little and a little to
bring it nearer to xu ;— flo little that it won't touch liatehing in

your definition of

462

THE PBIMB MINISTBB.

•.>t

our day. Here is her ladyriiip and the ponies. I don't think her
ladyship would like to lose her ponies by my doctrine."

The two wiyes oi the two men were in the nony carriage, and
the little Lady Glenoora, the Duchess's eldest daughter, was sit-
ting between them. ** Mr. Warburton has sent three messengers
to demand your presence," said the Duchess, " and, as I Uys by
bread, I belieTe that you and Mr. Finn have been amusing
yourselves I *'
!,>7<' We haye been talking politics," said the Duke.

" Of course. What other amusement was possible P But what
business have vou to indulge in idle talk when Mr. Warburton
wants you in the library ? There has come a box," she said, " big
enough to contain the resignations of all the traitors of the party."
Tlfis was strong language, and the Duke firowned ; — but tliere was
no one there to hear it but Phineas Finn and his wiib, and they, at
least, were truatworthy. The Duke suggested that he had better
get back to the house as soon as possible. There might be some-
Uiing to be done requiring time oefore dinner. Mr. Warburton
might, at any rate, want to smoke a tranquil cigar after his day's
work. The Duchess therefore left (he carriage, as did Mrs. Finn,
and the Duke undertook to driye the little girl back to the house.
« He'll surely go against a tree," said the Duchess. But, — as a
fact, — the Duke did take himself amd tiie ohild home in safety.

" And what do you thii^ about it, Mr. Finn P" said her Ghrace.
« I suppose you and the Duke have been settling what is to be
done."

" We haye certainly settled nothing."

" Then you must luive disagreed."

" That we as certainly havt not done. We haye in truth not
once been out of doud-land."

" Ah; — then there is no hope. When once grown-up politicians
get into doud-land it Ib because the realities of the world haye no
longer any charms for them."

The big box did not contain the resiipations of any of the objec-
tionable members of the Coalition, llunisters do not often resign
in September,— nor would it be expedient that they should do so.
Lord Drummond and Sir Timothy were safe, at any rate, till next
February, and might Uye without any show either of obedience or
mutiny. The DuiEe remained in oomparatiye quiet at Matching.
There was not yery much to do, except to prepare the work for the
next Session. The great woH: of tko coming yoar was to be the
assimilation, or something yery near to the assimilation, of the
county suffi;4ges with those of the boroughs. The measure was
one wnioh hM now been promised by statesmen for the last two
years, — promised at first with that hau promise which would mean
nothing, were it not that such promises always lead to more defined
assurances. The Duke of St. Bungay, Lord Drummond, and other
Ministers had wished to stave it o& Mr. Monk was eager for its
adoption, and was of course supported by Phineas Finn. The

11:

MBS. PABKEB 8 FATE.

468

Prime Minister had at first been inclined to be led by the old Dnke.
There was no doubt to him but that the measure was desirable aud
would oome, but there might well be a queetion as to the time at
which it should be made to come. The old Duke knew that the
measure would come,— but belieying it to be wholly undesirable,
thought that he was doing good wo» in postponing it from year
to year. But Mr. Monk had become urgent, and the old Duke had
admitted the necessity. There must surely have been a shade of
melancholy oa that old man's mind as, year after year, he assisted
in pulling down institutions which he in truth regarded as the safe-
guards ox the nation ;— but which he knew that, as a Liberal, he
was bound to assist in destroying I It must have occurred to him,
from time to time, that it would be well fbr him to depart and be
at pMce before everything was gone.

When he went firom Matching Mr. Monk took his place, and
Phineas Finn, who had gone up to London for awhile, returned ;
and th«i the three between them, with assistance ttom Mr. War-
burton and others, worked out the proposed scheme of the new
county franchise, with the new divisions and the new constituencies.
But it could hardly have been hearty work, as they all of them felt
that whatever might be their first proposition they would be beat
upon it in a House of Commons which thought that this Axis-
tioes had been long enough at the Treasury.

GHAPTEB LXIX.

cfc-as^

MBS. rABXSE'S VATB.

Lopez had now been dead more than five months, and not a word
had been heard by his widow of Mrs. Parker and her children.
Her own sorrows liad been so great that she had hardly thought of
those of the poor woman who had oome to her but a few days
before her hiuiband's death, telling her of ruin caused by her
husband's treachery. But late on the evening before her departure
for Herefordshire, — ^very shortly after Everett had left the house, —
there was a rinff at the door, and a poorly-dad female asked to see
Mrs.L(^)ea. The poorly-dad female was Sezty Parker's wife. The
servant, who did not remember her, would not leave her alone in
the hall, having an eye to the coats and umbrellas, but called up
one of the maids to carry the mesttige. The poor woman under-
stood the insult and resented it in her heart. But Mrs. Lopez
reoognijEsed the name in a moment, and went down to her in the

Sarlour, leaving Mr. Wharton up-stairs. Mrs. Parker, smarting
rem her present grievance, had bent her mind on complaining a(«
once of the treatment she had received from the servant, but the

464

THE PRIME MINI8TEH.

•li'i-

sight of the widow's weeds quoUed her. Emily had never been
much eiven to tine clothes, either as a girl or as a married woman ;
but it had always been her husband's pleasure that she should be
well dressed, — wough he had never carried his trouble so far as to
pay the bills ; and Mrs. Parker's remembrance of her ftiend at
Doveroourt had been that of a fine lady in bright appajral. Now a
black shade, — something almost like a dark g^host, — glided into the
room, and Mrs. Parker forsot her recent injury. Emilv came
forward and oflfered her haxxd, and was the first to speak. ''I have
had a great sorrow since we met," she said.

" Tes, indeed, Mrs. Lopez. I don't think there is anjrthing left
in the world now except sorrow."

'* I hope Mr. Parker is well. Will you not sit down, Mrs.
Parker?*'

" fDiank vou, ma*am. Indeed, then, he is not well at all. How
should he be well ? Everything. — everything has been taken
away firom him." Poor Emily groaned as she heard this. ** I
wouldn't say a word against them as is gone, Mrs. Lopez, if I could
hrip it I know it is bad to bear when him who once loved you
isn't no more. And perhaps it is all the worse when things didn't

So well with him, and it was, maybe, his own fault. I wouldn't
o it, Mrs. Lopez, if I could help it."

" Let me hear what you have to say," said Emily, determined to
suffer everything patiently.

*' Well ; — it is just this. He has left us that bare that there is
nofhiii{^ left. And that they say isn't the worst of all, — though
what can be worse than domg that, how is a woman to think !
Parker was that soft, and he had that way with him of talking, tha<
he has talked me and mine out Of the very linen on our backs."

** Ml)'(fct do you mean by sapng that tliat is not the worst ? "

" They've come upon Sezty fSor a bill for four hundred and fifty,
— someming to do with that stuff they call Bios, — and Sezt^ sayi
it isn't his name at all. Bat he's been in that state he don't hardly
know how to swear to anything. But he's sure he didn't sign it.
The bill was brought to him by Ix>pez, and there was words between
them, and he wouldn't havQ nothmg to do with it. How is he to
go to law P And it don't make much difference neither, for they
can't take much more from him than they have taken." Emily as
she heard all this sat shivering, trying to repress her groans.
'* Only," continued Mrs. Plarker, ** they hadn't sold the fumiture,
and I was tanking they mightjet me stay in the house, and try to
do with letting lodgiugs, — and now they're seizing everything
along of this bill. Sexty is like a madman, swearing this ana
swearing that ;— but what can he do, Mrs. Lopez P It's as like his
hand as two peas ; but he was clever at everything was, — was,—
you know wno I mean, ma'am." Then Emily covered her face
with her hands and burst into violent tears. She had not deter-
mined whether she did or did not believe this lust accusation made
against her husband. She hod had hardly time to imUm the orimi-

MBS. PARKER 8 FATS.

465

been
mau ;
ad be

u to
ad at
^ow a
to the

came
[baye

igleft

, Mrs.

How

taken
I. ••!
[could
edyou
I didn't
ouldn't

ined to

here is
though
think!
Iff, thai
ks."
tP"
id fifty,
±r aayi
iharmy
sign it>
Mtween
ishe to
or they
Imilyas
groans,
rnituie,
d try to
irythink
hii and
Ukehis

nality of the ofFenoe imputed. But she did believe that the woman
before her bad been ruined by her husband's speculations. " It's
yery bad, miet'am ; isn't it P " said Mrs. Parker crying for company.
' ' It s bad all round. If you had five children as hadn't bread vou d
know how it is that X feel. I've ^t to go back by the 10.15 to-
night, and wnen I've paid for a third class-tioket I shan't have but
twopence left in the world."

lliis utter depth of immediate poverty, this want of bread for the
morrow and the next day, Emuy could relieve out of her own
pocket. And, thinking of this and rememberinff that her purse
was not with her at the moment, she started up with the idea of £^t-
tmg it. But it occurred to her that that would not suffice ; that ner
duty required more of her than that. And yet, by her own power,
she could do no more. From month to month, almost from week to
week, smce her husband's death, her &ther had been called upon to
satisfy claims for money which he would not resist* lest by dmng so
he should add to Her misery. She had felt that she ought to bind
herself to the strictest personal economy because of the miserable
losses to which she had subjected him by her ill-starred marriage.
" What would you wish me to do P " she said, resuming her seat.

"You are nch," said Mrs. Pariier. Emily shoolc her head.
" They say your papa is rich. I thought you would not like to see
me in want like mis."

" Indeed, indeed, it makes me very unhappy."

"Wouldn't your papa do somethinffP It wasn't Sexty's fault
nigh so much as it wai^ his. I wouldirt say it to you if it wasn't
tor starving. I wouldn't Say it to you if it wasn't for the children.

I'd lie in the ditch and die if it was only myself, because

because, I know what your feelings is. But what wouldn't you
do, and what Wouldn't you say, if you had five children at home
as hadn't a loaf of bread among 'em P " Hereupon Emily got up
and left the room, bidding her visitor wait for a few minutes. Pre-
sently the ofiSsnsfve butler came in, who had wronged Mrs. Parker
by watching^his master's coats, and brought a tray with meat and
wine. Mr. Wliarton, said the altered man, hoped that Mrs. Parker
would take a little refreshment, and he would be down himself very
soon. Mrs. Parker, knowing that strength for her journey home
would be necessary to her, remembering that she would have to
walk all through the city to the Bishopsgate Street station, did
take some refreshment, and permitted herself to diink the glass of
sherry that her late enemy had benignantly poured out for ner.

Emily had been nearly half an hour with nw father before Mr.
Wharton's heavy step was heard upon the stairs. And when he
reached the dining-room door he paused a moment before he
ventured to turn the lock. He had not told Emily what he would
do, and had hardly as yet made up his own mind. As every fresh
call was made upon him, his natrea fur the memory of the man who
had stepped in and disturbed his whole life and turned all the
mellow satisfaction of his evening into storm and gloom, was of

466

TMK PRIMK MINIHT2R.

^mh

ooune inoroMed. The sooundirers name wat ao odious to him that
he oonld hardly keep himself firem ahudderin^ visibly belbi e his
daughter eren when the serraats called her by it. But yet he had
detOTmined that he would deyote himself to saye her from ftuther
suffering. It had been her fault, no doubi But she was expiat-
ing it in very sackcloth and ashes, and he would add nothing to Uie
burden on her back. He would pay, and pay, and pav, merely
remembering that what he paid must be deducted from h^ share
of his property. He had never intended to mi^e what is called an
elder son df Everett, and now there was less necessity than ever
that he should do so, as Everett had become an elder son in another
direction. H6 could satisfy almost any demand that mieht be
made without material injury to himself. But these demands, one
after anotilier, scalded him by their frequency, and by the baseness
of the man who had okjeasioned them, ms daughter had now
T^»9ated to him with sobbings and wailings the whole stoiv as it
hML been told to her by the woman down-«tairs. ' * Pftj^*^ she had
said, " I don't know new to tell you or how not." Then he had
encouraged her, and had listened without saying a word. He had
endeavouMd not even to shrink as fhe charge ciiargeiiy was vepeated
to him by his own child, — the wido# of the guilty man. He
endeavoured not to remember at th* moment that she had claimed
this wretch as the chosen one of her maiden heart, in oppotdtionto
all his wishes. It hardly occurred to him to ^dsbeUeve the accusa-
tion. It was so probable ! What was there to hindm the man from
forgery, if he could only make it believ^ that his victim had
signsd the bill when intoxicated F He heard it all ; — ^kissed his
dai^hter, and then went down to the dining-room.

lurs. Parker, when she saw him, got up, and cur^ leyed low, and
then sat down again. Old Wharton looked a;t her from under his
bushy eyebrows before he spoke, and thtti sit opposite to her.
" Madam,*' he said, " this is a very sad storr that I have heard."
Mrs. Parker again rose, again curtseyed^ and put her handkerchief
to her face. *' It is of no use talking any more about it here."

** No, sir," said Mrs. Parker.

" I imd my daughtte leave town early to-morrow morning."

'* Indeed, sir. Mrs. Lopez didn't teU me."

'* My clerk will be in London, at No. 12, Stone Buildings, Lin>
coin's Iun> ^ I come back. Do you think you can find the place ?
I have wntten it there."

" Tm, bet, I fioxL find it," said Mn. Parker, just raising herself
from her chair at every word she spoke.

'* I have written his name, you see. Mr. Grumpy."

♦' Yes, sir."

•• If you will permit me, I will give you two sovereigns now."

"Thank you, sir."

** And if you can make it convenient to caU on Mr. Grumpy
every Thursday morning about 12, he wUl pay you twa sovereigns
a week till I come back to town. Theu I will see about it."

MBS. PARKKB8 FATE.

4tt7

" Ood Almightf bleu you, air I "

" And as to the furniture, I will write to my attorney, lilr.
Walker. Tou need not trouble yourself by going to him."

"No, sir."

" If neoeesary he will send to you* and he will see what can be
done. (>ood night, Mrs. Parker.'* Then he walked across the
room wibhitwo soyereigns whioh he dropped in her hand. Mrs,
Parker, wiUi many sobs, bade him farewell, and Mr. Wharton
stood in the hail immovable till the front door had been dosed
behind her. <* I haye settle it," be said to fSmily. " m tell you
to-moiTOW, or some day. Don't worry yourself now, but go to
bed." She looked wintmUy,— so eadly, up into his lace, and then
did as he biMle hu,

B\kt Mr. Whurtoo could not go to his be4 without further trouble.
It was in/cumbent on , him to write full particulars that very night
both.to Mr. W(Uker and to Mr. Orui^py. And the odious letters
in th€i writing became yery Ipng ;— odious l(>eoause he had to confess
in ^iiem over and over again uiat his daughter, the very apple Qf
his eve, had been the w^e of a scoundrel, '^o Mr. Walker he had
to iml th» whole sto^ of the alleged (orgery, and in doing so could
not abstain from the use o^ h#ra words. " I don't suppose that
it can be proved, but lib^-e i» every refison to believe that it's
true." And again-r-*' X belJuBve the man to have been as vile a
Booundxel as ever was made by t)ie love o; fUQuey." Even to Mr.,
Crnmpy he cpuld not be naticie^t* **&^e 19 an poject of pity," he
said. "Her husband wasr^ined by, the iijiiamous speculations of
Mr* I^opez*" Then he betqok himself to |>ed. On, how happy
would he be to pay. the two ppunds weekly,Treven to add to tnat
the amount of tbe forged bul, ^ by doing so he might be saved
from ever again h^arin^ tl^e i^amf^^ of Lop^fs.

I^6^,amoun1l< of the bill was ultipiately lost by the bankers who
had ;Sdvaneed money on ii Aa for JMrs. Sexty Farker, from week
to we^ and from month tu mcmth, and at last from year to year,
she and her children, — and pr9ba^y her husband also,— were Tup-
psrted by the weekly pension of two sovereigns which ahe always
received on Thursday mornings from the hancU of Mr. Grampy
himself. In a little time the one excitement <}f her life was the
weekly journey to Mr. Grumpy, whom she same to regard as a man
appiinted by "PrpTidence to supply her with 408^ on Tharsday
morning. As to poor Sexty Parker, — it is to be feared that he
never again be<»ame, si prodperoos ma^.

" You will tell me what you did for that poor woman, papa,"
said Emily leaning over her father i]| tk^ trftin.

" I have settled^ my dear." "' '"

' ' Tou said you'd teji^> me. ;'

" Grumpy will pay her two pounds a week till we know more
about it." Emily pressed her father's hand and that was an end.
N9 one ever did know a>y more aboi^t it, and Grumpy continued
to pay the money.

468

THE PRime MINISTER.

OHAPTBR LXX.

AT WHARTON.

When Mr. Wharton and his dcuffhter reached Wharton Hall ther«
were at any rate no Fletdh^'trs were ae yet. Bmily, as ehe was
driven from the station to the hoose, had not dared to ask a qnes-
tion or even to prompt her fiither to do so. He woold probably
have told her that on tach an oeoasion th«re was hnt little chanoe
that she would find any visitors, and none at all ^at she would
find Arthur Fletcher. But she was too conftiiMd and too iU at ease
to think of probabilities, and to the last was in trepidation , specially
lest she should meet her lover. She found, however, at Wharton
Hall none but Whartons, and she found also to her great relief
that this change in the heir relieved her of much of m attention
which must othowise have added to her troubles. At Ihe first
glance her dress and demeanour stmdk them so forcibly that they
could not avoid showine their feeling. Of course they hsd expected
to see her in black,— -had expected to see her in widow's weeds.
But, with her, her very face and limbs had so adapted themselves
to her crape, that she looked like a monument at bereaved woe.
Lady Whuton took the mourner up into her own room, and there
made her s little speech. " We have all wept for you," she said,
*' and grieve for you still. But excessive grief is wicked, especially
in the young. We will do our best to muce you happy, and hope
we eiiail succeed. All this about dear Everett ought to be a com-
fort to you." Emily promised that she would £> her best, not,
however, tf^ing much immediate comfort fi^m the prospects of
dear Everett. Lady Whartcn certainly had never in her lifo spoken
xjIl dear Everett, wnile the wicked cousin was alive. Then M&xy
Wharton also made her little speedi. *' Dear Emily, I will do all
that I can. Ftay try to believe in me." But Everett was so much
the hero of tibe hour, that there was hot much room for general
attention to any one else.

There was very much room for triumph in r^;ard to Everett. It
had already been ascertained that the Wharton who was now dead
had had a child,— -but that the child was a daughter. Oh.-^what
salvation or destruction there may be to an English gentleman in
the sex of an infant I Tim ])oor baby was now littte bettor than
a beggar brat, unless the relatives who were utti^rly disregardful of
ite fate, should ohoose, in their charity, to make some small idlow-
ance for ite maintenance. Had it by chanoe '1|wn a boy Everett
Wharton would have been nobody ; and the child, reeeued from
the iniquities of his parento, woula have been nursed in the best
bedroom of Wharton Hall, and dierished with the wptrmest kisses,
and would have b«en the centre of all the hopes of all the Whartons.
But the Wharton lawyer by use of reckless telegrams had certified

you mi
untrue
Make I
She
not we

AT WHARTON.

469

himself that the infant was a girl, and Everett was the hero of th«
day. Ue found himself to be possoaaed of a thousand graces, even
in his father's eyesight. It seemed to be taken as u mark of his
special good fortune that he had not clung to any businefls. To
have been a banker immersed in the making of money, or even a
lawyer attached to his circuit and his court, would have lessened
his iitneis, or at a'hy rate his readiness, for the duties which he
would have to perform. He would never be a very rich man, but
he would* have a command at ready money, and of course he would
go into Parliament.

In his new position as, — not quite head of his family, but head
expectant, — ^it'Seemed to him to be his dutv to lecture his sister.
It milght be well that some one should lecture her with more
severity than her lather used. Undoubtedly aho was succumbing
to the wretchedness of her position in a manner that was repugnant
to humanity generally. There is no power so usefol to man as
that oapaotty of recovering himself after a fidl, which belongs
espHBciaUy to those who possess a healthy mind in a healthy body.
It is not rare to ^je one, — generally a woman, — whom a sorrow

Gidually kills ; and there are those among ub, who hardly per-
pB envy, but certainly admire, a spirit so dielicate as to be snimed
out by a woe. But it la the weakness of the heart rather than the
strength of the feeling wluch has in such oaseamost often produced
the destruction. Some endurac e of fibre has been wanting, which
power of endurance is a noble att -«bute. Sverett Wharton saw
something of this, and being, m ae heir apparent of the fietmily
took his sister to task. ** maj} '^ said, " you make ua all un-
happy whea we look at you."

** Do I f" she said. *' I un sorry for that ; — ^but why should you
look at me ?"

" Because you are one of us. Of course we cannot diake you ofll
We would not if we could. We have all been very imhappv
because, — ^because of what has happened. But don't you think
you ought to make some sacrifice to us, — ^to our fiather, I mean,
and to Sir Alured and Lady Wharton P When you go on weeping,
other people have to weep too. I have an idea that people ought
to be happy if it be only for the sake of their neighbounu

" What am I to do, Everett f *'

"Talk tQ:<^eople a little, and smile sometimes. Move about
quicker. ^ Bon't look when you come into a room as if you were
conseoimting it to tears. And, if I may venture to say so, drop
something of the heaviness of your mourning."

" Do you mean that I am a hypocrite ?"

" No ; — ^I mean nothing of the kind. You know I don't. But
you may exert yourself for the benefit of others without being
untrue to your own memories. I am sure you know what I mean.
Make a struggle and see if you cann(rt do something."

She did make a struggle, and she did db someuing. No one,
not well versed in the mysteries of franinine dress, oorad say very

470

THE ntlMR ICnriflTRB.

MMurately wkat it wm that sht had done ; but ayery ona Mt that
Bouiething of the weight wiu redaoad. At tint, as har brotiwr'a
wordi eame upou har aar, and as sha tait tta blows whioh they
inflicted on her, she soonsed him in har heart of oraalty. They
were very hard to bear. There was a BU>ment in whioh she wa«
almost tempted to turn npon him and tell him tliat ha knew
nothingr of nor sorrows. But she restrained hdlrMlt, and when alie
waa alone sho ndtnoiHedged to hersell that tie had spoken the trutn.
No one has a right to go about the world as a Miobe, damping all
joys with selfish tears. What did she not owe to har lather, who
haid warned her so oftte against the enl sne hao contemplated, and
had than, from the first moment after the tauit was done, torgiven her
the doing of it P She had at any rate learned Irom her mistortunes
the infinite tendemeas of his heart, which in tka days ot tneir un-
alloyed prosperity he had nerer felt the necessity ot exposing to
her. So she struggled and did do something. She pressed Iiadv
Wharton's hand, and kissed her eousin Mary, and tnrowinff herseli
into her father's arms when they were alone, whispered to him that
she would try. " What you told me, liiTereitt» waa quta right,"
she said afterwarda to her brothw. imM'v lhu; ttis h 'i^i^bl

" I didn't mean to be savage," he answered with a smile.

*' It was quite ri^ht, and i haye thougut of it, and I will do my
best. I will keep it to myself if I can. it is not quitot perhaps,
what vou think it is, but I wiUil keep it to myself.'^ She ftmoied
that uey did noi imderstand her, and perhaps she was right. It
was not only that ha had died and left her a young widow ;— nor
even that his and had been so harsh a tragedy and so foul a dis-
grace 1 It was not only that her loye had Men misbestowed,— not
only that she had made sb g^eyoua an error in the one great act
of her life whioh she had chosen to perform on her own judgment I
BBrhaps tiie most orushinr memory of all was that whioh told her
that BOBi who had tbsaugh all hex youth been regarded aa a bright
star in tiie flunily, had l>een tlie one person to bring a reproach
upon the name of all these people who were so good to her. How
daXL a parson conscious of di^^race, ^th a mind capable of feeling
the erushinff weight of personal disgrace, moye and look and speak
as though uiat di^^oa had been washed awi^ f But she made
the struggle, and did not altogether fail. i ot d .1^

As regwded Sir Alured, in spite of this poor widow's crape, he
waa yery happy at this time» aiM his joy did in some degree com-
municate itself to the old barrieter. Eyerett was ti^en round to
eyery tenant and introduced as the heir. Mr. Wharton had already
declared his purpose of abdioatmg any possible posseatdon of the
property. Should he outlive £Hr Alured he must be the baronet ;
but when that sad event shoiJd take place, whelAier Mr. Wharton
should ithen bo aliye or no, Everett should at once be the possessor
of Wharton Hall. Sir Alured, unikr these droumstanoes, discussed
his own death with extreme satisfaction, and insisted on haying it
discussed by the others. That he should have gone and left every-

AT WHARTOW.

47.

thing at the meroy of the spendthrift had been terrible to hi« ulU
heart; — but now, the man coming to the jMropei'ty would Lave
£60,000 with which to 8Ui>port and foster Wharton, with which to
meaid, as it were, the orevioes, and stop up the holt«8 of the estate.
He seemed to be i^ost inpatient ka Kverett's ownvrship, giving
many hints as to what thonld be done when he himself was gone.
He most surely have thought that he woidd return to Wharton as
a spirit, and take a ghostly share in the prosperity of the farms.
** You will find John Griffith a very good man," said the baronet.
John Griffith had been a tenant on the estate for the last half-
century, aad was an oider man £han hi* landlord ; but the baironet
Hpokie of all this as though he himeelf were about to leave Wharton
for ever in tiM course of UM next week. ** John Griffith has been a
good man, and if n(^ fdways quite ready with bis i«nt, has never
been mueh behind. Yon won t be hard on John Griffith f "

" I hope I mayn't have the opportunity, sir."

^*WeU;-^eU;— weU>; that's as may be. But I don't auite
know what to aar alMut young John. The farm has gone from
father to Mn, ana there'* never been » word of a lease."

*' Is there anytiiing wrong about the young man F"

'* He's a little givon to poaohing." Mnr^u ^i ^t <» >,

"Oh dear!"

*' Tve always got him off lor his fiaiher'a sake. They say he'a

ling to mairy Sally Jonee. That may take itout of hua. I do

M the fiftrme to go ftwnCather to son, Svwett. It's the way that
everything ahoula go. Of ooorae there's no right"

** Nothing of that kind, I suppose/' said Everett, who was in his
way a reformar, and had radical notions with which he would not
for worlds have disturbed the bajranet at present

** No^ — nothing cf thai kind. God in his mercy fbaoid that a
landlord in EngJMid skoi:dd.evsr be robbed after that fashion."
Sir Alured, when he was uttering this prayer, was thinking of
what he had heard oC an Irish land bill, the details of which, how-
ever, had been altogether ineeniprehenaible to him. '< But I have
a feeling «bout it,lSv«rett<; ana I hope you will share it It is
good that thinge sheold' go from father to sen* I never make a
promise ; but uie tenants know what I think about it, and then
the ^Either works for the son. Why should he work for a stranger F
Sally Jonee is a very good young woman, and perhaps youns John
wiU do better.^' There was not a field or a fence that he did not
show to hie heir ;~*hardly a tree which he left without a word.
**TluA bit of woodland ^ming in th«e,->they call it Bamton
Spinaies, — doesn't belong to the estate at all." This he said in a
melancholy tone.

"Doemi'titrMJl^f"

** And it oomea lig^ in between Lane's farm and Puddock's.
The^ve always let me have the shooting as a compliment Not
that there's ever anything in it. It's only seven acres. But I like
the civility."

gS"!

472

THE PRIMK MINISTBB.

' ' Who does it belong to P "

" It belongs to Benet"

•♦What; Corpus OhristiP"

** Yes, yes ; — they've ohanged the name. It used to be Benet in
my days. Walker says the Coitoge would certainly sell, but you'd
have to pay tor the land and the wood separately. I don't know
that you'd get much out of it ; bat it's very unsightly, — on the
purvey map, I mean."

" We'll Duy it, by all means," said Everett, who was already
jingling his £60,000 in his pocket.

" I never had the money, but I think it should be bought." And
Sir Alured rejoiced in the idea that when his ghost should look at
the survey map, that hiatus of Bamton Spinnies would not trouble
his spectral eyes. «^ij.ii

In this way months ran on at Wharton. Our Whartons had
come d^wn in the -latter half ctf August, and at the beginning of
September Mi. Wharton returned to Ijondon. Everett, of course,
remained, as he was still learning the lesson of which he was in
truth becoming a little weary ; and at last Emily had also been
persuaded to stay in Herefordslure. Her father promised to return ,
not mentioning any precise time, but^ving her to understand that
he would come before the winter. He went, and probably found
that his taste for the Eldon and for whist had returned to him.
In the middle of November old Mrs. Fletcher arrived. Emily was
not aware of what was being done; but, in truth, the F' rohers
and Whartons combined were conspiring with the view of bringing
hei back to her ibrmei* self. Mrs. Flet(£er had not yi^ded without
some difficulty, — for it was a part of this conspiracy that Arthur was
to be allowed to marry the widow. But John bad prevailed. " He'll
do it any way, mother," he had said, " whether you and I like it
01 not. And why on earth shouldn^t he do as he pleases f "

" Think what me man was, John ! " *^

" It's more to the purpose to think what the woman is. Aithur
has made up his mind, and, if I know him, he's not the man to be
talked out oi it." And so the old woman had given in, and had at
last consented to go forward as the advanced guard of the Fletchers,
and lay siegd to tne affections of the woman whom she had once so
thoroughly discarded froqi her heart.

" My dear," she said, when they first met, ''if there has been
anything wrong between you and me, let it be among the things
that ate past. You always used to kiss me. Give me a kiss now."
Of course Emily kissed, her; and after that Mrs. Fletcher patted
bei and petted her, and gave her lozenges, which she declared in
pnvate to be "the eovereignest thing on earth" for debilitated
nerves. And then it came out by degrees that John Fletcher and
his wite. and all the little Fletchers were coming to Wharton for
the Ghnstmae weeks. Everett had ^one, but wa? also to be back
for Christmas, and Mr. Wharton's visit was also postponed. It was
absolutely necessai"} that Everett should be at Wharton for the

4T WHABTOM.

478

Christmas festivities, and expedient that Everett's father should he
there to see them. In this way Emily had no means of escape.
Her father wrote iling[ her of his plans, saying that he would
bring her back dTtei- Ghnstmas. Eyevstt's heirship had made these
Christmas festivities, — ^which were, however, to l>e oonfined to the
two families, — quite a necessity. In all this -aot a word was said
about Arthur, nor did she dare to ask whsither he was expected.
The younger Mrs. Fletcher, John's wife, opeued her arms to the
widow in a manner that almost plainly said that she regarded Emily
as her future sister-in-law. John Fletcher talked to her about
Longbams, and the children,-^complete Fletcher talk, — as though
she were already one of them, ne^ier, however, menti'^ning Arthur's
name. The old lady got down a fresh supply of the lo:'«nges from
London because those she had by her might perhaps ii^ a little
stale. And then there was another sign which after a whil e became
plain to Emily. No one in either family ever mentioned her name.
It was not singular that none of them should call her Mrs. Lopez,
as she was Emily to all of them. But ihey never so described hhv
even in speaking to the servants. And the servants themselves, as
far as was possible, avoided the odious word. The thing was to be
buried, if not in oblivion, y^et in some speechless grave. And it
seemed that her father was joined in this attempt. When writing
to her he usually made some excuse for writing also to Everett, or,
in Everett's absence, to the baronet, — so that tiie letter for his
daughter might He enclosed and addressed simply to " Emily."

She understood it all, and though she was moved to continual
solitary tears by this ineffable tenderness, yet she rebelled against
them. They should never cheat her back into happiness by such
wiles as that ! It was not fit that she should yield to them. As a
woman not utterly disgraced it could not become her a^in to laugh
and be joyful, to give and take loving embraces, to sit and smile,
perhaps a happy mother, at another man's hearth. For their love
she was grateml. For his love she was more than grateful. How
constant must be his heart, how grand his nature, now more than
manly his strength of character, when he was thus true to her
through all the evil she had done ! Love him ! Tes ; —she would
pray for him, worship him, fill the remainder of her days with
thinking of him, hoping ibr him, and making his interests her own.
Should he ever be married, — and she would pray that he might, —
his wife, if possible, should be her friend, his children should be
her darlings ; and he shquld always be her hero. But they should
not, with all theib schemes, cheat her into disgracing him by
marrying him.

At last her father came, and it was he who told her that Arthur was
expected on the day before Christmas. *' Why did you not tell me
before, papa, so that I might have asked you to take me away P "

" Because I thought, my dear, that it was better that you should
be constrained to meet him. You would not wish to live all your
life in terror of seeing Arthur Fletcher P "

474

THE PJUMB MINISTER.

" Not all my life."

" Take the pluoge and it will boiover. They have all been very

good to you." mU r . . i<»ii I

<' Too good, papa. I didn't want it."

"They are our oldest friends. Theve isn't a young man in
England I think so highly of as John Hatcher. When I am gone,
where are you to look for friends f " «MHr >

'* I'm not unrntefol, papa."

« You oan't Know th.9m all, and yet keep yourseli altogether
separated from Arthur. Think what it would be to me never to
be able to ask him to the houses He is the only one of the femily
that lives in London, and now it seems that Jiiverett will spend
most of his time down here. Of course it is better that you
should meet him and have done with it." There was no answer
to be made to this, but stiU i»he was fixed in her resolution that
she would never meet him as hei lover.

Then oame tiie morning of the day on whioh he was to airive,
and his coming was for the first time spoken openly of at break-
taat " How is Arthur to be brought from the stiMdon P " asked old
Mrs. Fletcher.

" I'm gMng to take tho dog-cart," said Everett. '* Giles will
go for the luggage with tlm pony. He is Wnging down a lot of
things ; — a new saddle, and a g»JEi for me." It hiad all been
arranged for her, this question and answer, and Emi^ blushed as
she felt that it was so* '»*><» W. ' lutiU irr ivj „

^ " We shall be so glad to see Arthur/' said young Mrs. Fletcher
to her.

" Of course you will."

" He has not been down since the Session was over, and he has
got to be quite a speaking man nowt t< I do so hope he'll
become something some day."

" I'm sure he mil," said Emily.

" Not a judge, however. I hate wigs. Perhaps he might be
Lord Chancellor in time." Mra Fletcher was not more ignorant
than some other lad^s in being unaware of the Lord Ohancellor's
wig and exact position.

At last he came. The 9 a.m. express for Hereford,— express, at
least, for the first two or three nours out of L(»id^:r~orought

Sassengers for Whartou to their nearest station at 3>94K., and the
istance was not above five miles. Before four o'clock Arthur
was standing before the drawingoroom firp^ with a oup of tea in his
liand, surrounded by Fletchcaw and "Wliartoiis, and being made
much of as the young family member of Parliament .. But Emily
was not in the room. She had studied her Bradshawy and learned
the hours of the trains, and was now in her bedroom. He had
looked around the' moment he entered the room, but had not
dared to ask for her suddenly. He had said one word about her
to E'\';i'ett in the cart, and that had been all. She was in'fbe
house, and he must, at any rata, noe her before dinner.

AT WHABTON.

47»

Emily, in order that she might not seem to escape ahrtiptly, had
retired early to her sdiitude. But she, too, knew that the meeting
oouid not be long postjponed. She sat thinking of it all, and at
last heard the wheels of the vehide before the door. She paused,
listening with all her ears, that she might recognise his yoice, or
possibly his foot8te|>. She stood near UbiB window, behind the
curtain, with her hand pressed to her heart. She heard Ererstt's
voice plainly as he gave some direction to the groom, but from
Arthur she heard nouiing. Yet she was sure that he was come.
The very manner at the approach and her brother's word made
her certain that there had Deeu no disappointment. She stood
thinkm^ for a quarter of an hour, making up her mind how best
they might meet. Then suddenly, with alow but certain step,
she walked down into the drawing-room.

No one expected hex then, or something perhaps might have
been done to encourage her coming. It had been thought that
she must meet him benire dinher, and her absence till then was to
be excused. But now she opened the door, and with inuoh
dignity of mien walked into the middle of the room. Arthur at
that moment was discussing the Duke's chance for the next
Session, and Sir Alured was a^ng wi^ rapture whether the old
Oonservative party would not come in. Arthur Fletcher heard
the step, turned round, ahd saw the woman he loved. He went
at once to meet her, very quifddy, and put out both his hands.
She gave him hers, of course. There was no excuse for hw
refusal. He stood for an instant pressing them, looking eagerlv
into her sad face, and then he spoke. " God bless you, £imily I '
he said. *' God bless you !" He had thought of no waids, and at
the moment nothing else occurred to him to be said. The colour
had covered all his face, and his heart beat so strongly that he
was hardly his own master. She let him hold her two hands,
perhaps for a minute, and then, bursting into tears, tore herself
from mm, and, hurrying out of the room, made her way again
into her own chamber. " It will be better so," said old Mrs.
Fletcher. " It will be better so. Do not let an^ one follow her."

On that day John Fletcher took her out to dinner and Arthur
did not sit near her.^ In the evening he came to her as she was
working close to his mother, and seated himself on a low chair
oluse to her knees. '* We are all so glad to sen you ; are we not,
mother?"

" Tes, indeed," said Mrs. Fletcher. Then, after a while, the
old woman got up to mi^e a rubber at whist with the two old
men and her eldest son, leaving Arthur sitting at the widow's
knee. She would willingly have escaped, but it was impossible
that she should movoi'"

" Tou need not be afraid of me," he said, not whispering, but
in a vmoe which no one else could hear. " Do not seem to avoid
me, and I will say nothing to trouble you^ I think that you
must wish that we should be friei)d8."

476

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

Oh, yes."

*' Come out, then, to-morrow, when we are walking. In that
way we shall get used to each other. You are troubled now, and
I will go." Then he left her, and she felt herself to be bound to
him by infinite gratitude.

A week went on and "she had become used to his company. A
week passed and he had spoken no word to her that a brother
might not have spoken. They had walked together when no one
else had been within hearing, and yet he had spared her. She
aad begun to think that he would spare hec altogether, and she
was certainly grateful. Mi^ht it not be that she had mis-
understood him, and had misunderstood the meaning of them
all ? Mi^ht it not be that she had troubled herself with false
anticipations? Surely it was so; for how could it be that such
a man should wish to make such a woman his wife P

" Well, Arthur? " said his brother to him one day.

" I have nothing to say about it," said Arthur.

" You haven't dianged your mind P " ~^ - ' '''
-** Never! Upon my word, to me, in that dress, she is more
beautiful than ever."

** I wish you would make her take it off."

" I dare not ask her yet."

** Yon know what they say about widows generally, my boy."

' *tThat is all very weU when one talks about widows in general.
It is easy to ohafP about women when one hasn't got any woman
in one's mind. But as it is now, having her here, loving her as I
do, — bv heaven ! I cannot hurry her. 1 don't dare to speiEtk to her
after that fEushiun. I shall do it in Jime, I suppose ;—DTit,I must
wait tiU the time comes." i^J.r'^^-^l v^f... w..i ..

OHAPTBR LXXI.

THE LADIES AT LOKQBAANS DOUBT.

It came at last to be decided among them that when old Mr.
Wharton returned to town, — and he had now been at Wharton
longer than he had ever been known to remain there before,—
Emily should still remain in Herefordshire, and that at some period
not then fixed she should go for a month to Longbams. There
were various reasons which induced her to consent to this change
of plans. In the first place she found herself to be infinitely more
comfortable in the country than in town. She could go out and
move about and bestir herself, whereas in Manchester Square she
could only sit and mope at home. Her father had assured her that
he thought that it would be better that ahe should be away from

THE LADIKS AT L0N6BARNB DOUBT.

477

IB more

the reminiBoenoes of the house in town. And then when the first
week of February was past Arthur would be up in town, and she
would be fiur awa^ from him at Longbams, whereas in London she
would be dose within hia reach. Many little schemes were laid
and struggles made both W herself and the others before at last
their j^haie were settled. Mx. Wharton was to return to London in
the. middle of Januarv. It was quite impossible that he could re-
main longer away cither from Stone Buildings or from the Eldon,
and then at the same time, or a day or two following, Mrs. Fletcher
waa to go back to Longbams. John Fletcher and his wife and
children were already gone,--and Arthur aleo had been at Long-
barns. The two brothers and Everett had been backwards and
forwards. Emilv was anxious to remain at Wharton at any rate
tUl Parliament would have met, so that she might not be at home
with Arthur in his own house. But matters would not arrange
themselves exactly as she wished. It was at last settled that she
should go to LoDgbams with Mary Wharton under the charge of
John Fletcher m the first week in February. As arrangements
were already in progress for the purchase of Bamton Spinnies Sir
Alured could not possibly leave his own house. Not to have walked
through the wood on tne first day that it became a part of the
Whaiton property would to him have been treason to the estate.
His expenence ought to have told him that there waa no chance of
a lawyer and a college dealing together with such rapidity ; but in
the present stote of things he could not bear to aiMtent himself.
Orders had already been given for the cutting down of certain trees
which could not have been touched had the reprobate lived, and it
was indispensable that if a tree feU at Wharton he should see the
fall. It thus came to pass that there was a week during which
Emily would be forced to live under the roof of the Fletchers
together with Arthur Fletcher.

The week came and she was absolutely received by Arthur at the
door of Long^bams. She had not been at the house since it had
first been intimated to the Fletchers that she was disposed to re-
ceive with favour the addresses of Ferdinand Lope^-. As she
remembered this it seemed to her to be an age ago smce that man
had induced her to believe that of all the men she had ever met he
was the nearest to a hero. She never spoke of him now, but of
course her thoughts of him were never ending, — ^as also of herself
in that she had allowed herself to be so deceiv^. She would recall
to her mind with bitter inward sobbings all those lessons of iniquity
which he had striven to teach her, and which had first opened her
eyes to his true character,— how sedulously he had endeavoured to
persuade her that it was her duty to rob her father on his behalf,
how continually he had endeavoured to make her think that
appearance in the world was everything, and that, boing in trutii
poor adventurers, it behoved them to cheat the world into thiuk-
lug tEem rich and re8T>ectabl<:». Every hint that had been so
given had been a wound to her, and those wounds were all now

478

THB PttIMB MINI8TBB.

I
I

I I

remembered. Thougli since his death she had aerwr idlowed a
word to be spoken im her mreMnoe affainst him^ she could not bat
hate hi« memorj. How oloriouc was that other man in; her eyes,
as he stood there at the door weleoming her to Longbams, mir-
haked, open*eyed, with bronzed brorw and ohettk, and soirely the
honestest ihoe that a hmng woman ever loved to gaze on. Bming
the yaidons lessons she had learned in her married hfe, di*» had
beoome gradually but surely aware thttt the faoe of th^t other
man had been diriionest. fine had learned the false meaning of
every glance of his eyes, the subtlety of his mouth, the counter-
feit manoeuvres of his body, — the deceit even of his dress* He had
been all a lie firom head to foot ; andshe had thrown her love aside
as useless when she also would not bb^a liar» And here was this
man, — spotless in her estimation, compounded «rf all good qualities,
which she could now see and taka at their profier value. Hhe- hated
herself for the simplicity with which she had been cheated' by soft
■W€t6b and a false demeanour into so great a sacrifice. '>'i • '

Life at Longbarns was very quiet during the days which she
passed there b^re he left them. She was £pequently alone with
him, but he, if he still loved ber, did not speak of his love. Me
explained it all one day to his ;uother. *' if it is to be," said the
old lady, *' 1 d(m't see the use ol more delay. Of course the mar-
riage ought not to be till March twelvemonths, ikit if it is under-
stood that it is to be, she might alter her dress by degrees,-^and
alter hei manner of living. Those ttaings should always be done
by degrees. 1^ think it hM better be settled, Arthur, if it is to be
settled."

•« I am afraid, mother.*^' ^ iwUMi ^#i»' if: % .tii? i
** Dear me ! 1 didn't think you were the man ever to be afraid
of 8 woman. What can sbe say to you ?*'

"Befase me." ■^nirHh :

** Then you'd better know it at once. But I don't think she'll
be ibo) enough for that."
** Perhaps you hardlv undlerstand her, mother."
Mrs; Fletcher shook her head with a look ci considerable annoy-
ance. " Perhaps not. But, to tell the truths I don't like young
women whom T. can't understand. Xoung women shouldn't bd mys^
terious. I like people of whom I can give a pretty g6oA guess what
they'U do. I'm sure I never ooold mive guessed tiiat she would
have married that man." '

** If you love me, mother, da not let that foe mentioned between
us again. T/hen I said that you did not undemtaud her, I did not
mean that she was mysterious, i think that before he died, and
einoe his death, she learned of what Sort that man was. I will not
gay that she hates his memory, but she hates herself for what she

hae done.'

'A ^y»'!: ■;no;.v.^A'-iY*(('"

HifJi-

" Ho she ought," «ifd Mrs. Fletcher.

" She has not yet brought heiseJi to think that her life should be
anything but one long period of mourning, not for him, but for hex

THK liAOUBS AT L0N0BABN8 DOUBT.

479

own miftoke. You may be quite sore that I am in eameit It it
not beoaum I doubt of myself thiit I put it off. Bat I fear that if
<moe di0 auertfl to me her reaolution to remain ae ebe ie^ ibe will
feel herself bound to keep her word." . wi>

*' I Buppoee she is yery much the same as other women, after all,
my dear,^ said Mr». FlMier, who was almost jealous of the peou-
hax superiority cf sentimeat whioh her son seemed to attribute to
this woman, oi : (uw im : nouti 'nvi- ti>'i ./ i'\

** Oironmetanoet rndtbuB, make people difiurent;" he replied.

*' So you are f^ing without having anything fixed*" ma elder
brother said to him the day before he started.

" Tes, old fellow. It seems to be rather slaok ;-^oesQ't it ? "

* * I dare sav you know best what you're about* But if you have
set your mind on it ■ " i

1 *' Yon may take yonii oath of that.". liAm ,k

*' Than I don'^ see why one word shouldn't put it all right.
There never is any place so good for that kiadd. thing as a country

hoUOe."'!U '•/.- . nu^rtv :;T jv i ;^?i' «f<» 'f.

"I don^ think that with her it will mAke much difference where
the house is, or what the caroumstances."

" She knows what you mean as well as I do."

" I dare say she does, Jcdlini She must have a very bad idea of
me if she doesn't* Bub she may know what I mean and not mean
the same ihmg herKoH"

*' How am Tou to know if you don't ask hear P"
i >* Tou maybe sure that I shall ask hev as soon as I can hope that
my doing so may give her more pleasure than pain. Bemember I
have had all this out with her father. I have determined that I
will wait till twelve months have passed since that wretched man
perished." 'o? 'rt-v- !>»',» mm''

On that afternoon before dinner he was alone with her in the
library some minutes before they went up to dress for dinner. *' I
shall hardly see you to-morrow," he said, ^* as I must leave this
at half-past eight. I Inreakfut at eight. I don't suppose any one
will bo down except my mother."

*' I am generally as early a» that. I will come down and see you

start." ';i K ^'j! '^': tur: ^ -(■; ^ Imm; ..■ /,,; .

*' I am so f^ad Ihat^you have been here, Emily."

" So am I. Everybody has been so good to me."

" It has been like old days, — almost' )vtt Uw.' nin p^^L n-vit,:

" It will never quite behke old days again^ I think. But I have

been very ^ad- to be here,«-»and at Wharton. I sometimes almost

frish that 1 were never going back to Loudon again, — only for

papa."' /

"Hike London myself."
*' You ! Yes, of course you like London. You have everything

in life before you. You have things to do, and much to hope tm*

It is all beginning for you, Arthur."
" I am five years older than you ar^."

.#^

480

THE PBIME MINISTER.

'* Whai doM that matter P It Mems to me that age doea not go
by years. It is long since I haye felt myself to be an old woman.
Bat you are quite young. Eyerybody is proud oi you, and you
ought to be happy.

"I don't know," said hd. "It is hard to say what makes a
person happy." He almost made up his mind to speak to her then ;
out he had made up his miad before to put it ofi still for a little
time,v and he would not allow himself to be changed on the f^'^at of
the moment. He had thought of it much, and he had almost
taught himself to think that it would be better for herself that she
should not accept another man's love so soon. " I shall come and
see you in town," he said.

" Tou must ocme and see papa. It seems that Everett is to be
a great deal at Wharton. I had better go up to dress novr, or I
shall be keepine them waiting." He put out his hand to her, and
wished her good-bye, excusing himself by saying that they should
not be alone together affain b«ore ha started.

She saw him go on the next morning, — and then she almost felt
herself to be abuidoned, almost desertra. I^. was a fine crisp winter
day, dry and fresh and clear, but with the frost still on the ground.
Aner breakfast she went out to walk by horself in the long
shrubbery paths which went round the house, artd here she
remained for above an hour. She told herse if that she was very
thankful to him for not having spoken to her on a subject so unfit
for her ears as love. She strengthened herself in her determination
never again to listen to a man willingly on that subject. She had
made herself unfit to have any dealings of that nature. It was not
tliat she could not love. Oh, no ! She knew well enough that
she did love, — love with all her heart. If it were not that she were
so torn to rags that she was not fit to b worn again, she could now
have thrown nerself into his arms with » whole heaven of joy before
her. A woman, she told herself, had no right to a second chance
in life, after having made such shipwi«ck of herself in the first.
But tiie danger of being seduced from her judgment by Arthur
Fletcher ^as all over. He had been near her for the last week and
had not spoken a word. He had been in the same house with her
for the last ten days and had been with her as a brother mi^ht be
with his sister. It was not only she who had seen the propriety of

this. He also had acknowledged it, and she was grateful to

him. As she endeavoured in her solitude to express her gratitude
in spoken words the tears rolled down her cheeks. She was glad,
she told herself, very glad that it was so. How much trouble and
pain to ooth of them would thus be spared ! And yet her tears
were bitter tears. It was better as it was ; — and yet one word of
love would have been very sweet. She almost thought that »h.e
would have liked to tell him that for his sake, for his dear sake,

would refuse that which now would never be offered to her.

She was quite clear as to the rectitude of her own judgment, clear
as ever. And yet her heart was heavy with disappointment.

** HR THINKS THAT OUR DAYS ARK NTTMBKRKI>.'

481

It was the end of March before she left Herefordshire for London,
haying spent the greater part of the time at Longbarns. The ladiea
tt that place were moved by many doubts as to what would be the
end of all this. Mrs. Fletcher the elder at last almost taught her-
celf to believe that there would be no marria^, and having got
back to that belief, was again opposed to the idea of a marriage.
Anythine and everything that Arthur wanted he ought to have.
The old lady felt no doubt as to that. When convinced that he
did want to have this widow, — this woman whose life had hitherto
been so unfortunate,— she had for his sake taken the woman aeain
by the hand, a./d hod assisted in making her one of themselves.
But how much better it would be that Arthur should think better
of it ! It was the maddest constancy, — this clinging to the widow
of such a man as Ferdinand Lopez ! If there were any doubt,
then she would be prepared to do all she could to prevent the
marriage. Emily had oeen forgiven, and the pardon bestowed
must of course be continued. But she might be pardoned without
being made Mrs. Arthur Fletcher. While Emily was stiU at Long-
barns the old lady almost talked over her daughter-in-law to this
way of thinldng, — till John Fletcher put his foot upon it altogether.
" I don't pretend to say what she may do," he said.

" Oh, jTohn," said the mother, " to near a man like you talk like
that is absurd. She'd jump at him if he looked at her with half
an ey^"

** What she may do," he continued saying, without appearing to
listen to his mother, " I cannot say. But that he will ask her to
be his wife is as certain as Uiat I stand here."

CHAPTER LXXII.

"HE THINKS THAT OUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED.

»>

All the details of the new County Suffrage Bill were settled at
Matching during the recess between Mr. Monk, PhineasFiun, and
a very experienced gentleman from t^e Treasury, one Mr. Prime, -
who was supposed to know more about such things than any man
living, and was consequently called Constitution Charlie. He was
an elderly man, over sixty years of a^e, who remembered the first
Reform Bill, and had been engaged in the doctoring^ of constitu-
encies ey&r since. The bill, if passed, would be mainly his bill,
and yet the world would never hear his name as connected with it. ^^
Let us hope that he was comfortable at Matching, and that hd^^'
found his consolation in the smiles of the Duchess. During tb^
time the old Duke was awfty, and eVeri the Prime Mixat^f^^,.
absent for some days. He would fain have busied hir^'

482

THE PBIME MINTSTEB.

the bill hixnnolf , but wm hardly allowed by his colleft^eii to hare
any hand in framing it. The great points of the measure had of
course been arrangol Cabinet, — where, however, Mr. Monk's

yiews had been ^opwsi,. jtlmost without a change. It may not
perhaps be too much to assume that one or two members of the
Cabinet did not quite understand the full scope of every suggested
clause. The effects which causes will produce, the dangers which
may be expected from this or that change, the manner in which
this or that proposition will come out in the washing, do not strike
even Cabinet lunnisters at a glance. A little studj in a man's own
cabinet, after the readiujg perhaps of a few leading articles, and
perhaps a short conversation with an astute Mend or two, will enable
a statesman to be strong at a ^ven time for, or even, if necessary,
a^inst, a measure, who has bfitened in silence, and has perhaps
given his personal assent, to the original suggestion. I doubt
whether Lord Drummond, when he sat silent in the Cabinet had
realised those fears which weighed upon him so strongly afterwards,
or had then foreseen that the adoption of a nearly similar franchise
for the counties and boroughs must inevitably lead to the American
syvtem of numerical representation. But when time had been
given him, and he and Sir Timothy had talked it all over, the
mind of no man was ever clearer than that of Lord Drummond.

The Prime Minister, with the diligence which belonged to him,
had mastered all the details of Mr. Monk's bill before it was dis-
cussed in the Cabinet, and yet he found that his assistance was
hardly needed in the absolute preparation. Had they allowed him
he would have done it a;ll himself. But it was assumed that he
would not trouble himself with such work, and he perceived that
he was not wanted. Nothing of moment was settled without a
reference to him. He required that everything should be explained
as it went on, down to the extension of every borough boundary ;
but he knew that he was not doing it himself, and that Mr. Monk
and Constitution Charlie had the prize between them.
' Nor did he dare to ask Mr. Monk whut would be the fate of the
bill. To devote all one's time and mind and industry to a measure
which one knows will fall to the ground must be sad. Work under
such circumstances must be very grievous. But such is often the
fate of statesmen. YHiether Mr. Monk laboured under such a
. conviction the Prime Minister did not know, though he saw his
friend and colleague almost daily. Li truth no one di/aed to tell
ixim exactly what he thought. Even the old Dtike had becomo
partially reticent, and taken himself off to his own woods at Long
Koyston. To Phineas Finn the Prime Minister would sometimea
say a word, but would say even that timidly. On any abstract
question, such as that which he had discussed when they had been
H^ walking together, he could talk fi-eely enoug^h. But on the matter
^*t^of the day, those affairs which were of infinite importance to him-
^^^Mid on which one would suppose he would take delight in
^"P®**^ «> to t trusted colleague, he could not bring himself to U

** IIF. THINKS THAT OUR DAYS ARB NUMBERRD.*

488

open
day.

" It must be a long bill, I suppose ? " he said to Phineas one

I'm afraid so, Duko. It will run, I fear, to over a hundred
clauses."

*' It will take you the host part of the Session to got through
itP"

*' If we can have the second reading; early in March, we hope to
send it up to you in the first week in June. That will give us
ample time."

''Yes ; — ^yes. I suppose so." But he did not dare to ask Phineas
Finn whether he thought that the House of Commons would assent
to the second readiuff. It was known at this time that the Prime
Minister was painfully anxious as to the fate of the Ministry. It
seemed to be but the other day that eyerybody connected with the
Govemment was living in fear lest he should resign. His threats
in that direction had uways been made to his old hiend the Buke
of St. Bungay ; but a great man cannot whisper his thoughts without
having them carried in the air. In all the dubs it had been
declared that that was the rook by which the Coalition would pro-
bably be wrecked. The newspapers had repeated the story, and
the " People's Banner" had assured the world that if it were so
the Duke of Omnium would thus do for his country the only good
service which it was possible that he should render it That was
at the time when Sir Orlando was mutinous and when Lopez had
destroyed himself. But now no such threat came from the Duke,
and the " People's Banner " was already accusing him of clinnng
to power with pertinacious and unconstitutional tenacity. Had
not Sir Orlando deserted him ? Was it not well known that Lord
Drummond and Sir Timothy Beeswax were only restrained from
doing so by a mistaken loyalty ?

Everybody came up to town, Mr. Monk having his bill in his
pucket, and the Queen's speech was read, promising the County
Suffrage Bill. The address was-voted with a very few words from
either side. The battle was not to be fought then. Indeed, the
state of thin^ was so abnormal that there could hardly be said to
be any sides in the House. A stranger in the gallery, not knowing
the condition of affairs, would have thought that no minister had
for many years commanded so large a migority, as the crowd of
members was always on the Govemment side of the House ; but the
opposition which Mr. Monk expected would, he knew, come from
those who sat around him, behind him, and even at his very elbow.
About a veek after Parliament met the bill was read for the first
time, and the second reading was appointed for an early day in
March.

The Duke had suggested to Mr. Monk the expedience of some
further dela^, giving as his reason the necessity of gutting through
certain routine work, should the rejection of the bill create the
confusion of a resignation. No one who knew the Duke oould
ever suspect him of giving a false reason. But it seemed that in this

484

THE PRIMR MINISTER.

'•V

the Prime Minister wm allowing himsolf to be harasHod by fearg
of the future. Mr. Monk thought that any dolay would bo iujurioua
and open to suspicion after what had been uaid and done, and was
urgent in his ar^^uments. The Duke gave way, but he did so
almost sullenly, siffnifyiuff his acquiesoenoe with haughty silence.
"I am sorry," said Mr. \u)nk, " to differ from your grace, but my
opinion in tne matter is so strong that I do not dare to abstain from
expressing it." The Duke bowed again and smiled. He had
intended that the smile 'should be acquiescent, but it had been as
cold as steel. He kn:># that he wae misbehaving, but was not suf-
ficiently master of his own mantter to be gracious. He told him-
self on the spot, — though he was quite wrong in so telline himself,
— that he had now made an enemy also of Mr. Monk, and through
Mr. Monk of Phineas Finn. And now he felt that he had no friend
left in whom to trust, — for the old Duke had become cold and indif-
ferent. The old Diike, he thought, was tired of his work and
anxious for rest. It was the old Duke who had brought him into
this hornets' nest ; had fixed upon his back the unwilling load ;
had compelled him to assume the place which now to lose would be
i disgrace, — and the old Duke was now deserting him I Ho was
sore all oyer, angry with every one, ungracious even with his pri-
vate Secretary and his wife, — and especially miserable because he
was aoroughly aware of his own faults. And yet, through it all,
there was present to him a desire to fight on to the very 1^. Let
his colleagues do what they might, and say what they might, he
would remain Prime Minister of England as long as he was sup-
ported by a majority of the House of Commous.

" I do not know any greater step than this," Phineas said to
him pleasantly one day, speaking of their new measure, " towards
that millennium of which we were talking at Matching, if we can
only accomplish it."

" Those moral speculations, Mr. Finn," he said, "will hardly
bear the wear and tear of real lifb." The words of the answer,
combined with the manner in which they were spoken, were stern
and almost uncivil* Phineas, at any rate, had done nothing to
offend him. The Duke paused, trying to find some expression by
which he might correct the injury he had done ; but, not finding
any, passed on without further speech. Phineas shrugged his
shoulders and went his way, telling himself that he had received
one further ini unction not to put his trust in princes.

<* We shall be beaten, certainly," said Mi*. Monk to Phineas, not
long afterwards.

•* "What makes you so sure ? "

" I smell it in tne air. I see it in men's faces."

" And yet. it's a moderate bill. They'll have tc pass something
stronger before long if they throw it out now."

*' It's not the bifl that they'll reject, but us. We have servtd
ova turn, and we ought to go."

** The House is tired of the Duke ? "

«<

*'UB THINKS THAT OUR DAYS ARE NUMBRRBD.*'

485

*' The Duke ia ho gotMl a man that I hardly like to admit even
that ; — but I fear it is so. lie is fretful and he makes enemies."

" I sometimes think that he is ill.*'

*' He is ill at ease and siok at heart. He cannot hide his
chagrin, and then is doubly wretched because he has betrayed it.
I do not know that I ever respected and, at the same time, pitied a
man more thoroughly."

** He snubbed mo awfully yesterday," said Phineas, laughing.

" He cannot help himself. He snubbs me at every word that
he speaks, and yet I believe that he is most anxious to be civil to
me. His ministry has been of great service to the country. For
myself, I shall never re^t having joined it. But I think that
to him it has been a continual sorrow."

The system on which the Duchess had commenced her career
as wife of the Prime Minister had now been completely abandoned.
In the first place, she had herself become so weary of it that she
had been unable to continue the exertion. She had, too, beoomt
in some degree ashamed of her failures. The names of Major
Pountnev and Mr. Lopess were not now pleasant to her ears, nor
did she look back with satisfaction on the courtesies she had
lavished on Sir Orlando or the smiles she had given to Sir
Timothy Beeswax. " I've known a good many vulgar people in
my time," she said one day to Mrs. Finn, '* but none ever so
vmgar as our ministerial supporters. You don't remember Mr.
Bott, my dear. He was before your time ;— one of the arithmetical
men, and a great friend of Plantagenet's. He was very bad, but
there have come up worse since him. Sometimes, I think, I like
a little vulgaritv for a change ; but, upon my honour, when we
get rid of all this it will M a pleasure to go back to ladies
and gentlemen." This the Duchess said in her extreme bitter-
ness.

" It seems to me that you have pretty well got rid of * all this '
already."

" But I haven't got anybody else in their place. I have almost
made up my mind not to ask any one into the house for the next
twelve months. I used to think that nothing would ever knock
me up, but now I feel that I'm almost done for. I hardly dare
open my mouth to Plantagenet. The DiQce of St. Bungay has cut
me. MX. Monk looks as ominous as an owl ; and your husband
hasn't a word to say left. Barrington Erie hides his face and
passes by when he sees me. Mr. Battler did try to comfort mo
the other day by saying that everything was at sixes and sevens,
and I really took it almost as a compliment to be spoken to.
Don't you thin^ Plantagenet is ill Y'*

" He is careworn.'*

** A man may be worn by care till there comes to be nothing
left of him. But he never speaks of giving up now. The old
Bishop of St. Austell talks of resigning, and ne has already made
up his mind who is to have the see. He used to consult the Duko

486

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

about all these things, but I don't think he ever consults any on(
now, He never forgave the Duke about Lord Earlybird. Certainly,
if a man wants to quarrel with all his Mends, and to double the
hatred of all his enemies, he had better become Prime Minister."
" Are you really sorry that such was his fate, Lady Glen ? "
" Ah, — I sometimes ask myself that question, but I never get
at an answer. I should have thought Vim a poltroon if he had
declined. It is to be the greatest man in the greatest country in
the world. Do ever so little and the men who write history must
write about you. And no man has ever tried to be nobler than he
till,— tiU— >

" Make no exception. If he be careworn and ill and weary his
manners cannot be the same as they were, but his purity is the
same as ever."

" I don't know that it would remain so. I believe in him,
Marie, more than in any man, — ^but I believe in none thoroughly.
/There is a devil creeps in upon them when their hands are
strengthened. I do not know what I would have wished. 'When-
ever I do wish, I always wish wrong. Ah, me ; when I think of
all those people I had down at Gatherum, — of the trouble I took,
and of the glorious anticipations in which I revelled, I do feel
ashamed of myself. Do you remember when I was determined
that that wretch should be member for Silverbridge ? "
•* You haven't seen her since, Duchess ? "
*' No ; but I mean to see her. I couldn't make her first hus-
band member, and therefore the man who is member is to be her
second husband, ^ut I'm almost sick of schemes. Oh, dear, I
wish I knew something that was really pleasant to do. I have
never really enjoyed anything since I was in love, and I only liked
that because it was wicked."

The Duchess was wrong in saying that the Duke of St. Bungay
had cut them. The old man still remembered the kiss and still re-
membered the pledge. But he had found it very difficult to maintain
his old relations with his friend. It was his opinion that the
Coalition had done all that was wanted from it, and that now had
come the time when they might retire gracefully. It is, no
doubt, hard for a Prime Minister to find an excuse for going.
But if the Duke of Omnium would have been content to acknow-
ledge that he was not the man to alter the County Suffirage, an
excuse might have been found that would have been injurious to
no one. Mr. Monk and Mr. Gresham might have joined, and
the present Prime Minister might have resigned, explaining that
he had done all that he had been appointed to accomplish. He had,
however, yielded at once *o Mr. Monk, and now it was to b«
feared that the House of Commons would not accept the bill from
his hands. In such a state of things,— especially after that dis-
agreement about Lord Earlybird, — it was difficult for the old
Duke to tender his advice. He was at every Cabinet Council ;
he always came when his presence was required; he was in-

''he thinks that oxm days are numbebed.**

487

variably good-humoured ; — but it seemed to him that his work
was done. He could hardly volunteer to tell his chief and his
colleague that he would certainly be beaten in the House of Oom-
mons, and that therefore there was little more now to be done
than to arrange the circumstances of their retirement. Nevetheless,
as the period for the second reading of the bill came on, he resolved
that he would discuss the matter with his friend. He owed it to
himself to do so, and he also owed it to the man whom he had cer-
tainly placed in his present position. On himself politics had im-
posed a burden very mucu lignter than that which they had inflicted
on his more energetic and much less practical colleague. Through his
long life he had either been in oifice, or in such a position that men
were sure that he would soon return to it. He had taken it, when
it had come, willingly, and had always left it without a regret. As
a man cuts in and out at a whist table, and enjoys both tne same
and the rest from the game, so had the Duke of St. Bungay oeen
well pleased in either position. He was patriotic, but his patriotism
did not disturb his digestion. He had been ambitious, — but mode-
rately ambitious, and his ambition had been gratified. It never
occurred to him to be Unhappy because he or his party were beaten
on a measure. When President of the Council, he oould do his
duty and enjoy London life. When in opposition, he could linger
in Italy tiU May and devote his leisure to his trees and his
bullocks. He was always esteemed, always self-satisfied, and always
Duke of St. Bungay. But with our Duke it was very different.
Patriotism with him was a fever, and the public service an exact-
ing mistress. As long as this had been all he had still been happy.
Not trusting tnuch in himself, he had never aspired to great power.
But now, now at last, ambition had laid hold of him, — and the
feeling, not perhaps uncommon with such men, that personal dis-
honour would be attached to political failure. What would his
future lite be if he had so carried himself in his great office as to
have shown himself to be unfit to resume it P Hitherto any office
had sufficed him in which he might be useful ;— ^ut now he must
either be Prime Minister, or a silent, obscure, ana humbled man !

e was in-

*' Dear Duke,

•• I will be with you to-morrow morning at 11 a.m., if you
can give me half-an-hour.

** Yours affectionately,

" St. B."
The Prime Minister received this note one atiemoon, a day or
two before that appointed for the second reading, and meeting his
friend within an hour in the House of Lords, confirmed the
appointment. " Shall I not rather come to youP" he said. But
the old Duke, who lived in St. James's Square, declared that
Carlton Terrace would be in his way to Downing Street, and so
the matter was settled. Exactly at <nuvuti the two Ministers met.

488

THE PBIME MINiBTEA.

'• I don't like tronblirii; you," said the old man, "whenIkno»,
that you have so much to think of."

" On the contrary, I have but little to think of, — and my thou&Lt i
must be very much engaged, indeed, when they shall be too fim to
admit of my seeing you.

*' Of course we are all anxious about this bill." The Prime
Minister smiled. ' Anxious ! Yes, indoed. His anxiety was of
such a nature that it kept him awake all night, and neyer for a
moment left his mind free by day. "And of course we must be
prepared as to what shall be done either in the event of success or
of failure."

"You might as Well read that," said the other. "It only
reached me this morning, or I should have told you of it." The
letter was a conuuunication from the Solicitor- General containing
fhis resignation. He had now studied the County SufiErage Bill
closely, and regretted to say that he could not give it a conscien-
tious support. It was a matter of sincerest sorrow to him that
relations so pleasant should be broken, but he must resign his
place, unless, indeed, the clauses ae to redistribution could be with-
drawn. Of eourse he did not say this as expecting that anj such
concession would be made to his opinion, but merely as indicating
the matter on which his objection was so strong as to over-rule all
other considerations. All this he explained at great length.

"The pleasantness of the relations must all have been on ouo
side," said the veteran. " He ought to have gone long since."

" And Lord Drumtnond has already as good as said that unless we
will abandon the same clauses he must oppose the bill in the Lords."

" And resign, of course."

" He meant that, I presume. Xiord Eamsden has not spoken
to me."

* * The clauses will not stick in his throat. Nor ought they. If the
lawyers have their own way about law they should be contented."

" The question is, whether in these circumstances we should
postpone the second reading ? " asked the Prime Minister.

"Certainly not," said the other Duke. " As to the Solicitor-
General you will have no diflBoulty. Sir Timothy was only placed
there as a concession to his party. Drummond will no doubt con-
tinue to hold his office till we see what is done in the Lower House.
If the second reading be lost there, — why then his lordship can go
with the rest of us."

" Rattler says we shall have a majority. He and Roby are quite
agreed about it. Between them they must know," said the Prime
Minister, unintentionally pleading for himself.

" They ought to know, if any men do; — but the crisis is excep-
tional. I suppose you think that if the second reading is lost we
should resign r "

" Oh,— certainly."

" Or, after that, if the bill be much mutilated in committee ? 1
don't know that I shall personally break my own heart about thu

**HE THIl^KS THAT OUlt DAYS ARE NUMBKRKD.*'

480

bill. The existing difference in the suffrages is rather in accord-
ance with my prejudices. But the country desires the measure,
and I suppose we cannot consent to any such material alteration
as these men suggest." As he spoke he laid hie hand on Six
Timothy's letter.

** Mr. Monk would not hear of it," said the Prime Minister.

" Of course not. And you and I in this measure must stick to
Ikir. Monk. My great, indeed my only strong desire in the matter,
is to act in strict unison with youi"

** Tou are always good and true, Duke."

" For my own part I shall not in the least regret to find in all
this an opportunity of resigning. We have done our work, and if,
as I believe, a majority of the House would again support either
Ch^sham or Monk as the head of the entire liberal party, I tlunk
that that arrangement would be for the welfare of the country."

'< Why should it make any difference to you P Why should you
not return to the Council ? "

"I should not do so ;— certainly not at once ; probably never.
But you, — who are in the very prime of your life "

The Prime Minister did not smile now. He knit his brows and a
dark shadow came across his face. " I don't think I could do that,"
he said. ** Csesar could hardly have led a legion under Pompey."

" It has been done, greatly to the service of the country, and
without the slightest loss of honour or character in him who did it."

" We need hardly talk of that, Duke. Tou think then that we
shall fail ; — fail, I mean, in the House of Oommons. I do not
know that failiire in our House should be regarded as fatal."

" In three cases we should fail. The loss of an^ material clause
in Oommittee would be as bad as the loss of the bill."

*' Oh, yes."

" And then, in spite of Messrs. Battlef and Eoby, — who have
been wrong before and may be wrong now, — we may lose the
second reading."

*' And the third chance against us P "

*' You would not probably try to carry on the bill with a very
small majority."

" Not with three or four."

" Nor, 1 think, with six or seven. It would be useless. My
own belief is that we shall never carry the bill into Oommittee."

" 1 have always known you to be right, Duke."

"I think that general opinion has set in that direction, and

r>neral opimon is generally right. Having come to that conclusion
thought it best to tell you, in order that we might have our house
in order." The Duke of Omnium, who with all his haughtiness
and all his reserve, was the simplest man in the world and the least
apt to pretend to be that which he was not, sighed deeply when he
heard wis. " For my own part," continued his elder, *' I feel no
regret that it should be so."

*' It is the first large measure that we have tried to carrj'.*

490

THE PRIME HINISTEB.

'* We did not come in to carry large measures, my friend. Look
back and see how many large measures Pitt carried, — but he took
the country eufely through its most dangerous crisis."

" What have we done P "

" Carried on the Qaeen's Government prosperously for three
years. Is that nothing for a minister to do r I have never been a
friend of great measures, knowing that when they come fast, one
after another, more is broken in the rattle than is repaired by the
reform. We have done what Parliament and the countiy expected
us to do, and to my poor judgment we have done it well."

** I do not feel much self-satisfaction, Duke. Well j — we must
see it out, and if it ie as you anticipate, I shall be' ready. Of
oourse I have prepared myself for it. And if, of late, my mind had
been less turned to retirement than it used to be, it has only been
because I have become wedded to this measure, and have wished
that it should be carried und^r our aiispices." Then the old Duke
took his leave, and the Prime Minister was left alone to considej
the announcement that had been made to him.

He had said that he had prepared himself, but, in so saying, he
had hardly known himself. Hitherto, though he had been troubled
by many doubts, he had still hoped. The report made to Lim by
Mr. Battler^ backed as it had been by Mr. Eoby's assurances, had
almost sufficed to give him confidence. But Mr. Battler and Mr.
Boby combined were as nothing to the Duke of St. Bungay. ;The
Prime Minister knew now, — he fdt that he knew, that his days
were numbered. The resignation of that lingering old bishop was
not completed, and the person in whom he believed would not have
the see. He had meditated the making of a peer or two, having
hitherto been very cautious in that respect, but he would do nothing
of the kind if called upon by the House of Commons to resign with
an uncompleted measufe. But his thoughts soon ran away from
the present to the future. What was now to come of himself P
How should he use his future life, — he who as yet had not passed
his forty- seventh year? He regretted much having made that
apparentlv pretentious speech about Csesar, though) he knew his old
friend well enough to be sure that it would never be used against
him. Who was he that he should class himself among the big ones
of the world ? A man may indeed measure small things by great,
bat the measurer should be careful to declare his own littleness when
he illustrates his position by that of the topping ones of the earth.
But the thing said had been true. Let the Pompey be who he
might, he, the little Csesar of the day, could never now command
another legion.

He had once told Phineas Finn that he regretted that he had
abstained from the ordinary amusements of English gentlemen.
But he had abstained also from their ordinary occupations, — except
so far as politics is one of them. He cared nothing for oxen or for
furrows. In regard to his own land he hardly knew whether the
farms were large or small. He had been a scholar, and after a

J><.i.-"!S>l*('\'

** HE THINKS tHAT OUR DAYS ABE NUMBERED."

491

certam fitftil fashion he had maintained his scholarship, but the
literature to which he had been really attached had been that of
blue books and newspapers. What was he to do with himself when
called upon to resign ? And he understood, — or thought that he
understood, — his position too well to expect that after a while, with
the usual intenru, he might return to power. He had been Prime
Minister, not as the leading politician on either side, not as the
king of a party, but, — so he told himself, — as a stop-gap. Thera
could be nothing for him now till the insipidity of life shoidd gradu-
ally fade away mto the giaye.

After a while he got up and went off to his wife's apartment,
the room m which she used to prepare her triumphs and where
now she contemplated her disappointments. ''I have had the
Duke with me," he said.

♦•What;— at last P"

*' I do not know that he could have done any good by coming
sooner."

*' And what does his Grace say P '*

" He thinks that our days are numbered."

" Psha ! — is that all P I could have told him that ever so long
ago. It was hardly necessary that he should (!isturb himself at
last to come and tell us such well-ventilated news. There isn't h
porter at one of the clubs who doesn't know it."

*' Then there will be the less surprise, — and to those who are
concerned perhaps the less mortification."

** Did he tell you who was to succeed you P " askod the Duchess.

** Not precisely."

" He ought to have done that, as I am sure he knows. Every-
body knows except you, Plantagenet."

•* If you know, you can tell me."

•• Of course I can. It will be Mr. Monk."

'* With all my heart, Glencora. Mr. Monk is a very good man."

" I wonder whether he'll do anything for us. Tmnk how des-
titute we shall be ! What if I were to acS: him for a place ! Would
he not give it us P "

** Wul it make you unliappy, Cora P "

* • What ; — your going ? "

*' Yea ; — the change altogether."

She looked him in the face for a moment before she answered,
with'a peculiar smile in her eyes to which he was well used, — a
smile half ludicrous and half pathetic, — ^having in it also a dash of
sarcasm. " I can dare to tell the truth," she said, " which you
can't, I can be honest and straightforward. Yos, it will make me
unhappy. And you P "

' ' Do you think that I cannot be honest too, — at any rate to you P
It does fret me. I do not like to thin k that I shi dl be without work."

"Yes ;— Othello's occupation will be gone, — ^for awhile; for
awhile." Then she came iip to him and put both her hands ou
his breast. *' But yet, Othello, I shall not be all unhappy."

492

THE PRIME MINISTER.

*• Where will be your contentment? "

*' In you. It was making you ill. Bough people, whom the
tenderness of your nature could not well endure, trod upon you,
and worried you with their teeth and wounded you everywhere. I
could have turned at them again with my teeth, and given them
worry for worry ; — but you could not. Now you wiU be saved
from them, and so I shall not be discontented." All this she said
looking up into his face, still with that smile which was half
pathetic and half ludicrous.

" Then I will be contented too," he said as he kiused her.

CHAPTBB LXXni.

'Mi.

ONLY THE DUKE OF OMNIUM.

The night of the debate arrived, but before the debate was com-
menced Sir Timothy Beeswax got up to make a personal explana-
tion. He thought it right to state to the House how it came to
pass that he found himself bound to leave the Ministry at so
important a crisis in its existence. Then an observation was made
by an honourable member of the Government, — presumably in a
whisper, but still loud enough to catch the sharp ears of Sir
Timothy, who now sat just below the gangway. It was said after-
wards that the gentleman who made the observation, — an Irish
gentleman named Fitzgibbon, conspicuous rather for his loyalty to
his party than his steadiness, — had purposely taken the place in
which he then sat, t^at Sir Timothy might hear the whisper. The
whisper suggested that falling houses were often left by certain
animals. It was certainly a very loud wlusper, — but, if gentlemen
are to be allowed to whisper at aU, it is almost impossible to restrain
the volume of the voice. To restrain Mr. Fitzgibbon had always been
found difficult. Sir Timothy, who did not lack pluck, turned at
once upon his assailant, and declared that words had been used
with reference to himself which the honourable member did not
dare to get upon his legs and repeat. Larrv Fitzgibbon, as the
gentleman was called, looked him full in the face, but did not
move his hat from his head or stir a limb. It was a pleasant little
episode in the evening's work, and afforded satisfaction to the House
generally. Then Sir Timothy went on with his explanation. The
details of this measure, as Boon as they were made known to him,
appeared to him, he said, to be fraught with the gravest and most
pernicious consequences. He was sure that the members of her
Majesty's Government, who were hurryinj^ on this measure with
what he thought was indecent haste, — ministers are always either
indecent in theii- haste or treacherous in theii- delay, — had not con-

ONLY THE DUKF OF OMNIUM.

498

Bidered what thoy were doing, or, if they had considored, were
blind as to its results. He then attempted to discuss the details of
the measure, but was called to order. A personal explanation
could not be allowed to give him an opportunity of anticipating
the debate. He contrived, however, before he sat down, to say
some very heavy things against his late chief, and especially to
congratulate the Duke on the services of the honourable gentleman,
the member for Mayo, — meaning thereby Mr. Laurence Fitz-
gibbon.

It would perhaps have been well for everybody if the measure
could have been withdrawn aud the Ministry could have resigned
without the debate, — as everybody was convinced what would be
the end of it. Let the second reading go as it might, the bUl could
not be carried. There are measures which require the hopeful
heartiness of a new Ministry, and the thorough-going energy of a
young Parliament, — aud this was one of them. The House was as
fully agreed that this change was necessary, as it ever is agreed on
any subject, — but still the thing could not be done. Even Mr.
Monk, who was the most earnest of men, felt the general slackness
of all around him.. The commotion and excitement which would
be caused by a change of Ministry might restore its proper tone to
the House, but at its present condition it was unfit for the work.
Nevertheless Mr. Monk made his speech, and put all his arguments
into lucid order. He knew it was for nothing, but nevertheless it
must be done. For hour after hour he went on, — ior it was neces-
sary to give every detail of his contemplated proposition. He went
through it as sedulously as though he had expected to succeed, and
sat down about nine o'clock in the evening. Then Sir Orlando
moved the adjournment of the House till me morrow, giving as
his reason for doin^ so the expedience of considering the detaik he
had heard. To this no opposition was made, and the House was
adjourned.

On the following day the clubs were aU alive with rumours as to
the coming debate. It was known that a strong party had been
formed under the auspices of Sir Orlando, and that with him Sir
Timothy and other politicians were in close council. It was of
course necessary that they should impart to many the secrets of
their conclave, so that it was known early in the afternoon that it
was the intention of the opposition not to discuss the bill, but to
move that it be read a second time that day six months. The
Ministry had hardly expected this, as the bill was undoubtedly
popular both in the House and the country ; and if the opposition
should be beaten in such a course, that defeat would tend greatly
to strengthen the hands of the Government. But if the foe couli
succeed in carrying a positive veto on the second reading, it would
under all the circumstances be tantamount to a vote of want of
confidence. " I'm afraid they know almost more than we do as to
the feeling of members," said Mr. Boby to Mr. Battler.

" There isn't a man in the House whose feeling in the matter I

494

THE PRIMr: MINISTER.

don't know," said Battler, " but I'm not quite bo sure of fheir
priuciples. On our own side, in our old party, there are a score
of men who detest the Duke, though they would fain be true to the
Oovemment. They have voted with him through thick and thin,
and he has not spoken a word to one of them since he became
Prime Minister. \Vbat are you to do with such a man P How arc
you to act with him ?!'

•♦ Lupton wrote to him the other day about something," answered
the other, ' ' I forget what, and he got a note back from 'W arburton
as cold as ice,— an absolute slap in the face. Fancy treating a
man like Lupton in that way, — one of the most popular men in the
House, related to half the peerage, and a man who thinks so much
of himself ! I shouldn't wonder if he were to vote against us ; — I
shouldn't indeed."

"It has all been the old Duke's doing," said Battler, " and no
doubt it was intended for the best ; but the thins has been a failure
from the beginning to the end. I knew it would be so. I don't
think there has ^en a single man who has understood what a
Ministerial Coalition really means except you and I. From the
vety beginning all your men were averse to it in spirit."

"Lode how they were treated!" said Mr. Boby. "Was it
likelv liiat they should be very staunch when Mr. Monk became
Leadlor of the House P "

There was a Cabinet Council that day which lasted but a few
minutes, and it may be easily presumed that the Ministers decided
that they would all resign at once if Sir Orlando should carry bis
amendment. It is not unlikely that they were agreed to do the
same if he should nearly carry it, — leaving probably the Prime
Minister to judge what narrow majority would constitute nearness.
On this occasion all the gentlemen assembled were jocund in their
manner, and apparently well satisfied, — as though they saw before
them an end to all their troubles. The Spartan boy did not even
make a grimace when the wolf bit him beneath his frock, and these
were all Spartan boys. Even the Prime Minister, who had fortified
himself for the occasion, and who never wept in any company but
that of his wife and his old Mend, was pleasant in his manner
and almost affable. " We shan't make this step towards the
millennium just at present," he said to Phiueas Finn as they
left the room together, — referring to words which Phineas had
spoken on a former occasion, and which then had not been very
well taken.

" But we shall have made a step towards the step," said Phineas,
" and in getting to a millennium even that is something."

" I suppose we are all too anxious," said the Duke, " to see some
great effects come from our own little doings. Good-day. We
shall know all about it tolerably early. Monk seems to think that
it will be an attack on the Ministry and not on the bill, and that it
will be best to get a vote with as little delay as possible."

" ril bet an even five-pound note/' said Mr. Lupton at the Carl-

ONLY THE DUK£ OF OMNIUM.

496

ton, " that the present Ministry ie out to-morrow, and another
that no one names five members of the next Cabinet."

"You can help to win your first bet," said Mr. Beauohamp, a
very old member, who, like many other Conservatives, had sup-
ported the Coalition.

" I shall not do that," said Lupton, " though I think I ought.
I won't vote against the man in his misfortunes, though, upon my
soul, I don't love him very dearly. I shall vote neither way, but
I hope that Sir Orlando may succeed."

•* if he do, who is to come in P " said the other. •' I suppose you
don't want to serve under Sir Orlando P "

** Nor certainly under the Duke of Omnium. We shall not
want a Prime Minister as long as there are as good fish in the sea
as have been caught out of it.

There had lately been formed a new liberal club, established on
a broader basis than the Progress, and perhaps with a greater
amount of aristocratic support. This had come up since the Duke
had been Prime Minister. Certain busy men had never been quite
contented with the existing state of things, and had thought that
the liberal party, withsucn assistance as such dub could give it,
would be strong enough te rule alone. That the great liberal
party should be impeded in its work and ite triumph by such men
as Sir Orlando Drought and Sir Timothy Beeswax was odious to
the dub. All the Pallisers had, from time imme^^^orial, run
straight as Liberals, and therefore the club had been unwilling to
oppose the Duke personally, though he was the chief of the Ccmli-
tion. /nd certain memliers of the Government, Phineas Finn,
for instance, Barrington Erie, and Mr. Rattler were on the com-
mittee of the club. But the club, as a dub, was not averse to a
discontinuance of the present state of things. Mr. Qresham might
again become Prime Minister, if he woiud condescend so far, or
Mr. Monk. It might be possible that the great liberal triumph
contemplated by the club might not be achieved by the present
House ; — but tne present House must go shortly, and then, with
that assistance from a well-organized club, which had lately been
so terribly wanting. — the lack of which had made the Coalition
necessary, — no doubt the British constituencies would do their
duly, and a liberal Prime Minister, pure and simple, might reign
— almost for ever. With this great future before it, the club was
very lukewarm in its support of the present bill. " I shall go
down and vote for them of course," said Mr. O'Mahony, "just
for^ the look of the thing." In saying this Mr. O'Mahony ex-
pressed the feeling of the club, and the feeling of the liberal partv
generally. There was something due to the Duke, but not enough
to make it incumbent on his friends to maintain him in his posi-
tion as Prime Minister.

It was a great day for Sir Orlando. At half-past four the House
was full, — not from any desire to hear Sir Orlando's arguments
against the bill, but because it was felt that a good deal of personal

496

THE PRIME MINI8TEB.

interest wonld be attached to tho debate. If one were asked in
these days what gift should a Prime Minister ask first from the
fairies, one would name the power of attracting personal friends.
Eloquence, if it be too easy, may become almost a curse. Patriotism
is suspected, and sometimes emks almost to ^>edantry. A Jove-
bom intellect is hai-dly wanted, and clashes with the inferiorities.
Industry is exacting. Honesty is unpractical. Truth is easily
offendea. Dignity wiU not bend. But the man who can be all
things to all men, who has ever a kind word to speak, a pleasant
joke to crack, who can forgive all sins, who is ever prepared for
friend or foe but never very bitter to the latter, who forgets not
men's names, and is always ready with little words, — he is the man
who will be supported at a crisis such as this that was now in the
course of passing. It is for him that men will struggle, and talk,
and, if needs be, fight, as though the very existence of the country
depended on his poHtioal security. The present man would receive
no such defence ; — ^but still l^e violent deposition of a Prime

\ Minister is always a memorable occasion.

^ Sir Orlando made his speech, and, as had been anticipated,, it had
very little to do with the Dill, and was almost exclusively an attack
upon his late chief. He thought, he said, that this was an occasion
on which they had better come to a direct issue with as little delay
as possible. If he rightly read the feeling of the House, no bill of
this ma<mitude coming from the present Ministry would be likely
to be passed in an efficient condition. The Duke had frittered
away his support in that House, and as a Minister bitd lost that
conhdence which a majority of the House had once been willing to
place in him. We need not follow Sir Orlando through his speech.
He alluded to his own services, and declared that he was obliged to
withdraw them because the Duke would not trust him with the
management of his own office. He had reason to believe that other
gentlemen who had attached themselves to the Duke's Ministry had
found themselves equally crippled by this padsion for autocratic
rule. Hereupon a loud chorus of disapprobation came from the
Treasury bench, which was fully answered by opposing noises
from the other side of the House. Sir Orlando declared that he
need only point to the fact that the Ministry had been already
shivered by the secession of various gentlemen. ** Only two," said
a voice. Sir Orlando was turning round to contradict the voice
when he was greeted by another. *' And those the weakest," sa'd
the other voice, which was indubitably that of Larry Fitzgibbon.
" I will not speak of myself," said Sir Orlando pompously ; "but
I am authorised to tell the House that the noble lord who is now
Secretary of State for the Colonies only holds his, office till this
crisis shall have passed."

After that there was some sparring of a very bitter kind between
'^ir Timothy and Phineas Finn, till at last it seemed that the debate
vas to degenerate into a war of man against man. Phineas, and
tSrle, and Laurence Fitzgibbon allowed themselves to be lashod

ONLY THE DUKE OF OMNIUM.

497

said

into aDp:er, and, as far an words went, had the bust of it. But of
what UHO could it be P Every man there had come into the House
prepared to vote for or against the Duke of Omnium, — or resolved,
like Mr. Lupton, not to vote at all ; and it was hardly on the cards
that a single vote should be ttirned this way or that by any violence
of speaking. ' ' Let it pass, ' ' said Mr. Monk in a whisper to Phineas.
" The fire is not worth the fuel."

"I know the Duke's faults," said Phineas; "but these men
know nothing of his virtues, and when 1 hear them abuse him I
cannot stand it."

Early in the night, — before twelve o'clock, — the House divided,
and even at the moment of the division no one quite knew how it
would go. There would be many who would of course vote against
the amendment as being simply desirous of recording their opinion
m favour of the bill generallv. And there were some who thought
that Sir Orlando and his followers had been too forward, and
too confident of their own standing in the House, in trying so vio-
lent a mode of opposition. It would have been better, these men
thought, to have insured success by a gradual and persistent oppo-
sition to the bill itself. But they hardl v knew how thoroughly men
may be alienated by silence and a cold demeanour. Sir Orlando
on the division was beaten, but was beaten only by 9. " He can't
go on with his bill," said Battler in one of the lobbies of the House.
** I defy him. The House wouldn't stand it, you know." " No
minister," said Roby, ** could carry a measure like that with a
majority of 9 on a vote of confidence ! " The House was of
course a4joumed, and Mr. Monk went at once to Carlton Terrace.

" I wish it had only been 3 or 4," said the Duke, laughing.

"Why so P"

♦' Because there would have been less doubt."

" Is there any at present P"

** Less possibility for doubt, I will say. You wouW not wish to
make the attempt with such a majority."

♦• I could not do it, Duke ! "

" I quite agree with you. But there will be those who will say
that the attempt might be made, — who will accuse us of being
faint-hearted because we do not make it."

" They will be men who understand nothing of the temper of
the House."

'• Very likely. But still, I wish the majority had only been 2
or 3. There is little more to be said, I suppose."

'« Very little, your Grace."

" "We had better meet to-morrow at two, and, if possible, I will
see hftr Majesty in the afternoon. Good night, Mr. Monk."

♦♦ Good night, Dnko."

" My reign is ended. You are a good deal an older man than
I, and yet probably yours has yet to begin." Mr. Monk smiled
and shook his head as he left the room, not trusting himself to
discuss so large a subject at so late an hour of the nicpt^

K JH

40d

THE PRIMK MINIBTKU.

Without waiting a moment after his colleague's departure, the
Prime Minister,— for he was still Prime Miuister, — weut into his
wifu's room, knowing that she was waiting up till she should hear
the result of the division, and there he found Mrs. Finn with her.
*' Is it over P" asked the Duohess.

" Tes ;— there has been a division. Mr. Monk has just been
with me."

••Weill"

•• We have beaten them, of course, as we always do," said the
Duke, attempting to be pleasant. •• You didn't suppose there
was any^ng to tear F Your husband hati always bid you keep up
your oourase ;— has he not, Mrs. Finn ? "

•• My husoand has lost his senses, I think," she said. •• He has
taken to such storming and raving about his political enemies
that I hardly dare to open my mouth."

•• Tell me what has been done, Plantagenet," ejaculated the
Duchess.

•• Don't you be as unreasonable as Mrs. Finn, Ciora. The
House has voted against Sir Orlando's amendment by a majority

of 9 r

••OnW9I"

'• Aad I shall cease to be Prime Minister to-morrow."

^* You don't mean to say that it's settled P*

•• Quite settled. The play has been played, and the curtain had
fallen, and the lights are being put out, and the poor weary
actors may go home to bed."

•• But on such an amendment surely any majority would have
done."

•• No, my dear. I will not name a number, but 9 certainly
would not do."

•• And it is all over P "

*• My Ministry is all over, if you mean that."

•* Then everything is over for me. I shall settle down in the
country and build cottages, and mix draughts. Tou, Marie, will
still be going up the tree. If Mr. Finn manages well he may
come to be Prime Minister some day."

•• He has hardly such ambition, Lady Glen."

•• The ambition will come fast enough; — will it not, Plan-
tagenet P Let him once begin to dream of it as possible, and
the desire will soon be strong enough. How should you feel if it
were so P"

•• It is quite impossible," said Mrs. Finn, gravely.

•• I don't see why anything is impossible. Sir Orlando will bo
Prime Minister now, and Sir Tir lothy Beeswax Lord Chancellor.
After that anybody may hope to be anything. Well, — ^I suppose
We may go to bed. Is your carriage here, my dear P "

" I hope so."

•• Bing the bell, Plantagenet, for somebody to see her down.
)lome to lunch to-morrow because I shall have so many groans

OMLT TRK DUKE OP OMNIUM.

499

to uttor. What beaata, what brutea, what UDgrateful wretohen
men art) ! — worse than women wheu they get together iu uuiubern
enough to be bold. Why have they deiterted you ? What have
we not done for them ? Think of all the new bedroom furniture
that we sent to Oatherum merely to keep the party together.
There were thoosands of yarda of linen, ana it has all been of no
use. Don't you feel like Wolsey, Pluutageuet P "

" Not in the least, my dear. No uue will take anything away
from me that is my own."

" For me, I am almost as mnoh divorced as Catherine, and
have had my head cut off as completely us Anne Bullen and the
rest of them. Go away, Marie, because I am going to have a cry
by myself."

The Duke himself on that night put Mrs. Finn into her carriage ;
and as he walked with her down-stairs he asked her whether she
believed the Duchess to be in earnest in her sorrow. " She so mixes
up her mirth and woe together," said the Duke, " that I myself
sometimes can hardly understand her."

" I think she does regret it, Dnke."

'* She told me but the other day that she would be contented."

" A few weeks will make her so. As for your Grace, I hope I
may congratulate you."

'• Oh yes ; — I thmk so. We none of us like to be beaten when
we have taken a thing in hand. There is always a little disap-
pointment at first. But, upon the whole, it is better as it is. I
hope it will not make your husband unhappy."

*' Not for his own sake. He will go again into the middle of
the scramble and fight on one side or the other. For my own
part I think opposition the pleasantest. Good night, Duke. I am
so sorry that I should have troubled you."

Then he went alone to his own room, and sat there without
moving for a couple of hours. Surely it was a great thing to have
been Ptime Minister of England for three years, — a prize of which
nothing now could rob him. He ought not to be unhappy ; and
yet he knew himself to be wretched and disappointed. It had
never occurred to him to be proud of being a duke, or to think
of his wealth otherwise than a chance incident of his life, advan-
tageous indeed, but by no means a source of honour. And he had
been aware that he had owed his first seat in Parliament to his
birth, and probably also his first introduction to official life. An
heir to a dukedom, if he will only work hard, may almost with
certainty find himself received into one or the other regiment in
Downing Street. It had not in his early days been with him as it
had wiui his friends Mr. Monk and Phineas Finn, who had
worked their way from the very ranks. But even a duke cannot
become Prime Minister by favour. Surely he had done some-
thing of which he might be proud. And so he tried to console
himself.

But to have done something was nothing to him, — nothing to

600

THE PRIMK inNISTER..

his personal happiness, — unless there was also something left ft r
him to do. How should it be with him now, — how for tKe
future P Would men ever listen to him again, or allow him again
to work in their behoof, as he used to do in his happy days in the
House of Commons ? He feared that it was all over for him, and
that for the rest of his days he must simply be the Duke of
Omnium.

l-'i

CHAPTEE LXXIV.

"I AM DISGRACED AND SHAMED."

Soon after the commencement of the Session Arthur Fletcher
became a constant visitor in Manchester Square, dining with the
old barrister almost constantly on Sundays, and not unfrequently
on other days when the House and his general engagements would
permit it. Between him and Emily's father there was no secret
and no misunderstanding. Mr. Wharton quite understood that
the young member of Paniament was eamestiy purposed to marry
his daughter, and Fletcher was sure of all the assistance and sup-
port which Mr. Wharton could give him. The name of Lopez was
very rarely used between them. It had been tacitly agreed that
there was no need that it should be mentioned. The man had
come like a destroying angel between them and their fondest hopes.
Neither could ever be what he would have been had that man
never appeared to destroy their happiness. But the man had gone
away, not without a tragedy that was appalling ; — and each thought
that, as regarded him, he and the tragedy might be, if not for-
gotten at least put aside, if only that other person in whom they
were interested could be taught to seem to forget him. " It is not
love," said the father, " but a feeling of shame." Arthur Fletcher
shook his head, not quite agreeing with this. It was not that he
feared that she loved the memory of her late husband. Such love
was, he thought, impossible. But there was, he believed, some-
thing more than the feeling which her father described as shame.
There was pride also ; — a determination in her own bosom not to
confess the fault she had made in giving herself to him whom she
must now think to have been so much the least worthy of her two
suitors. ** Her fortune will not be what I once promised you,"
said the old man plaintively.

" I do not remember that I ever asked you as to her fortune,"
Arthi'r replied.

** Certamly not. If you had I should not have told you. But
as I named a sum, it is right that I should explain to you that
that man succeeded in lessening it by six or seven thousand
pounds."

"l AM DISOBAOED AND SHAMED."

501

" If that were all ! "

"And I have promised Sir Alured that Everett, as his heir,
ihould haye the use of a considerable portion of his share without
flailing for m^ death. It is odd that the one of my children from
whom I certainly expected the greater trouble should have fallen

HO entirely on his feet ; and that the other ; well, let us hope

for the best. Everett seems to have taken up with Wharton as

though it belonged' to him already. And Bmuy ! Well, my

dear boy, let us hope that it may come right yet. You are not
drinking your wine. Tes, — pass the bottle; I'll haye another
glass before I go up-stairs."

In this way the time went by till Emil;^ returned to town.
The Ministry had just then resigned, but I tmnk that " this great
reactionary success," as it was called by the writer in the " People's
Banner," affected one member of the Lower House much less than
the return to London of Mrs. Lopez. Arthur Fletcher had deter-
mined that he would renew his suit as soon as a year should have
expired since the tragedy which had made his love a widow, — and
that year had now passed away. He had known the day well, — as
h&d she, when she passed the morning weeping in her own room at
Wharton. Now he questioned hims^f whether a year would suf-
fice, — whether both in mercy to her and with' the view of realising
his own hopes he should give her some longer time for recovery.
But he had told himself that it should be done at the end of a year,
and as he had allowed no one to talk him out of his word, so
neither would he be untrue to it himself. But it became with him
a deep matter of business, a (question of great difficulty, how he
should arrange the necessary interview, — whether he should plead
his case with her at their first mooting, or whether he had better
allow her to become accustomed to his presence in the house. His
mother had attempted to ridicule him, because he was, as she said,
afraid of a woman. He well remembered that he had never been
afraid of Emily Wharton when they had been quite young, — ^little
more than a boy and girl together. Then he had told her of his
love oyer and over again, and had found almost a comfortable
luxury in ur^ng her to say a word, which she had never indeed
said, out which probably in those da^s he still hoped that she
would say. And occasionally he had feigned to be angry with her,
and had tempted her on to litUe quarrels with a boyish idea that
quick reconciliation would perhaps throw her into his arms. But
now it seemed to him that an age had passed since those days.
His love had certainly not faded. There hau never been a moment
when that had been on the wing. But now the azure plumage of
his love had become grey as the wings of a dove, and the gorgeous-
ness of his dreams had sobered into hopes and fears which were a
constant burden to his heart. There was time enough, still time
enough for happiness if she would yield ; — and time enough for the
dull pressure of unBatinfied aspirations should uhe persist in her
refusal.

602

THE PBIME MINISTER.

At last he saw her, almost by accident, and tiiAt meeting cer-
toinly was not fit for the purpose of his suit. He called at Stone
Buildings the day after her arrival, and found her at her father's
chambers. She had come there keeping some appointment with
him, and certainly had not expected to meet her lover. He was
confused and hardly able to say a word to account for his presence,
but she greeted him with almost sisterly affection, saying some
word of Longbams and his family, telling him how Everett, to Sir
Alured's great delight, had been sworn in as a magistrate for the
County, and ho 7 at the laet hunt meeting John Fletcher had been
aeked to take the County hounds, because old Lord Weobly at
seventy-five had declared himself to be unable any longer to ride
as a master of hounds ought to ride. All these things Arthur had
of course heard, such news being too important to be kept long
from him ; but on none of these subjects had he much to say. He
stuttered and stammered, and quickly went away ; — not, however,
before he had promised to come and dine as usual on the next
Sunday, and not without observing that the anniversary of that
fatal day oi release had done something to lighten the sombre load
of mourning which the widow had hitherto worn.

Yes ; — ^he would dine there on the Sunday, but how would
it be with him then P Mr. Wharton never went out of the
house on a Sunday evening, and could hardly be expected to leave
his own drawing-room for the sake of giving a lover an opportu-
nity. No; — ^he must wait till that evening should have passed,
and then make the occasion for himself as best he might. The
Sunday came and the dinner was eaten, and after dinner there was
the single bottle of port and the single bottle of claret. *' How do
you think she is looking P" asked the father. *' She was as pale
as death before we got her down into the country."

" Upon my word, sir," said he, " I've hardly looked at her. It
is not a matter of looks now, as it used to be. It has got beyond
that. It is not that I am indifferent to seeing a pretty face, or
that I have no longer an opinion of my own about a woman's
figure. But there grows up, I think, a longing which almost kills
that consideration,"

" To me she is as beautiful as ever," said the father proudly. '

Fletcher did manage, when in the drawing-room, to talk for a
while about John and the hounds, and then went away, having
resolved that he would come again on the very next day. Surely
she would not givo an order that he should be denied admittance.
She had been too calm, too even, too confident in herself for that.
Yes ; — he would come and tell her plainly what he had to say. He
would tell it with all the solemnity of which he was capable, with
a few words, and those the strongest which he could use. Should
she refuse him. — as he almost knew that she would at first,— then
he would tell her of her father and of the wishes of all their joint
friends. *' Nothing," he would say to her, " nothing but personal
lUslike can justify you in refusing to heal so many wounds." As

vx^

**I AM DISaRAOED AND SHAMED."

508

he fixed on these words he failed to remember how little probab!t3
it is that a lover should ever be able to use the phrases which he
arranges.

On the Monday he came, and asked for Mrs. Lopess, slurring oyer
the word as best he could. The butler said his mistress was at
home. Since the death of the man he had so thoroughly despised,
the old servant had never called her Mris. Lopez. Arthur was
shown up-stairs, and found the lady he sought, — but he found
Mrs. Boby idso. It may be remembered that Mrs. Boby, after the
tragedy, had been refused admittance into Mr. Wharton's house.
Since uiat there had been some correspondence, and a feeling had
prevailed that the woman was not to be quarrelled with for ever.
" I did not do it, papa, because of her," Emily had said with some
scorn, and that scorn had procured Mrs. Bob3rs pardon. She was
now making a morning call, and suiting her conversation to the
black dress of her niece. Arthur was horrified at seeing her. Mrs.
Eoby had always been to him odious, not only as a personal enemy
but as a vulgar woman. He, at any rate, attributecl to her a great
part of the evil that had been done, feeling sure that had there
been no house round the comer, Emily Wharton would never have
become Mrs. Lopez. As it was he was forced to diake hands with
her, and forced to listen to the funereal tone in which Mrs. Boby
asked him if he did not think that Mrs. Lopez looked much im-
proved by her sojourn in Herefordshire. He shrank at the sound,
and then, in order that it might not be repeated, took occasion to
show that he was allowed to call his early playmate by her Ohrisr
tian name. Mrs. Boby, thinking that she ought to check him,
remarked that Mrs. Lopez's return was a great thing for Mr. Whar-
ton. Thereupon Arthur Fletcher seized his hat off the ground,
wished them both good-bye, and hurried out of the room. " What
a very odd manner he has taken up since he became a member of
Parliament," said Mrs. Boby.

Emily was silent for a moment, and then with an effort, — with
intense pain, — she said a word or two which she thought had
better be at once spoken. " He went because he does not like tq^
hear that name."

'• Gbod gracious ! "

" And papa does not like it. Don't say a word about it, aunt ;
pray don't ; — but call me Emily."

*' Are you ^oing to be ashamed of your name P "

"Never mind, aunt. If you think it wrong you must stay
away ; — but I will not have papa wounded."

" Oh ; — if Mr. Wharton wishes it ; of course." That evening
Mrs. Boby told Dick Boby, her husband, what an old fool Mr.
Wharton was.

The next day, quite early, Fletcher was again at the house and
was again admitted up-stairs. The butler, no doubt, knew well
enough why he came, and also knew that the purport of his coming
had at any rate the sanction of Mr. Wharton. The rooin wa»

604

IHE PRIME MINISTER.

ezapty when he was shown into it, but she came to him very soon.
" 1 went away yesterday rather abruptly," he said. ** I hope you
did not think me rude."

♦*0h, no."

" Tour aunt was here, and I had something I wished to say but
could not say very well before her."

" I knew that she had driven you away. You and Aunt Harriet
wore neyer great friends."

•* Never ; — but I will forgive her everything. I will forgive all
the injuries that have been done me if you now will do as I ask
you."

Of course she knew what it was that he was about to ask. When
he had left her at Longbams without saying a word of his love,
without giving her any hint whereby she might allow herself to
think that he mtended to renew his suit, then she had wept because
it was so. Though her resolution had been q^uite firm as to the
duty which was moumbent on her of remaining in her desolate
condition of almost nameless widowhood, yet she had been unable
to refrain from bitter tears because he also had seemed to see that
such was her duty. But now again, knowing that the request was
coming, feeling once more confident of the constancy of his love,
she was urgent with herself as to that heavy duty. She would be
unwomanly, dead to all shame, almost inhuman, were she to ailoT?
herself again to indulge in love after all the havoc she had made.
She had been little more than a bride when that husband, for whom
she had so often been forced to blush, had been driven by the
weight of his misfortunes and disgraces to destroy himself! By
the marriage she had made she had overwhelmed her whole family
with dishonour. She had done it with a persistency of perverse
self-will which she herself could not now look back upon without
wonder and horror. She, too, should have died as well as he, —
only that death had not been within the compass of her powers as
of his. How thisn could she forget it all, and wipe it away from
her mind, as she would figures from a ^te with a wet towel ?
How could it be fit that she should again bo a bride with such a
spectre of a husband haunting her memory P She had known that
the requesli was to be made when he had come so quickly, and
had not doubted it for a moment when he took his sudden depar-
ture. She had known it well, when just now the servant told her
that Mr. Fletcher was in the drawing-room below. But she was
quite certain of the answer she must make. "I should be sorry

Jrou should ask me anything I cannot do," she said in a very
ow voice.

"IwiU ask you nothing for which I have not your father's
sanction."

" The time has gone by, Arthur, in which I might well have
beec guided by my father. There comes a time when personal
feelings must be stronger than a father's authority. Papa cannot
see me with my own eyes ; he cannot understand what I feel. It

'• I AM DISGRACED ATID SHAMED."

506
But

is simply this, — that he would have me to be other than I am.
I am what I have made myself."

" Tou have not heard me as yet. You will hear me ? "

** Oh, yes."

" I have loyed you ever sinoe I was a boy." He paused as
though he expected that she would make some answer to this ; but
of course there was nothing that she could say. "I have been
true to you since we were together almost as children."

*' It is your nature to be tarue."

" In this matter, at any rate, I shall never change. I never for
a moment had a doubt about my love. There never has been any
one else whom I have ventured to compare with you. Then came
that great trouble. Emily, you must let me speaK freely this once,
as so much, to me at least, depends on it."

" Say what you will, Arthur. Do not wound me more than you
can help."

" Gbd knows how willingly I would heal every wound without a
word if it could be done. I don't know whether you ever thoueht
what I suffered when he came among us and robbed me, — well I
will not say robbed me of your love, oecause it was not mine — but
took away with him that which I had been trving to win."

" I did not think a man would feel it like that. '

"Why (Wouldn't a man feel as well as a woman ? I had set my
heart on having you for my wife. Can «»ny desire be nearer to a
man than that ? Then he came. Well, dearest ; surely I may say
that he was not worthy of you."

'* We were neither of us worthy," she said.

** I need not tell you that we aU grieved. It seemed to us down
in Herefordshire as though a black cloud had come upon us. We
could not speak of you, nor yet could we be altogether silent."

" Of course you condemned me, — as an outcast."

** Did I write to you as though you were an outcast ? Did I
treat you when I saw you as an outcast P When I come to you
to-day, is that proof that I think you te be an outcast ? I lutve
never deceived you, Emily."

"Never."

** Then you will believe me when I say that through it all not
one word of reproach or contumely has ever passed my lips in
regard to you. That you should have given yourself to one whom
I could not think te be worthy of you was, of course, a great sorrow.
Had he been a prince of men it would, of course, have been a
sorrow te me. How it went with you during your married life I
will not ask."

" I was unhappy. I would tell you everything if I could. I
was very unhappy."

'• Then came — the end." She was liow weeping, with her face
buried in her handkerchief. ' ' I would spare you if I knew hoxr^
but there are some things which must be said.

*• No ; — no. I will bear it all — from you."

500

THE PRIME MINISTER..

" Well ! His success had not lessened my love. Thoagh then
I could have no hope, — though you were utterly removed from me,
— all that could not change me. There it was, — as though my arm
or my leg had been taken from me. It was bad to live without an
arm or leg, but there was no help. I went on with mv life and
tried not to look like a whipped cur; — ^though John nom. time
to time would tell me that I failed. But now ; — now that it has
again all changed, — ^what would you have me do now P It may be
that after all my limb may be restored to me, that I may be again
as other men are, whole, and sound, and happy ; — so happy I
When it may possibly be within my reach am I not to look for my
happiness Y He paused, but she wept on without speaking a
word. "There are those who will say that I should wait till all
these signs of woe have been laid aside. But why should I wait ?
There has come a great blot upon your life, and is it not well that
it should be covert as quickly as possible P "

*• It o&n never be covered."

** Tou mean ^^ at it can never be forgotten. No doubt there are
passages in our fe which we cannot forget, though we bury them
in the deepest silence. All this can never be driven out of your
memory, — nor from mine. But it need not therefore blacken all
our lives. In such a condition we should not be ruled by what the
world thinks."

" Not at all. I care nothing for what the world thinks. I am
below aU that. It is what I think ; I myself, — of myself."

" Will you ttiink of no one else P Are any of your thoughts for
me, — or for your father ? "

'* Oh, yes ; — ^for my father."

•* I need hardly tell you what h wishes. You must know how
you can best^ve him oackthe comfort he has lost."

'• But, Arthur, even for him I cannot do everything."

"There is one question to be asked," he said, rising from her
feet and standing oefore her ; — " but one ; and what you do should
depend entirely on the answer which you may be able truly to make
to that."

This he said so solemnly that he startled her. ** What question,
Arthur? "

" Do you love me ? " To this question at the moment she could
make no reply. '* Of course I know that you did not love me when
you married nim."

•* Love is not all of one kind."

*• You know what love I mean. You did not love me then.
You could not have loved me, — though, perhaps, I thought I had
deserved your love. But love will change, and memory will some-
times bring back old fancies when the world has been stern and
hard. When we were very young I think you loved me. Do you
remember seven years ago at Longbams, wnen they parted us and
sent me away, because, — because we were so young P They did
pot tell us then, but I think you knew. I know that I knew, and

10V€

** I AM DISGRACED AND SHAMED.

507

went nigh to swear that*I would drown myself. You loyed me
then, Emily. '

" I was a child then."

** Now you are not a child. Do yon love me now, — to-day ? If
BO, giyo me your hand, and let the past be buried in silence. All
this hasoome, and gone, and has nearly made us old. But there is
life before us yet, and if ^ou are to me as I am to you it is better
that our liyes should be hved together." Then he stood before her
with his hand stretched out.

** I cannot do it," she said.

" And why P "

" I cannot be other than the wretched thing I have made my-
self."

*• But do you love me P "

" I cannot analyze my heart. Love you ; — ^yes ! I have always
loved you. Everything about you is dear to me. I can triumph
in your triumphs, rejoice at your joy, weep at your sorrows, D9
ever anxious that all good things may come to you ; — but, Arthur,
I cannot be your wife."

"Not though it would make ua all happy, — Fletchers and
Whartons all alike ? "

" Do you think I have not thought it over P Do you think that
I have forgotten your first letter r Knowing your heart, as I do
know it, do you imagine that I have spent a day, an hour, for
months past, without asking myself what answer I should make to
you if the sweet constancy of your nature should bring you again
to me P I have trembled when I have heard your voice. My heart
has beat at the sound of your footstep as though it would burst I
Do you think I have never told myself what I had thrown away P
But it is gone, and it is not now within niy reach. "

** It is ; it is," he said, throwing himself on his knees, and
twining his arms round her.

*• No ; — no ; — no ; — never. I am disgraced and shamed. I have
lain among the pots till I am foul and blackened. Talie your
arms away. They shall not be denied," she said as she sprang to
her feet. " You shall not have the thiiig that he has left."
Emily, — it is the only thing in all the world that I crave."

"Be a man and conquer your love, — as I will. Get it under
your feet and press it to death. Tell yourself that it is shameful
and must be abandoned. That you, Arthur Fletcher, should marry
I he widow of that man, —the woman that he had thrust so far into
xhe mire that die can never again be clean ; — you, the chosen one,
the bright dtar among us aJl; — you, whose wife should be the
fairest, the purest, the tenderest of us all, i flower that has yet

been hardly breathed on I While I Arthur," she said, "I

know my duty better than that. I will not seek an escape from
my punishment in that way, — nor will I allow you to destroy your-
self. You have my word as a woman that it shall not be so. Now
I do not mind your knowing whoihor I love you or no." Uostoo(^

608

THE PRIME MINIBTEB.

silent before her, not able for the moment to go on with his prayer.
" And now, go," she said. " God bless you, and give you some day
a fair and happy wife. And, Arthur, do not come again to me. li
you will let it oe so, I shall have a delight in set'^xg you ;— but
not if you come as you have oome now. And, Ar.l.ur, spare me
with papa. Do not let him think that it is all my fault that I can-
not do tne thing which he wishes." Then she left the room before
he could say another word to her.

But it was all her fault. No ; — ^in that direction he could not
spare her. It must be told to her father, though he doubted his
own power of describing all that had been said. " Do not come
again to me," she had said. At the moment he had been left
speechless ; but if there was one thing fixed in his mind it was the
determination to come again. He was sure now, not only of love
that might have sufficed, — but of hot, passionate love. She had
told him that her heart had beat at his rootsteps, and that she had
trembled as she listened to his voice ; — and yet she expected that
he would not come again ! But there was a violence of decision
about the woman which made him dread that he might still come
in vain. She was so warped from herself by the conviction of her
great mistake, so prone to take shame to herself for her own error,
so keenly alive to me degradation to which she had been submitted,
that it might yet be impossible to teach her that, though her
husband had been vile and she mistaken, yet she had not been
soiled by his baseness.

He went at once to the old barrister's chambers and told him
the result of the meeting. " She is still a fool," said the father,
not understanding at second-hand the depths of his daughter's
feeling.

** No, sir, — not that. She feels herself degraded by his degrada-
tion. If it be possible we must save her from that.'

" She did degrade herself."

*' Not as she means it. She is not degraded in my eyes."

" Why should she not take the only means in her power ol
rescuing herself and rescuing us all from the evil that she did \
She owes it to you, to me, and to her brother."

" I would hardly wish her to come to me in payment of such a
debt."

"There is no room left," said Mr. Wharton angrily, "for soft
sentimexitality. Well ; — she must take her bed as she makes it.
It is very hard on me, I know. Considering what she used to be,
it is marvellous to me that she should have so little idea left oi
doing her duty to others."

Arthur Fletcher found that the barrister was at the moment too
angry to hear reason, or to be made to understand anything of the
feelings of mixed love and admiration witii which he himself was
animated at the moment. He was obliged therefore to content
himself with assuring the father that he did not intend to give up
jlie pursuit of his daughter.

THE GREAT WHARTON ALLIANCE.

509

CHAPTEB LXXV.

TITR GREAT WHARTON ALLIANCE.

When Mr. Wharton got home on that day he said not a word to
Emily as to Arthur Fletcher. He had resolved to take various
courses, — first to tell her roundly that she was neglecting her duty
to herself and to her family, and that he would no longer take her
part and be her good Mend unless she would consent to marry the
man whom she had confessed that she loved. But as he thought
of this he became aware, — first that he could not carry out such a
threat, and then that he would lack even the firmness to make it.
There was something in her face, something even in her dress,
something in her whole manner to himself, which softened him and
reduced him to vassalage directly he saw her. Then he determined
to throw himself on her compassion and to implore her to put an
end to all this miseiy by making herself happy. But as he drew
near home he found himself unable to do even this. How is a
father to beseech his widowed daughter to give herself away in a
second marriage? And therefore when he entered the house and
found her waiting for him, he said nothing. At first she looked at
him wistfully, — anxious to learn by his face whether her lover had
been with hun. But when he spoke not a word, simply kissing her
in his usual quiet way, she be<»me cheerful in manner and com-
municative. " Papa," she said, " I have had a letter from Mary."

"Well, my dear."

•* Just a nice chatty letter, — full of Everett of course.'*

*' Everett is a great man now."

" I am sure that you are very glad that he is what he is. Will
you see Mary's letter ?" Mr. Wharton was not specially given to
reading young ladies' correspondence, and did not know why this
particular letter should be offered to him. " Tou don't suspect
anything at Wharton, do you ?" she asked.

" Suspect any thinp^ ! No; I don't suspect anything." But now,
having nad his curiosity aroused, he took the letter which was
olffered to him ard read it. Tlie letter was as follows ; —

" Wharton, Thnmday .

*' Dearest Emily, —

' ' We all hope that you had a pleasant journey up to London,
aLd that Mr. Whcurton is quite well. Your brother Everett came
over to Longbams the day after you started and drove me back to
Wharton in the dog-oart. It was such a pleasant journey, though,
now I remember, it rained all the way. But Everett has always
so much to say that I didn't mind the rain. I think it will end m
John t^ing the hounds. He says he won't, because he does not
Irish to be the slave of the whole county ; — ^but he says it in that

610

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

Dort of way that we all thiiik he means to do it- Everett tello hlui
that he ought, becauue he is the onlv huutiug man on this side of
the county who can afford to do it without feeing it much ; and of
course what Everett says will go a long way with him. Sar^," —
Sarah was John Fletcher's wife, — ** is rather against it. But if he
makes up his mind she'll be sure to turn round. Of course it makes
us all very anxious at present to know how it is to end, for the
Master of the Hounds always is the leading man in our part of the
world. Papa went to the bench at Boss yesterday and took
Everett with him. It was the first time that liiverett had sat there.
He says I am to tell his father he has not hung anybody as yet.

" They have already begun to cut down, or what they call stubb
up, Bamton Spinnies. Everett said that it is no good ke ping
it as a wood, and papa agreed. So it is to ^ into the home farm,
and Griffiths is to pay rent for it. I don't hke having it cut down
as the boys always used to get nuts there, but Everett says it won't
do to keep woods for little boys to get nuts.

" Mary Stocking has been very iU since you went, and I'm afraid
she won't last long. When they get to be so very bad with rheuma-
tism I almost think it's wrong to pray for them, because they are in
so much pain. We thought at one time that mamma's ointment
had done her good, but when we came to inqrire, we found she
had swallowed it. Wasn't it dreadful P But it didn't seem to do
her any harm. Everett says that it wouldn't make any difference
which she did.

" Papa is beginningto be afraid that Everett is a Badioal. But
I'm Bure's he's not. Me says he is as ^ood a Conservative as there
is in all Herefordshire, only that he lilies to know what is to be
conserved. Papa said after dinner yesterday that evervthing
English ought to be maintained. Everett said that according to
that we should have kept the Star Ohamber. ' Of course I would,'
said papa. ' Then they went at it, hammer and tongs. Everett had
the best of it. At any rate he talked the longest. But I do hope
he is not a Badical. No country gentleman ought to be a Badical.
Ought he, dear ?

" Mrs. Fletcher sayu you are to get the lozenges at Squire's in
Oxford Street, and be sure to ask for the Yade mecum lozenges.
She is aU in a flutter about the hounds. She says she hopes John
will do nothing of the kind because of the expense ; but we ail
know that she would like him to have them. The subscription is
not very good, only £1,500, and it would cost him ever so much a
year. But everybody says that he is very rich and that he ought
to do it. If you see Arthur give him our love. Of course a mem-
ber of Parliament is too busy to write letters. But I don't think
Arthur ever was good at writing. Everett «*ys that men never
ought to write letters. Give my love to Mr. Wharton.

*• I am, Dearest Emihr,

" Tour most affectionate Oousin,

««Mat?Y WHABTO^,"

THE ARKAT WHARTON ALLIANCE.

611

But
there
to be

" Everett is a fool," said Mr. Wbartou as soou as he had read
the letter.

" Why is he a fool, papa P "

" Because he will (marrel with Sir Alured about politics before he
knows where he is. What busiueus has a young follow like that to
have an opinion either one side or the other, before his betters Y "

" "But Everett always had strong opinions."

"It didn't matter as long as he only talked nonsense at a olub
in London, but now he'll break that old man's heart."

" But, papa, don't you see anything elseP"

" I see that John Fletcher is going to make an ass of himself
and spend a thousand a year in keeping up a pack of hoimds for
other people to ride after."

" I think I see something else besides that."

"What do you seeP"

'* Would it annoy you if Eyerett were to become engaged to
MaryP"

Then Mr. Wharton whistled. " To be sure she does put his
name into every line of her letter. No ; it wouldn't annoy me. I
don't see why he shouldn't marry his second cousin if he likes.
Only if he is engaged to her, I think it odd that he shouldn't write
and tell us."

" I'm sure he's not engaged io her yet. She wouldn't write at
all in that way if they were engaged. Everybody would be told
at once, and Sir Alured would never be able to keep it a secret.
Why should there be a secret P But I'm sure she is very fond of
him. Mary would never write about any man in that way unless
she were beginning to be attached to him."

About ten days after this there came two letters from Wharton
Hall to Manchester Square, the shortest of which shall be given
first. It ran as follows ; —

** My deab Father, —

'- 1 have proposed to my cousin Mary, and she has accepted
me. Everybody here seems to like the idea. I hope it will not
displease you. Of course you and EmUy will come down. I will
tell you when.the lay is fixed.

** Your affectionate Son,

*♦ Everett Wharton."

This the old man read as he sat at br<>akfast with his daughter
opposite to him, while Emily was '.eading a very much longer
letter from the same house. "Sj it's going to be just as you
guessed," he said.

" I wai quite sure of it, papa. Is that from Everett P Is he very
happy?"

"Upon my word I can't say whether he's happy or not. If he
had got a new horse he would have written at much greater length
about it. It seems, however, to be quite fixed."

612

THE PRIME MINISTKB.

"Oh, yes. Thin is from Mary. She is huppy at any rate. I
suppose men never say so much about theso things as women."

" May I see Mary's letter P '

"I don't think it would be quite fair, papa. It's only a girl's
rhapsody about the man she loves, — very nice and womanly, but
not intended for any one but me. It does not seem that they mean
to wait very long."

" Why should they wait P Is any day fixed P "

" Mary says that Everett talks about ^He middle of May. Of
course you will go down."

•' We must both go.'*

" Tou will at any rate. Don't promise for me just at present.
It must make Sir Alured very happy. It is almost the same as
finding himself at last with a son of his own. I suppose they will
live at Wharton altogether now, — unless Everett gets into Par-
liament."

But the reader may see the young lady's letter, though her
future father-in-law was not permitted to do so, and will perceive
that there was a para^aph at the dose of it which perhaps was
more conducive to Emily's secrecy than her feelings as to the sacred
obligations of female correspondence.

•

" Monday, Wharton.

"Dearest Emilt, —

" I wonder whether you will be much surprised* at the news
I have to tell you. Tou cannot be more so than 1 am at having to
write it. It has all been so very sudden that I almost feel ashamed
of myself. Everett has proposed to me, and I have accepted him.
There ; — now you know it all. Though you never can know how
very dearly I love him and how thorougnly I admire him. I do
think that he is everything that a man ought to be, and that I am
the most fortunate young woman in the world. Only isn't it odd
that I should always have to live all my life in the stvme house, and
never change my name,— just like a mtrn, or un old maid P But I
don't mind that because I do love him so dep«rly and because he is
so good. I hope he will write to you und tell you that he likes me.
He has written to Mr. Wharton I know. I was sitting by him and
his letter didn't take him a minute. But he says that long letters
about such things only give trouble. I hope you won't tmnk my
letter troublesome. Ue is not sitting by me now but has gone
over to Longbams to help to setde about the hoimds. John is
going to have them after all. I wish it hadn't Happened just at
this time because all the gentlemen do think so much about it. Of
course Everett is one of the committee.

" Papa and mamma are both very very glad of it. Of course it

is nice for them as it will keep Everett and me here. If I had

married anybody else, — though I am sure I never should, — she

would have been very lonely. And of course papa liken to think

Aat Everett is already one of us. I hope they never will quarrel

THE URRAT WHARTON ALLIANCB.

618

) news
ing to
lamed

him.

how

I do
. I am
it odd

I, and
But I

he is
38 me.
and
letters

ik my
gone
lomi is
lust at
lit. Of

3e it

II had
,— she

think
luarrel

about politics ; but, as Everett says, the world duon chatijife as it goes
on, and young men and old men never will think quite the same
about things. Everett told papa the other dav that if he could be
put back a century he would be a Radical. Then thoro were ever
so many words. But Everett always laughs, and at last papa
•omM round.

" I can't tell you, my dear, what a fuss we are in already about
it all. Everett wants to havo our marriuge early in May, so that
we may have two months in Swit^serland before London is what he
ealla turned loose. And papa sayn that there is no use in delay-
ing, because he gets older every day. Of course that is true of
everybody. So mat we are all in a flutter about ^tting things.
Mamma did talk of going up to town, but I beUeve thev have
thing^ now quite as ^^o^ at Hereford. Sarah, when sue was
married, had all her thmg^ from London, but they say that there
has been a great change since that. I a^i sure I think that you
niay get anything you want at Muddocks and Oramble's. But
mamma says I am to have my veil from Howell and James's.

" Of course you and Mr. Wharton will come. I shan't think it
any marriage without. Papa and mamma talk of it as quite of
course, fou know how fond papa is of the bishop. I think he
will marry us. I own I should like to be married by a bishop.
It would make it so sweet and so solemn. Mr. Higgenbottom
could 6{ course assist ; — but he is such an odd old man, wiUi his
snuff and his spectacles always tumbling off, that I shouldn't like
to have no one else. I have often thought that if it were only for
marrving people we ought to have a nicer rector at Wharton.

*' Almost all the tenants have been to wish me joy. They are
very fond of Everett already, and now they feel that there will
never be any yerv great diange. I do think it is the very beet
thinff that could oe done, even if it were not that I am so tho-
rou^y in love with him. I didn't think I should ever be able to
own thiiat I was in love with a man ; but now I feel quite proud of
it. I don't mind telling you because he is your brother, and I
think that you will be glad of it.

** He talks very often about you. Of course you know what it
ia that we all wish. I love Arthur Fletcher almost as much as if
he were my brother. He is my sister's brother-in-law, and if he
coidd become my husband's brother-in-law too, I should be so
hai^y. Of course we all know that he wishes it. Write imme-
diately to wish me joy. Perhaps you could go to Howell and
James's about the veiL And promise to come to us in May.
Sarah says the veil ought to cost about thirty pounds.
'* Dearest, dearest Emily,
" I shall so soon be your most affectionate sister,

" Mart Wharton."

Emily's answer was fail of warm, affectionate congratulations.
She had much to say in favour of Everett. She promised to use

THE PRIBltE MINtSTEB.

all her little skill at Howell and James's. She expressed a hope
that the overtures to be made in regard to the bishop might be
successful. And she made kind remarks even as to Muddocks and
Gramble. But she would not promise that she herself would be at
Wharton on the happy day. " Dear Mary," she said, '* remem-
ber w^ at I have suffered, and that I cannot be quite as other people
are. I could not stand at your marriage in black clothes, — nor
should I have the courage even if I had the will to dress myself in
others." None of the Whartons had come to her wedding. There
was no feeling of anger now left as to that. She was quite aware
that they had done right to stay away. But the very fact that it
had been right that they should stay away would make it wrong
that the widow of Ferdinand Lop.3z should now assist at the mar-
riasre of one Wharton to another. This was all that a marriage

ought to be ; whereas that had boen all that a marriage ought

not to be. In answer to the paragraph about Arthur Fletcher
Emily Lopez had not a word to say.

Soon after this, early in Apm, Everett came up to town.
Though his bride might be content to get her bridal clothes in
Hereford, none but a London tailor could decorate him properly
for such an occasion. During these last weeks Arthur Fletcher
had not been seen in Manchester Square ; nor had his name been
mentioned there by Mr. Wharton. Of anything that may have
passed between them Emily was altogether ignorant. She ub>
s<u7ved, or thought that she observed, that her father was more
silent with her, — perhaps less tender than he had been since the
day cv which her husband had perished. His manner of life was
the s&me. He almost always dined at home in order that she
might not be alone, and made no complaint as to her conduct.
But she could see that he was unhappy, and she kr^ew the cause
of his grief. " I think, papa," she said one day, "that it would
be better that I should go away." This was on the day before
Everett's arrival, — of which, however, he had given no notice.
** Go away I Where would you go to P "
'' It does not matter. I do not make you happy."
" What do you mean ? Who says that I am not happy ? Why
do you talk like that P "

" Do not be angry with me. Nobody says so. I can see it weU

enough. I know how good you are to me, but I am making your

life wretched. I am a wet blanket to you, and yet I caimot help

myself. If I could only go somewhere, where I could be of use."

" I don't know what you mean. This is your proper home."

" No ; — it is not my home. I ought to have forfeited it. I

ought to go where I could work and be of some use in the world."

"You might be of use if you chose, my dear. Your proper

career is before you if you would condescend to accept it. It is

not for me to persuade you, but I can see and feel the truth. Till

you can bring yourself to do that, your days will be blighted, —

and 80 will mine. You have made one great mistake in life. Stop

THB ORBAT WHARTON ALLIANCE.

515

a moment. I do not speak often, but I wish you to listen to me
now. Such mistakes do generally produce misery and ruin to all
who are concerned. With you it chances that it may be otherwise.
You can put your foot again upon the firm ground and recover
everything. Of course there must be a struggle. One person has
to struggle with circumstances, another with his foes, and a third
with his own feelings. I can understand that there should be such
a struggle with you ; but it ought to be made. You ought to be
brave enough and sbrong enough to conquer your regrets, and to
begin again. In no other way can you do anything for me or for
yourself To talk of going away is childish nonsense.. Whither
would you go ? I shall not urge you any more, but I would not
have you talk to me in that way." Then he got up and left the
room and the house, and went down to his club, — in order that she
might think of what he had said in solitude.

And she did think of it ;— -but still continually with an assurance
to herself that her father did not understand her feelings. The
career of which he spoke was no doubt open to her, but she oould
not regard it as that which it was proper that she should fulfil, as
he did. When she told her lover mat she had lain among the pots
till she was black and defiled, she expressed in the stron^st
language that which was her real conviction. He did not tmnk
her to have been defiled,— or at any rate thought that she might
again bear the wings of a dove; but she felt it, and therefore
knew herself to be unfit. She had said it all to her lover in the
strongest words she could find, but she oould not repeat them to
her father. The next morning when he came into the parlour
where she was already sitting, she looked up at him almost re-
proachfully. Did he ihink that a woman was a piece of furniture
which you can mend, and re- varnish, and fit out with new orna-
ments, and then send out for use, second-hand indeed, but for all
purposes as good as new P

Then, while she was in this frame of mind, Everett came in upon
her unawares, and with his almost boisterous happiness succeeded
for awhile in changing the current of her thoughts. He was of
course now uppermost m his own thoughts. The last few months
had made so much of him that he might be excused for being
unable to sink himself in the presence of others. He was the heir
to the baronetcy, — and to the double fortunes of the two old men.
And he was going to be married in a manner as every one told
him to increase the glory and stability of the family. "It's all
nonsense about your not coming down," he said. She smiled and
shook her head. " I can only tell you that it will give the greatest
offence to every one. If you knew how much they talk about
you down there I don't think you would like to hurt them."

" Of course I would not like to hurt them."
, •' And considering that you have no other brother "

"Oh, Everett!"

" I think more about it, perhaps, than you do. I think you

516

THE PBIMB MIK/filBB.

owe it me to come down. Tou will never probably have another
chanoe of being present at your brother's marriage." This he
said in a tone that was almost lachrymose.

** A wedding, Everett, should b^ merry."

" I don't know about that. It is a very serious sort of thing to
my way of thinking. When Mary got your letter it nearly broke
her heart. I think I have a right to expect it, and if vou don't
come I shall feel myself injured. I don't see what is tlie use of
having a family if the members of it do not stick together. What
would you think if I were to desert you P "

*♦ Desert you, Everett !"

*' Well, yes ; — it is something of the kind. I have made my
request, and you can comply wiui it or not as you please."

*' I will go," she said very slowly. Then she left him and went
to her own room to think in what description of garments she could
appear at a wedding with the least violence to the conditions of
her life.

" I have got her to say she'll come," he said to his father that
evening. " If you leave her to me I'll bring her round."

Soon after that,— within a day or two, — there came out a para-
graph in one of the fashionable newspapers of the day, saying
that an alliance had been arranged between the heir to the
Wharton title and property and the daughter of the present
baronet. I think that this had probably originated in the club
gossip. I trust it did not spring directly from the activity or tftu-
bition of Everett himself.

OHAPTEE LXXVI.

WHO WILL IT BEP

For the first day or two after the resignation of the Ministry the
Duchess appeared to take no further notice of the matter. An
ungrateful world had repudiated her and her husband, and he had
fooushly assisted and given way to the repudiation. All her grand
aspirations were at an end. All her triumphs were over. And
worse than that ; there was present to her a conviction that she
never had really triumphed. There never had come the happy
moment in wMcn she had felt herself to be dominant over otner
women. She had toiled and struggled, she had battled and
occasionally submitted ; and yet there was present to her a feeling
that she had stood higher in public estimation as Lady Glencora
Palliser, — whose position had been all her own and had not
depended on her husband, — than now she had done as Duchess of
Omnium, and wife of the Prime Minister of England. She had
meant to be i)!omething, ahe knew not what, greater than had been

WHO WILL IT BE ?

617

the wires of other Prime Ministers and other Dukes ; and now she
felt that in her failure she had been almost ridiculous. And the
failure, she thought, had been his,— or hers, — rather than that of
circumstances. IS he had been lees scrupulous and more persistent
it might haye been different, — or if she had been more discreet.
Sometimes she felt her own failing so violently as to acquit him
almost entirely. At other times she was almost beside herself
with anger because all her losses seemed to have arisen from want
of stubbornness on his part. When he had told her that he and
Ms followers had determined to resign because they had beaten
their foes hj a majority only of 9, she took it into her head
that he was in fault. Why should he go while his supporters were
more numerous than his opponents P It was useless to bid him
think over it again. Though she was far from understanding all
the circumstances of the game, she did know that he could not
remain after having arranged with his colleagues that he would go.
So she became cross and sullen ; and while he was going to
Windsor and back and setting his house in order, and preparing
the way for his successor, — whoever that successor might be, —
she was moody and silent, dreaming over some impossible con-
dition of things in accordance with which he might have remained
Prime Minister — almost for ever.

On the Sunday after the fatal division, — the division which the
Duchess would not allow to have been fatal, — she came across him
somewhere in the house. She had hardly spoken to him since he
had come into her room that night and told her that all was over.
She had said that she was unwell and had kept out of sight ; and
he had been here and there, between Windsor and the Treasury
Chambers, and had been glad to escape from her ill-humour.
But she could not endure any longer the annoyance of having to
get all her news through Mrs. Finn, — second hand, or third hand,
and now found herself driven to capitulate. " Well," said she;
" how is it all going to be P I suppose you do not know or you
would have told me P "

" There is very little to tell."

" Mr. Monk is to be Prime Minister P " she asked.

" I did not say so. But it is not impossible."

" Has the Queen sent for him P "

" Not as yet. Her Majesty has seen both Mr. Gresham and
Mr. Daubeny as well as myself. It does not seem a very easy
thing to make a Ministry just at present."

" Why should not you go back P "

" I do not think that is on the cards."

" Why not P Ever so many men have done it, after ^ing out, —
and why not you P I remember Mr. Mildmay doing it twice. It
is alwavs the thing when the man who has been sent for makes a
mess of it, for the old minister to have another chance.

" But what if the old minister will not take the chance P "

" Then it is the old minister's fault. Why shouldn't you take

' SI

618

THE PRIME MINISTER.

the chance as well as another P It isn't many days ago since you
were quite anxious to remain in. I thought you were going to
break your heart because people even talked of your going."

" I was going to break my heart, as you call it," he said smiling,
« not becaus<^ people talkea of my ceasing to be minister, but be-
cause the feeling of the House of Commons justified people in so
saying. I hope you see the difference."

"No, I don t. And there is no ^ifference. The people we are
talking about are the members, — :<. d they have supported you,
Tou could go on if you chose. I'm sure Mr. Monk wouldn't
leave you."

" It is just what Mi; Monk would do, and ought to do. No one
is less likely than Mr. Monk to behave badly in such an emergency.
The more I see of Mr. Monk, the higher I think c him."

<< He has his own game to play as well as otheru."

" I think he has no game to play but that of his country. It is
no use our discussing it, Cora."

" Of course I understand nothing, because I'm a woman."

" You understand a ^eat deal, — but not quite all. You may at
any rate understand this, — that our troubles are at an end. Yon
were saying but the other day that the labours of being a Prime
Minister's wife had been almost too many for you."

' ' I never said so. As long as you didn't give way no labour was
too much for me. I would have done anything, — slaved morning
and night, — so that we might have succeeded. I hate being beat.
I'd sooner be cut in pieces.

"There is no help for it now, Cora. The Lord Mayor, you
know, is only Lord Mayor for one year, and must then go back to
private life."

" But men have been Prime Ministers for ten years at a time.
If you have made up your mind, I suppose we may as well give
up. I shall always thmk it your own fault." He still smiled.
" I shall," she said.

"Oh, Coral"

" I can only speak as I feel."

" I don't think you would speak as you do, if you knew how
much your words hurt me. In such a matter as this I should not
be justified in allowing your opinions to have weight with me. But
your sympathy would be so much to me ! "

"When I thought it was making you ill, I wished that yoii
might be spared."

" My illness would be nothing, but my honour is everything. I,
too, have something to bear as well as you, and if you cannot
approve of what I do, at any rate be silent."

" Yes ; — I can be silent." Then he slowly left her. As he went
she was almost tempted to yield, and to throw herself into his
arms, and to promise that she would be soft to him, and to say that
she was sure that all that he did was for the best. But she could
not bring herself as yet to be good- humoured. If he had oit1y

WHO WILL IT BE?

519

been a little stronger, a little thioker-skinned, made of clay a
little ooarser, a little other than he was, it might all have been so
different I

Early on that Sunday afternoon she had herself driven to Mrs.
Finn's house in Park Lane, instead of waiting for her friend.
Latterly she had but seldom done this, finding that her presence at
home was much/ wanted. She had been filled with, perhaps, foolish
ideas of the necessity of doing something, — of adding something to
the strength of her husbanas position, — and had certainly been
dihgdnt in her w rk. But now she might run about like any other
woman. "This is an honour. Duchess," said Mrs. Finn.

" Don't be sarcastic, Marie. We have nothing further to do
with the bestowal of honours. Why didn't he miuce everybody a
peer or a baronet while he was about it ? Lord Finn ! I don't
see whv he shouldn't liave been Lord Finn. I'm sure he deserved
it for the way in which he attacked Sir Timothy Beeswax."

" I don't think he'd Uke it."

" They all say so, but I suppose they do like it, or they wouldn't
take it. And I'd have made JLocock a knight ; — Sir James Locock.
He'd make a more kni<rhtly knight than Sir Timothy. When a
man has power he ought to use it. It makes people respect him.
Mr. Daubeny made a duke, •and people think more of that than
anything he did. Is Mr. Finn gomg to join the new ministry ? "

** IS yoi> can teU me, Duchess, who is to be the new minister, I
can give a guess."

"Mr. Monk."

** Then he certainly wilL"

" Or Mr. Daubeny."

" Then he certunly won't.**

" Or Mr. Gresham."

" That 1 could not answer."

" Or the Duke of Omnium."

" That would depend upon Ids Grace. If the Duke came back,
Mr. Finn's services would be at his disposal, whether in or out of
office."

"Very prettily said, my dear. I never look round this room
without thinking of the first time I came here. Do you remember,
vvhen I found the old man sitting tliere ? " The old man alluded
to was the late Duke.

" I am not likely to forget It, Duchess."

" How I hated you when I saw you ! What a fright I thought
you were I I pictured you to myself as a sort of ogre, willing to
eat up everybody for the gratification of your own vanity."

** 1 was very vain, but uhere was a little pride with it."

" And now it has come to pass that I can't very well live without
you. How he did love you ! "

*' His Grace was very good to me."

"It would have done no great harm, after all, if hs had made
you Duchess of Omnium,"

THE PRIME MINISTER.

" Very great harm to me, Lady Glen. As it is I got a friend
that I loved dearly, and a husbana that I love dearly too. In the
other case I should have had neither. Perhaps I may say, that in
that other case my life would not have been brightened by the
affection of the present Duchess."

" One can't tell how it would have gone, but I well remember
the state I was in then." The door was opened and Phineas Finn
entered the room. " What, Mr. Finn, are you at home P I thought
eyerybody was crowding down at the clubs, to know who is to
be what. We are settled. We are quiet. We have nothing to do
to disturb ourselves. But you ought to be in all the flutter of
renewed expectation."

" I am waiting my destiny in calm seclusion. I hope the Duke
is well?"

*' As well as can be expected. He doesn't walk about his room
with a poniard in his hand, — ready for himself or Sir Orlando ; nor
is he sitting crowned like Bacchus, drinking the health of the new
Ministry ^th Lord r>rummond and Sir Timothy. He is probably
^ping a cup of coffee over a blue-book in dignified retirement,
you should go and see him."

" I should be unwilling to trouble him when he is so much
occupied." _ ;

" That is just what has done him all the harm in the world.
Everybody presumes that he has so miich to think of that nobody
goes near him. Then he is left to boody over everything by him-
self till he becomes a sort of political hermit, or ministerial fjama,
whom human eyes are not to look upon. It doesn't matter now ;
does it ? " Visitor after visitor came in, and the Duchess chatted
to them all, leaving the impression on everybody that heard her
that she at least was not sorry to be relieved from the troubles
f^ttending her husband's late position.

She sat there over an hour, and as she was taking her leava she
bad a few words to whisper to Mrs. Finn. ' ' When this is all over,"
she said, " I mean to call on that Mrs. Lopez."

•' I thought you did go there."

" That was soon after the poor man had killed himself, — when
she was ^oing away. Of course I only left a card. But I shall see
her now if I can. We want to get her out of her melancholy if
possible. X have a sort of feeling, you know, that among us we
made the train run over him."

" I don't think that."

'* He got so horribly abused for what he did at Silverbridge ; and
1 really don't see why he wasn't to have his money. It vas I that
made him spend it."

" He was, I fancy, a thoroughly bad man."

" But a wife doesn't always want to be made a widow even if
her husband be bad. I think I owe her something, and I would
pay my debt if I knew how. I shall go and see her, and if she will
marry this other man we'll take her by the hand. Good-bye, dear.

and
that

ten if

^ould

will

I dear.

WHO WILL IT BE?

621

You'd better some to me early to-morrow, as I suppose we shall
know something by eleven o'clock."

In the course of that eyening the Duke of St. Bungay came to
Carlton Terrace and was closet^ for some time with the late Prime
Minister. He had beeu enga^^ during that and the last two
previous days in lending his aid to various political manoeuvres
and ministerial attempts, from which our Duke had kept himself
altogether aloof. He did not go to Windsor, but as each successive
competitor journeyed thither and returned, some one either sent
for tne old Duke or went to seek his council. He was the Nestor
of the occasion, and strove heartily to compose all (j^uarrels, and so
to arrange matters that a wholesome moderately liberal Ministry
might TO again installed for the good of the country and the
-comfort of all true Whigs. In such moments he almost ascended
to the grand heights of patriotism, being always indifferent as to
himselL Now he came to his late chief with a new project. Mr.
Gresham would attempt to form a Ministry if the Duke of Omnium
would join him.

*' It is impossible," said the younger politician, folding his hands
together and throwing himself back in nis chair.

' ' Listen to me before you answer me with such oertaintir. There
are three or four gentlemen who, after the work of the last three
years, bearing in mind the manner in which our defeat has just
been accomphshed, feel themselves disinclined to join Mr. Gresham
unless you will do so also. I may specially name Mr. Monk and
Mr. ^inn. I might perhaps add myself, were it not that I had
hoped that in an^r event I might at length regard myself as exempt
from further service. The old horse should be left to graze out his
last days, Ne peccet ad extremum ridenduQ. But you can't consider
yourself absolved on that score."

" There are other reasons."

"But the Queen's service should count before everything.
Gresham and Oantrip with their own Mends can hardly make a
Ministry as things are now unless Mr. Monk will join them. I
do not think that any other Chancellor of the Exchequer is at
present possible."

"I will beseech Mr. Monk not to let any feeling as to me stand
in his way. Why should it ?"

" It is not only what you may think and he may think, — ^but
what others will think and say. The Coalition will have done all
that ought to have been expected from it if our party in it can now
join Mr. Gresham."

"By all meanb. But I could give them no strength. They
may be sure at any rate of what little I can do for them out of
office."

" Mr. Gresham has made his acceptance of office, — well, I will
not say strictly conditional on your joining him. That would
hardly be correct. But he has expressed himself quite willing to
m^ke the attempt with your aid, and doubtful whether he c^

622

THE PBIME MINISTEB.

auooeed without it. He suggests that you should join him as
President of the Council."

"And you P"

" If I were wanted at all I should take the Privy Seal.*'

" Certainly not, my Mend. If there were any question of my
return we would reverse the offices. But I think J may say that
my mind is fixed. If you wish it I will see Mr. Monk, and do all
that I can to get him to go with you. But, for myself — I feel that
it would be useless."

At last, at the Duke's pressing request, he agreed to take twenty-
four hours before he gave his final answer to the proposition.

CHAPTER LXXVn.

THE DT70HESS IN MANCHESTER SQUARE.

The Duke said not a word to his wife as to this new proposition. And
when she asked him what tidings their old friend had brought as
to the state of affairs, he almost told a fib in his anxiety to escape
from her persecution. " He is in some doubt what he means to do
himself," said the Duke. The Duchess asked many questions, but
got no satisfactory replv to any of them. Nor did Mrs. Finn learn
anything from her husband, whom, however, she did not interro-
gate verj closely. She would be contented to know when the
proper tmie might come for ladies to be informed. The Duke,
however, was determined to take his twenty-four hours all alone,
— or at any rate not to be driven to his decision by feminine
interference.

In the meantime the Duchess went to Manchester Square intent
on performing certain good offices on behalf of tiie poor widow. It
may be doubted whether she had clearly made up her mind what
it was that she could do, though she was dear that some debt was
due by her to Mrs. Lopez. And she knew too in what direction
assistance might be serviceable, if only it could in this case be

given. She had heard that the present member for Silverbridge
ad been the lady's lover long before Mr. Lopez had come upon
the scene, and with those feminine wiles of which she was a perfect
mistress she had extracted from him a confession that his mind was
unaltered. She liked Arthur Fletcher, — as indeed she had for a
timeiiked Ferdinand Lopez, — and felt that her conscience would
be eatd'iT if she -could assist in this good work. She built castles in
the air as to the presence of the bride and bridegroom at Matching,
thinking how she might thus repair the evil she had done. But
her heart, misgave her a little as she drew near to the house, and
remembered how very slight w^s her acquaintance and how

THE DUCHESS IN MANCHESTER SQUABE.

528

extremely delicate the mission on which she had come. But she
was not the woman to turn back when she had once put her foot to
any work ; and she was driven up to the door in Manchester
Square without any expressed hesitation on her own part. " Tes,
—his mistress was at home," said the butler, still shrinking at the
sound of the name which ho hated. The Duchess was then shown
up-stairs, and was left alone for some minutes in the drawing-
room. It was a large handsome apartment, hung round with
valuable pictures, and having signs of considerable wealth. Since
she had first invited Lopez to stand for Silverbridge she had heard
much about him, and had wondered how he had gained possession
of such a girl as Emily Wharton. And now, as she looked about,
her wonder was increased. She knew enough of such people as
the Whartons and the Fletchers to be aware that as a class they
are more impregnable, more closely guarded by the< < feelings and
prejudices against strangers than any other. None keep their
daughters to themselves with greater care, or are less willing to see
their rules of life changed or abolished. And yet this man, half
foreigner half Jew, — and as it now appeared, — whole pauper, had
stepped in and carried off a prize for which such a one as Arthur
Fletcher was contending ! The Duchess had never seen Emily bat
once, — so as to observe her well, — and had then thought her to be
a very handsome woman. It had been at the garden party at
Bichmond, and Lopez had then insisted that his vnie should be well
dressed. It would perhaps have been impossible in the whole of
that assembly to find a more beautiful woman than Mrs. Lopez
then was,— or one who carried herself with a finer air. Now when
she entered the room in her deep mourning it would have been
difficult to recognise her. Her face was much thinner, her eyes
apparently larger, and her colour faded. And there had come a
settled seriousness on her face which seemed to rob her of her
youth. Arthur Fletcher had declared that as he saw her now
she was more beautiful than ever. But Arthur Fletcher, in
looking at her, saw more than her mere features. To his eyes
there was a tend<)mess added by her sorrow which had its own
attraction fur him. And he was so well versed in every line of her
countenance, that he could see there the old loveliness behind the
sorrow; — the loveliness which would come forth again, as bright
as ever, if the sorrow could be removed. But the Duchess, though
she remembered the woman's beauty as she might that of any other
lady, now saw nothing but a thing of woe wrapped in customary
widow's weeds. ' ' I hope, " she said, ' ' I am not intruding in coming
to you ; but I have been anxious to renew our acquaintance for
reasons which I am sure you will understand."

Emily at the moment hardly knew how to address her august
visitor. Though her father had lived all his life in what is called
good society, he had not consorted much with dukes and duchesses.
She herself had indeed on ono occasion been for an hour or two the
guest of this grand lady, but on that occasion she had hardly been

624

THE PBIME MINISTSB.

called upon to talk to her. Now she doubted how to name the
Duchess, and with some show of hesitation decided at last upon not
naming her at idl. " It is very good of you to come," she said in
ft faltering voice.

" I tola vou thai I would when I wrote, you know. That is
many months ago, but I have not forgotten it You have been in
the counlay since that I think P "

" Tes, in Herefordshire. Herefordshire is our county."

" I know all about it," 'iaid the Duchess smiling. She genendly
did contrive to learn " Ul about" the people wnom she chosf) to
take by the hand. " We have a Herefordshire {[entleman sitdng

for, ^I must not say our borough of Silverbndge." She was

anxious to make some allusion to Arthur Fletcher; but it was
difficult to travel on that Silverbndge j^ound, as Lopez had been
her chosen candidate when she still wished to claim the borough
as an appanage of the Falliser family. Emily, however, kept her
countenance and did not show by any sisn that her thoughts were
runnine in that direction. " And though we don*t presume to re-
gard }£:. Fletcher," continued the Duchess, "as in any way con-
nected with our local interests, he has always supported the Duke,
and I ho^ has become a friend of ours. I think he is a neighbour
of yours in the country."

*' Oh, yes. My cousin is married to his brother."

** I knew there was somethingof that kind. He told me that
there was some close alliance." The DuchesiB as she looked at the
woman to whom she wanted to be kind did not as yet dare to
express a wish that there might at some not very distant time be
a closer alliance. She had come there intending to do so ; and had
still some hope that she might do it before the interview was over.
But at any rate she would not do it jet. ** Have I not heard,"
she said, " something^ of another marriage P "

" My brother is going to marry his cousin, Sir Alured Wharton's
daughter."

** Ah ; — I thought ii had been one of the Fletchers. It was our
member who told me, and he spoke as though they were all his very
dear friends."

♦* They are dear friends, — very." Poor Emily still didn't know
whether to call her Duchess, my Lady, or Qrace, — and yet felt the
need of calling her by some special namis.

*' Exactly. I! supposed it was so. They tell me Mr. Fletcher
will become quite a favourite in the House. At this present
moment nobody knows on which dide anybody is going to sit to-
morrow. It may be that Mr. Fletcher wiU become the dire enemy
of all the Duke's Mends."

*• I hope not."

** Of course Fm speaking of political enemies. Political enemies
are often the best friends in the world ; and I can assure you from
my own experience that political friends are often the bitterest
9P§znief . I never hated any people so much as some of our sup-

THK DUOHESS IN MANOHESTSB SQUABS.

525

porters." The Duchess made a grimace, and Emily oould not
refrain from smiling. " Tea, indeed. Thore's an old sa^g that
misfortune makes strange bedfellows, but political fHendihip makes
stranger alliances than misfortune. Perhaps you neyer met Sir
Timothy Beeswax."

" Never."

" Well ; — don't. But, as I was saying, there is no knowing who
may support whom now. If I were iMied who would be Prime
Minister to-morrow, I should take half-a-dozen names and shake
them in a bag."

*' Is it not settled then P "

"Settled I No, indeed. Nothing is settled." At that moment
indeed everything was settled thou^ the Duchess did not know it.
*' And so we none of us can tell how Mr. Fletcher may stand with
us when things are arranged. I suppose he calls himself a Ckm-
servative P "

«• Oh, yes ! "

*' All the Whartons I suppose are Oonservatives, — and all the
Fletchers."

*' Very nearly. Papa calls himself a Tory."

" A very much better name, to my thinking. We are all Whigs
of course. A Palliser who was not a Whi|^ would be held to have
disgraced himself for ever. Are not politics odd P A few years
ago I only barely knew what the word meant, and that not cor-
rectly. Lately I have been so eager about it, that there hardly
seems to be anything else left worth living for. I suppose it's
wrong, but a stete of pugnacitv seems to me the greatest bliss
which we can reach here on earth."

'* I shouldn't like to be alwavs fighting."

*' That's because ycu havenM; known Sir Timothy Beeswax and
two or three other gentlemen whom I could name. The day will
come, I dare say, wnen you will care for politics."

Einily was about to answer, hardly knowing what to say, when
the door was opened and Mrs. Boby came into the room. The
lady was not announced, and Euuly had heard no knock at the
door. She was forced to go through some ceremony of introduction.
"This is my aunt, Mrs. Boby, she said. "Aunt Harriet, the
Duchess of Omnium." Mrs. Boby 3^as beside herself, — not all
with joy. That feeling would come afterwards as she would boast
to her mends of her new acquaintance. At present there was the
embarrassment of not quite knowing how to behave herself. The
Duchess bowed from her seat, and smiled sweetly, — as she had
learned to smile since her husband had become Prime Minister.
Mrs. Boby curtseyed, and then remembered that in these days only
housemaids ought to curtsey."

** Anything to our Mr. Boby P " said the Duchess continuing hei
smile, — " ours as he was till yesterday at least." This she said in
an absurd wail of mock sorrow.

" My brother-in-law, your Grace," said Mrs. Boby delighted.

626

THE PBIME MIMgTCB.

** Oh, indeed. And what does Mr. Boby think about it, I wonder f
But I dare say you have found, Mrt. Bobv, that when a orisis
oomes, — a real crisis, — the ladies are told nothing. I have."

"I don't think, your Oraoe, that Mr. Boby oyer divulges poli-
tical secrets."

" Doesn't he indeed ! What a dull man your brother-in-law
must be to live with, — that is as a politician I Oood-bye, Mrs.
Lopez. You riust come and see me and let me come to vou again.
I hope, you know, — I hope the time may come when things may
once more be bright with you." These laHt words she murmured
almost in a whisper, as she held the hand of the woman she wished
to befriend. Then she bowed to Mrs. Boby, and left the room.

" What W83 it she said to you ? " asked Mrs. Boby.

" Nothing in particular. Aunt Harriet."

*' She seems to be very friendly. What made her come ? "

" She wrote some time ago to say she would call."

" But why P"

" I cannot tell you. I don't know. Don't ask me, aunt, about
things that are passed. Tou cannot do it without wounding me."

"I don't want to wound you, Emily, but I really thu^ that
that is nonsense. She is a very nice woman; — though I don't
think she ought to have said that Mr. Boby is dull. Did Mr.
Wharton know that she was coming ? "

" He knew that she said she would come," replied Emily very
sternly, so that Mrs. Boby found herself compelled to pass on to
some other subject. Mrs. Boby had heard the wish expressed
that something " once more might be bright," and when she got
home told her husband that she was sure that Emily Lopez was

going to marry Arthur Fletcher. •* And why the d shouldn't

SieP^' said Dick. "And that p<

poor man destroying himself not
ago ! I couldn't do it," said Mrs.

much more than twelvemonths ago !

Boby. " I don't mean to give you the chance," said Diok.

The Duchess when she went away suffered under a sense of
failure. She hod intended to bring about some crisis of female
tenderness in which she mi^ht have rushed into future hopes and
joyous anticipations, and with the freedom which will come from
ebullitions of feeling, have told the widow that the peculiar cir-
cumstances of her position would not only justify her in marrying
this other man but absolutely called upon her to do it. Unfortu-
nately she bad failed in her attempt to bring the interview to a
condition in which this would have been possible, and while she
was still making the attempt that odious aunt had come in. "I
have been on my mission," she said to Mrs. Finn afterwards.

** Have you done any good P "

♦* I don t think I've done any harm. Women, you know, are
so very different ! There are some who- would delight to have an
opportunity of opening their hearts to a Duchess, and who might
amiost be taUced into anything in an ecstasv."

** Hardly women of the best sort, Lady Glen,**

THE NBW MINISTRY

527

" Not of tho beet sort. But then one doeen't oome across the
very best, very often. But that kind of thing does have an effect ;
and as I only wanted to do good, I wiah she had been one of the
sort for the occasion."

" Was she— offended P "

" Oh dear no. You don't nuppose I attacked her with a hus-
band at ^e first word. Indeed, I didn't attack her at all. She
didn'tgive me an opportunity. Such a Niobe you never saw."

" Wbm she weeping P "

** Not actual tears. But her gown, and her cap, and her strings
were weeping. Her voice wept, and her hair, and her nose, and
her mouth. Don't you know that look of subdued moumiug P
And yet they say that that man is dying for love. How beautiful
it is to see that tiiere is such a thing as constancy left in the
world."

When she got home she found that her husband had just re-
turned from the old Duke's house, where he had mot Mr. Monk,
Mr. Oresham, and Lord Oantrip. " It's all settled at last," he
said oheerfiilly.

cir-

CHAPfER LXXVrCL

THE WEW MINISTBY.

Whek the ex-Prime Minister was left bv himsoAf after the de-
parture of his old friend his first feeling had been one of re^;ret
that h« bad been weak enough to doubt at all. He had long since
made up his mind that after all that had passed he comd not
return to office as a subordinate. That feeling as to the impro-
priety of OsBsar descending to serve under others which he had
been foolish enough to express, had been strong with him, from
tho very commencement of his Ministry. When first asked to
take the place which he had filled the reason strong against it had
been the conviction that it would probably exclude him from
political work during the latter half of his life. The man who has
written Q.O. after his name must abandon his practice behind the
bar. As he then was, although he had already oeen driven by the
unhappy circumstance of his peerage from the House of Commons
which he loved so well, there was still open to him many fields of
political work. But if he should once coi^ lent to stand on the top
rung of the ladder, he could not, ha thoD ght, take a lower place
without de^pradation. Till he should have oeen placed quite at the
top no shiltmg his place from this higher to that lower office would
injure him in his own estimation. The exigencieb of the service
and not defeat would produce such changes as that. But he could
not go down from being Prime Minister and serve under some

I n

628

THE PBIMB MINISTEB.

other chief without acknowledging himself to have been unfit for
the place he had filled. Of all that he had q uite assured himself.
Ana yet he had allowed the old Duke to talk mm into a doubt !

As he sat considering the question he acknowledged that there
might have been room ror doubt, though in the present emergency
there certainly was none. He could imagine circumstances in
which the experience of an individual in some special branch of
his country's service might be of such paramount importance to
the country as to make it incumbent on a man to sacrifice all
personal feeling. But it was not so with him. There was nothing
now which he could do, which another might not do as well.
That blessed task of introducing decimals into all the commercial
relations of British life, which had once kept him aloft in the air,
floating as upon eagle's wings, had been denied him. If ever
done it must be done from the House of Commons ; and the
people of the country had become deaf to the charms of that great
reform. Othello's occupation was, in truth, altogether gone, and
there was no reason by which he could justify to himself the
step down in the world which the old Duke had proposed to him.

Early on the following morning he left Carlton Terrace on foot
and walked as far as Mr. Monk's house, which was close to St.
James's Street. Here at eleven o'clock he found his late Chancellor
of the Exchequer in that state of tedious a^tation in which a man
is kept who does not yet know whether he is or is not to be one of
the actors in the play just about to be performed. The Duke had
never before been in Mr. Monk's very humble abode and now
caused some surprise. Mr, Monk knew that he mi^ht probably
be sent for, but had not axpected that any of the ex-Pnme Ministers
of the day would come to him. People had said that not impro-
bably he himself might be the man, — but he himself had indulged
in no such dream. Office had had no great charms for him ; — and
if there was one man of the late Government who could lay it down
without a personal regret, it was Mr. Monk. " I wish you to come
with me to the Duke's house ii St. James's Square," said the late
Prime Minister. ** I think wo shiill find him at home."

<* Certainly. I will come this moment." Then there was not a
word spoken t^Il the two men were in the street together. "Of
course I am a little anxious," said Mr. Monk. ''Have vou any-
thing to tell me before we get there ? "

"You of coarse must return to office, Mr. Monk."

** With your Grace 1 certainly will do so."

' ' And without, if there be the need. They who are wanted should
be forthcoming. But perhaps you will let me postpone what I have
to say till we see the Duke. What a charming morning ; — is it
not P How sweet it would be down in the country." l£trch had
gone out like a lamb, and even in London the early April days
were sweet, — to be followed, no doubt, bv the usual nipping inde-
menoy of May. " I never can set over the feeling," continued the
Duke, " that Parliament shoiud sit for the six winter months,

Mr.

any-

THE NEW MINISTBY.

529

.ow

instead of in summer. If we met on the first of October,
glorious it would be to get away for the early spring ! "

<* Nothing less strong than grouse could break up Parliament,"
said Mr. Monk ; '* and then what would tiie pheasants and tiie
foxes say ? "

" It is giving up almost too much to our amusements. I used to
think that I shomd like to move for a return of the number of
hunting and shooting gentlemen in both Houses. I believe it
would be a small minority."

" But their sons shoot, and their daughters hunt, and all their
hangers-on would be against it."

" Custom is agamst us, Mr. Monk ; that is it. Here we a]^.
I hope my friend will not be out, looking up young Lords of tiie
Treasury." The Duke of St. Bungay was not in search of cadets
for the Government, but was at this very moment closeted •wiUh.
Mr. Gresham, and Mr. Qxesham's especial iriend Lord Cantrip.
He had been at this work so lon^ and so constantly that his very
servants had their ministerial-crisis manners and felt and enjoyed
the importance of the occasion. The two new-comers were soon
allowed to enter the august conclave, and the five great senators
greeted each other cordially. " I hope we have not come inoppor-
tunely," said the Duke of Omnium. Mr. Qresham assured nim
almost with hilarity that nothing could be less inopportune ; — and
then the Duke was sure that Mr. Gresham was to be the new Prime
Minister, whoever might join him or whoever might refuse to do
so. "I told my friend here," continued our Duke, la3ring his hand
upon the old man's arm, " that I would give him his answer to a
proposition he made me within twenty- !our hours. But I find that
I can do so without that delay."

*' I trust your Grace's answer may be favourable to us," said
Mr. Gresham, — who indeed did not doubt much that it would be so,
seeing that Mr. Monk had accompanied him.

" I do not think that it will b« unfavourable, though I cannot
do as my friend has proposed."

** Any practicable arrangement, " began Mr. Gresham, with

a frown, however, on his brow.

" The most practicable arrangement, I am sure, will be for you to
form your Government without hampering yourself with a beaten
predecessor."

*' Not beaten," said Lord Cantrip.

•' Certainly not," said the other Duke.

" It is because of your success that I ask your services," said
Mr. Gresham.

" I have none to give, — none that I cannot better bestow out of
office than in. I must ask you, gentlemen, to beUeve that I am
quite fixed. Coming here with my Mend Mr. Monk, I did not
state my purpose to him ; but I begged him to accompany me,
fearing lest in my absence he should feel it incumbent on himself
to sail in the same boat with his late colleague."

M M

lllli

580

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

** I should prefer to do so," said Mr. Monk.

*• Of course it is not for me to say what my be Mr. Gresham's
ideas ; but as my friend here suc^gested to me that, were I to
return to office, Mr. Monk would do so also, I cannot be wrong in
surmising that his services are desired." Mr. Oresham bowed
assent. ** I shall therefore take the liberty of telling Mr. Monk
that I think he is bound to give his aid in the present emergency.
Were I as huppily placed as he is in being the possessor of a seat m
the House of Commons, I too should hope that I might do some-
thing."

The four gentlemen, with eager pressure, begged the Duke to
reconsider his decision. He could take this office and do nothing
in it, — there being, as we all know, offices the holders of which are
not called upon for work, — or he could take that place which would
require him to labour like a galley slave. Would he be Privy
Seal P Would he undertake the India Board ? But the Duke of
Omnium was at last resolute. Of this administration he would
not at any rate be a member. Whether Gsesar might or might
not at some future time condescend to command a legion, he
could not do so when the purple had been but that moment
stripped from his shoulders. He soon afterwards left the house
with a repeated request to Mr. Monk that he would not follow his
late chief's example.

*' I regret it greatly," said Mr. Oresham when he was gone.

** There is no man," said Lord Cantrip, " whom all who know
him more thoroughly respect.

"He has been worried," said the old Duke, "and must take
time to recover himself. He has but one fault, — he is a little too
conscientious, a little too scrupulous." Mr. Monk, of course, did
join them , making one or two stipulations as h? did so. He required
that his friend Fhmeas Finn should be included m the Qovemment.
Mr. Oresham yielded, though poor Phineas was not among the
most favoured Mends of that statesman. And so the Government
waa formed, and the crisis was again over, and the lists which all
the newspapers had been publishing for Ihe last three days were
republished in an amended and nearly correct condition. The
triumph of the " People's Banner," as to the omission of the Duke,
was of course complete. The editor had no hesitation in declaring
that he, by his own sagacity and persistency, had made certain the
exclusion of that very untit and very pressm^ candidate for office.

The list was filled up after the usual fashion. For a while the
dilettanti politicians of the clubs, and the strong-minded women
who take an interest in such things, and the writers in newspaners,
had almost doubted whether, in the emergency which had been
supposed to be so peculiar, anjr Government could be formed.
There ha^ been, — so they had said, — peculiarities so peculiar that
it might be that the much- dreaded dead-lock had come at last. A
Ooalition had been possible, and, though antagonistic to British
f^elingt generally, had carried on the Government. But what might

THE NEW MINISTRY.

681

succeed the Coalition, nobody had known. The Badicals and
Liberals together would be too strong for Mr. Daubeny and Sir
Orlando. Mr. Gresham had no longer a party of his o^n at his
back, and a second Coalition would be generally spumed. In this
way there had been much political excitement, and a fair amount
of consequent enjoyment. But after a few days the old men had
rattled into their old places,— or, generally, old men into new
places, — and it was understood that Mr. Oresham would be again
supported by a majority.

Ais we grow old it is a matter of interest to watch how the natural *
gaps are filled in the two ranks of parliamentary workmen by whom
the Government is carried on, either in the one interest or the other.
Of course there must be gaps. Some men become too old, — ^though
that is rarely the case. A Peel may perish, or even a Falmerston
must die. Some men, though long supported by interest, family
connection, or the loyalty of collea^es, are weighed down at last
by their own incapacity and sink into peerages. Now and again
a man cannot bear the bondage of office, and flies into rebellion
and independence which would have been more respectable had
it not been the result of discontent. Then the gaps must be
filled. Whether on this side or on Uiat, the candidates are first
looked for among the sons of Earls and Dukes, — and not unnatu-
rally, as the sons of Earls and Dukes may be educated for such
work almost from their infancy. A few rise by the slow process of
acknowledged fitness. — men who probably at first have not <iiought
of office but are chosen because they are wanted, and whose careers
are grudged them, not by their opponents or rivals, but by the
Browns and Joneses of the world who cannot bear to see a Smith
or a Walker become something so diflPerent to themselves. These
men have a great weight to carry, and cannot always shake off the
burden of their origin and live among begotten statesmen as though
they too had been born to the manner. But perhaps the most
wonderful ministerial phenomenon, — though now almost too com-
mon to be longer called a phenomenon, — is he who rises high in
power and place by having made himself thoroughly detested and
also, — alas for parliamentary cowardice ! — thoroughly feared.
Given sufficient audacity, a thick skin, and power to bear for a
few years the- evil looks and cold shoulders of his comrades, and
that is the man most sure to make his way to some high seat. But
the skin must be thicker than that of any animal known, and the
audacity must be complete. To the man who will once shrink at
the idea of being looked at askance for treachery, or hated for his
ill condition, the career is impossible. But let him be obdurate,
and the bid will come. ** Not because I want him, do I ask for
him," says some groaning chief of a party, — to himself, and also
sufficiently aloud for others* ears, — " but because he stings me and
goads me, and will drive me to madness as a foe." Then the pachy-
demiatoiis one enters into the other's heaven, probably with the
resolution already formed of ousting that unhappy angel. And so

632

THE PRIME MINISTER.

it was in the present instance. When Mr. Gresham's completed
list was publiuied to the world, the world was astonished to find
that Sir Timothy was to be Mr. Gresham's Attorney-General.
Sir Gregory Grogram became Lord Chancellor, and the liberal
chief was content to borrow his senior law adviser from the con-
servatiye side of the late Coalition. It could not be that Mr.
Gresham was very fond of Sir Timothy ; — but Sir Timothy in the
late debates had shown himself to be a man of whom a minister
might well be afraid.

Immediately on leaving the old Duke's house, the late Premier
went home to his wife, and, finding that she was out, waited for
her return. Now that he had put his own decision beyond his own
power he was anxious to let her know how it was to be with
them. '* I think it is settled at last," he said.

** And you are coming back ? "

*' Certainly not that. I believe I may say that Mr. Gresham is
Prime Minister."

*' Then he oughtn't to be," said the Duchess crossly.

" I am sorry that I must diffei from you, my dear, because I
think he is the fittest man in England for the place."

" And you P"

" I am a private ^ntleman who will now be able to devote
more of his time to his wife and children than has hitherto been
possible with him."

*' How very nice ! Do you mean to say that you like it ?"

" I am sure that I ought to like it. At the present moment 1
am thinking more of what you will like."

*' If you ask me, Flantagenet, you know I shall tell the truth.'*

"Then tell the truth."

" After drinking brandy so long I hardly think that 12s. claret
will agree with my stomach. You ask for the truth, >md there it
is, — very plainly.

" Plain enough ! "

*• You asked, you know.'*

" And I am! glad to have been told, even though that whii h ^ou
tell me is not pleasant hearing. When a man has been di nlung
too much brandy, it may be well that he should be put on a course
of 12s. claret."

*• He won't like it ; and then, — it's kill or cure."

" I don't think you're gone so far, Cora, that we need fear that
the remedy will be fatal."

" I am thinking of you rather than myself. I can make myself
generally disagreeable, und get excitement in that way. But what
will you do ? It's all very well to talk of me and the children, but
ou can't bringin a bill for reforming us. You can't make us go
y decimals. You can't increase our consumption by lowering our
taxation. I wish you had gone back to some Board." This she
said looking up into his face with an anxiety which was half real
and half burlesque.

THE NRW MINISTRY.

688

pleted
ofind
Qeral.
beral
con-
t Mr.
n the
nister

"I had made up my mind to go back to no Board, — for the present.
I was thinking tAat we could spend some months in Italy, Cora."

" What ; for the summer ; — so as to be in Bome in July ! After
that we could utilise the winter by visiting Norway."

•* We might take Norway first.

" And be eaten up by musquitoes I IVe got to be too old to like
travelling."

" What do you like, dear ?".

*' Nothing ; — except being the Prime Minister's wife ; and upon
my word there were times wb«n I didn't like that very much. I
don't know anything else that I'm fit for. I wonder whether Mr.
Gresham would let me go to kim as housekeeper P Only we should
have to lend him Gatherum, or there would be l.o room for the
dispW of my abilities. Is Mr. Monk in ? "

*' ae keeps his old office."

" And Mr. Finn ? "

" I believe so ; but in what place I don't know."

"And who else?"

" Our old Mend the Duke, and Lord Cantrip, and Mr. Wilson, —
and Sir Gregory will be Lord Chancellor."

" Just the old stupid liberal team. Put their names in a bag
and shake them, and you can always get a ministry. Well, PkiH-
ta^enet ; — I'll go anywhere you like to take me. I'll have some-
thing for the malaria at Bome, and something for the musquitoes
in Norway, and will make the best of it. But I don't see why you
should run away in the middle of the Session. I would stay and
pitch into them, all round, like a true ex-ministor and independent
member of Parliament." Then as he was leaving her she fired a
last shot. •' I hope you made Sir Orlando and Sir Timothy peers
before you gave up."

It was not till two days after this that she read in one of the
daily papers that Sir Timothy Beeswax was to be Attorney- General,
and then her patience almost deserted her. To tell the truth her
husband had not dared to mention the appointment when he first
saw her after hearing it. Her explosion first fell on the head of
Phineas Finn, whom she found at home with his wife, deploring
the necessity which had fallen upon him of filling the faineant
office of Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. " Mr. Finn," she
said, •• I congratulate you on your colleagues."

•' Your Grace is very good. I was at any rate introduced to
many of them under the Duke's auspices.'*

" And ought, I think, to have seen enough of them to be ashamed
of them. Such a regiment to march through Coventry with ! "

*' I do not doubt that we shall be good enough men for any
enemies we may meet."

"It cannot but be that you should conquer all the world with
such a hero among you as Sir Timothy Beeswax. The idea of Sir
Timothy cc Tiing back again ! What do you feel about it ? "

" Very indifferent. Duchess. He won't interfere much with me,

);

584

THE PRIME MINISTEB.

as I have an Attomey-Q^aeral of my own. You see I'm especi-
ally safe."

" I do believe men would do anything," said the Duchess turn-
ing to Mrs. l^inn. " Of course I mean in the way of politics ! But
I £d not think it possible that the Duke of St. Bungay should again
be in the same Government with Sir Timothy Beeswax."

CHAPTER LXXIX.

THE WHARTON WEDDING.

It was at last settled that the Wharton marriage should take place
during the second week in June. There were various reasons for
the postponement. In the first place Mary Whairton. after a few

Sreliminary inquiries, found herself forced to declare that Messrs.
luddocks and Gramble could not send her forth equipped as she
ought to be equipped for such a husband in so short a time. *' Per-
haps they do it quicker in London," she said to Everett with a soft
regret, remembering the metropolitan glories of her sister's wed-
ding. And then Arthur Fletcher could be present during the
Whitsuntide holidays ; and the presence of Arthur Fletcher was
essential. And it was not only his presence at the altar that was
needed ; — Parliament was not so exacting but that he mi^ht have
given that ; — but it was considered by the united families to be
highly desirable that he should on this occasion remain some days
in the country. Emily had promised to attend the wedding, and
would of course be at Wharton for at least a week. As soon as
Everett had succeeded in wresting a promise from his sister, the
tidings were conveyed to Fletcher It was a great step gained.
When in London she was her own mistress ; but surrounded as she
would be down in Herefordshire by Fletchers and Whartons, she
must be stubborn indeed if she should still refuse to be taken back
into the flock, and be made once more happy by marrying the man
whom she had confessed that she loved with her whole heart The
letter to Arthur Fletcher containing the news was from his brother
John, and was written in a very business-like fashion. ** We have

Sut off Mary's marriage a few days, so that you and she should be
own here together. K you mean to go on with it, now is your
time." Arthur, in answer to this, merely said he would spend the
Whitsuntide holidays at Longbarns.

It is probable that Emily herself had some idea in her own
mind of what was being done to entrap her. Her brother's words
to her had been so strong, and the occasion of his marriage was
itself so sacred to her, that she had not been able to refuse his
request. But from the moment that she had made the promise, she

THE WHABTON WEDDING.

686

lespeci-

turu-
l But
again

felt tliat ahe had greatly added to her own difficulties. That she
could yield to Arthur never occurred to her. She was certain of her
own persistency. Whatever might be the wishes of gthers, the
fitness of things required that Arthur Fletcher's wife luiould not
have been the widow of Ferdinand Lopez, — and required also that
the woman who had married Ferdinand Lopez should bear the
results of her own folly. Though since his death she had never
spoken a syllable agsdnst him, — if those passionate words be
excepted which Arthur himself had drawn from her, — still she
had not refrained from acknowledging the trutu to herself. He
had been a man disgraced, — and she as his wife, having become
his wife in opposition to the wishes of all her friends, was dicgraced
also. Let them do what they will with her, she would not soil
Arthur Fletcher's name with this infamy. Such was still her
steadfast resolution ; but she knew that it would be, not endangered,
but increased in difficulty by this visit to Herefordshire.

And then there were other troubles. " Papa," she said, ** I must
get a dress for Everett's marriage."

"Why not?"

" I can't bear, after all that I have cost you, putting you to such
useless expense."

" It is not useless, and such expenses as that I can surely afford
without groaning. Do it handsomely and you will please me best."

Then she went forth and chose ner dress, — a grey silk, light
enough not to throw quite a gloom on the brightness of the day,
and yet dark enough to declare that she was not as other women
are. The very act of purchasing this, almost blushing at her own
request as she sat at the counter in her widow's weeds, was a pain
to her. But she had no one whom she could employ. On sucn an
occasion she could not ask her aunt Harriet to act for her, as her
aunt was distrusted and disliked. And then there was the fitting
on of the dress, — very grievous to her, as it was the first time since
the heavy black mourning came home that she had clothed herself
in other garments.

The day before that fixed for the marriage she and her father
went down to Herefordshire together, the conversation on the way
being all in respect to Everett. Where was he to live? What
was he to do ? What income would he require till he should inherit
the good things which destiny had in store for him ? The old man
seemed to feel that Providence, having been so very good to his
son in killing that other heir, had put rather a heavy burden on
himself. " He'll want a house of his own, of course," he said, in
a somewhat lachrymose tone.

** I suppose he'll spend a good deal of his time at Wharton."

** He won't be content to live in another man's house altogether,
my dear ; and Sir Alured can allow him nothing. It means, of
cor rse, that I must give him a thousand a year. It seems very
natural to him, I dare say, but he might have asked the question
before he took a wife to himself."

>!..

586

THE PRIME MINISTER.

'• You won't be angry with him, papa ! "

*' It's no good being angry. No ; — I'm not angry. Only it
seems that everybody is uncommonly well pleased without thinking
who has to pay for the piper."

On that evening, at Wharton, Emily still wore her mourning
dress. No one, indeed, dared to speak to her on the subject, and
Mary was even afraid lest she might appear in black on the follow-
ing day. We all know in what condition is a house on the eve of
a marriage, — how the bride feels that all the world is going^ to be
• Hanged, ana that therefore everything is for the moment dierjointed ;
I 'I now the rest of the household, including the servants, are led
tv v.^iT t'^e feeling. Everett was of course away. He was over at
Lc 'ba] n. with the Fletchers, and was to be brought to Wharton
Chuich on C.?i following morning. Old Mrs. Fletcher was at
Wharton Hall, — and the bishop, whose services had been happily
secured. He was formally introduced to Mrs. Lopez, the use of the
name for the occasion being absolutely necessary, and with all the
-smiling urbanity which as- a bishop he was bound to possess, he
was hardly able not to be funereal as he lookeu at her and remem-
bered her story. Before the evening was over Mrs. i^letoher did
venture to give a hint. "We are so glad you have come, my
dear."

** I could not stay when Everett said he wished it."

**It would have been wrong; yes, my dear, — ^wrong. It is
your duty, and the duty of us all, to subordinate our feelings to
those of others. Even sorrow may be seltish." Poor Emily
listened but could make no reply. " It is sometimes harder for us
to be mindful of others in our grief than in our joy. Tou should
remember, dear, that there are some who will never be light-
hearted again till they see you smile."

*♦ Do not say that, Mrs. Fletcher."

" It is quite true ; — and right that you should think of it. It
will be particularly necessary that you should think of it to-morrow.
You will have to wear a light dress, and "

** I have come provided, said the widow.

** Try then to make your heart as light as your frock. You will
be doing it for Everett's sake, and for your father's, and for Mary's

sake and Arthur's. You will be doing it for the sake of all of

UB on a day that should be joyous." She could not make any
promise in reply to this homily, but in her heart of hearts she
acknowledged that it was true, and declared to herself that she
would make the eflfort required of her.

On the following morning the house was of course in confusion.
There was to be a breakfast after the service, and after the break-
fast the bride was to be taken away in a carriage and four as far
as Hereford on her route to Paris ; — but before the great breakfast
there was of course a subsidiary breakfast, — or how could bishop,
bride, or bridesmaids have sustained the ceremony ? At this meal
Emily did not appear, having begged for a Cup of tea in her own

THE WHARTON WEDDING.

537

room. The carriages to take the party to the church, which was
but the other side of the T)ark, were ordered at eleven, and at a
quarter before eleven she appeared for the first time in '*' ^r grey
silk dress, and without a widow's cap. Everything was vo v phun,
but thei alteration was so great that it was impossible not ' '> look at
her. Even her father haa not seen the change before. Not a word
was said, though old Mrs. Fletcher's thanks were implied by the
graoiousness of her smile. As there were four bridesmaids and
four other ladies besides the bride herself, in a few minutes she
became obscured by the brightness of the others ; — and then they
were all packed in their carriages and taken to the church. The
eyes which she most dreaded did not meet hers till they were all
standing round the altar. It was only then that she saw Arthur
Fletcher, who was there as her brother's best man, and it was then
that he took her hand and held it ^r Valf a minute as though he
never meant to part with it, hidden b' ind the wide-spread glories
of the bridesmaids' finery.

The marriage was as sweet and solemn as a kind-hearted bishop
could make it, and all the ladier looked particularly well. The
veil from London, — with the orauge wreath, also metropolitan, —
was perfect, and as for the ^'ess, I doubt whether any woman
would have known it to be pi^vincial. Everett looked the rising
baronet, every inch of him, and the old barrister smiled and seemed,
at least, to be well pleased. Then came the breakfast, and the
speech-makingf in which Arthur Fletcher shone triumphantly. It
was a very nice wedding, and Mary Wharton, — as she had been and
still was, — felt herself for a moment to be a heroine. But, through
it all, there was present to the hearts of most of them a feeling that
much more was to be effected, if possible, than this simple and
cosy marriage, and that the fate of Mary Wharton was hardly so
important to them as that of Emily Lopez.

When the carriage and four was gone there came upon the
household the difficulty usual on such occasions of getting throug^h
the rest of the day. The bridesmaids retired and repacked their
splendours so that they might come out fresh for other second-rate
needs, and with the bridesmaids went the widow. Arthur Fletcher
remained at Wharton with all the other Fletchers for the night,
and was prepared to renew his suit on that very day, if an oppor-
tunity were given him ; but Emily did not again snow herself till
a few minutes before dinner, and then she came dowiM^th all the
appurtenances of mourning which she usually wore. The grey
silk had been put on for the marriage ceremony and for that only.
" You should have kept your dress at any rate for the day," said
Mrs. Fletcher. She rephed that she had changed it for Everett,
and that as Everett was gone there was no further need for her to
wear clothes unfitted to her position. Arthur would have cared
very little for the clothes could he have had his way with the woman
who wore them, — could he have had his way even so far as to have
found himself alone with her for half an hour. But no such chance

BS&SBSSSSS

588

THE PBIME MINISTEB.

was his. She retreated from the party early, and did not show her-
self on the following morning till after he had started for Longbams.

All the Fletchers went back, — not, however, with any intention
on the part of Arthur to abandon his immediate attempt. The dis-
tance between the houses was not so great but that he could drive
himself oyer at any time. " I shall go now," he said to Mr.
Wharton, "because I have promised John to fish with him
to-morrow, but I shall come over on Monday or Tuesday, and stay
till I go back to town. I hope she wiU ~vt any rate let me speak to
her." The father said he would do his best, but that that obstinate
resumption of her weeds on her brother's very wedding day had
nearly broken his heart.

When the Fletchers were back at Longbams, the two ladies were
very severe on her. *• It was downright obstinacy," said the
squire's wife, " and it almost makes me think it would serve her
right to leave her as she is."

** It's pride," said the old lady. ** She won't give way. I said
ever so much to her, — but it's no use. I feel it the more because
we have all gone so much out of the way to be good to her after
she had made such a fool of herself. If it goes on much longer, I
shall never forgive her again."

■** You'll have to forgive her, mother," said her eldest son, ** let
her sins be what they may, — or else you'll have to quarrel with
Arthur."

'" I do think it's very hard," said the old lady, taking herself out
of the room. And it was hard. The offence in the first instance had
been very great, and the forgiveness very difficult. But Mrs.
Fletcher had lived long enough to know that when sons are
thoroughly respectable a widowed mother has to do their bidding.

Emily, through the whole wedding day, and the next day, and
day after day, remembered Mrs. Fletcher's words. "There are
some who will never be light-hearted again tUl they see you
smile." And the old woman had named Iter dearest friends and
had ended by naming Arthur Fletcher. She had then acknow-
ledged to herself that it was her duty to smile in order that others
might smile also. But how is one to smile with a heavy heart ?
Should one smile and lie ? And how long and to what good pur-
pose can such forced contentment last P She had marred her whole
life. In former days she had been proud of all her virgin glories,
— proud of her intellect, proud of her beauty, proud of that obei-
sance which beauty birth and intellect combined, exact from all
comers. She had been ambitious as to her future life ; — had
intended to be careful not to surrender' herself to some empty
fool ; — had thought herself well qualified to pick her own steps.
And this had come of it ! They told her that she might still make
everything right, annul the past and begin the world again as
fresh as ever, — if she would only smile and study to forget ! Do
it for the sake of others, they said, and then it will be done for
yourself also. But she could not conquer the past. The fire and

THE WHABTON WBDDINO.

689

Water of repentance, adequate a8 they may be for eternity, cannot
burn «ut or wash away the. remorse of this life. They scorch and
choko ;— and unless it be so there is no repentance. So she told
herself, — and yet it was her duty to be light-hearted that others
around her might not be made miserable by her sorrow ! If she
could be in truth light-hearted, then would she know herself to be
unfeeling and worthless.

On the third day after the marria^ Arthur Fletcher came back
to Wharton with the declared inteation of remaining there tUl the
end of the holidays. She could make no objection to such an
arrangement, nor could she hasten her own return to London.
That had been fixed before her departure and was to be made
tojgether with her father. She felt that she was being attacked
with unfair weapons, and that undue advantage was taken of the
sacrifice which she had made for her brother's sake. And yet,— •
yet how good to her they all were ! How wonderful was it that
after the thing she had done, after the disgrace she had brought on
herself and them, after the destruction of all that pride which had
once been hers, they should still wish to have her among them !
As for him, — of whom she was always thinking, — of what nature
must be his love, when he was wilUng to take to himself as his
wife such a thing as she had made herself ! But, thinking of this,
she would only tell herself that as he woulS not protect himself she
was bound to be his protector. Yes; — she would protect him,
though she could dream of a world of joy that might be hers if she
could dare to do as he would ask her.

He caught her at last and forced her to come out with him into
the grounds. He could tell his tale better as he walked by her side
than sitting restlessly on a chair or moving awkwardly about the
room as on such an occasion he would be sure to do. Within four
walls she would have some advantage over him. She could sit still
and be dignified in her stillness. But in the open air, when they
would both be on their legs, she might not be so powerful with him
and he perhaps might be stronger with her. She could not refuse
him when he asked her to walk with him. And why should she
refuse him ? Of course he must be allowed to utter his prayer, —
and then she must be allowed to make her answer. " I think the
marriage went oflF very well," he said.

" Very well. Everett ought to be a happy man."

"No doubt he will be, — when he settles down to something.
Everything will come right for him. With some people things
seem to go smooth ; don't they ? They have not hitherto gone
smoothly with you and me. Emily."

"You are prosperous. You have everything before you that a
man can wish, if only you will allow yourseK to think so. Your
profession is successful, and you are in Parliament, and everyone
likes you."

" It is all nothing."

" That is the general discontent of the world."

540

THE PBIME MINISTER.

"It is all nothing, — unless I have you too. Hememher that I
had said so long before I was sucoessml, when I did not dream of
Parliament ; before we had heard of the name of the man who
came between me and my happiness. I think I am entitled to be
believed when I say so. I think I know my own mind. There
are many men who would have been changed by the episode of such
a marriage.*'

*• You ought to have been changed by it, — and by its result.*

*' It had no such effect. Here I am, after it all, telling you as
I used to tell you before, that I have to look to you for my
happiness."

'•You should be ashamed to confess it, Arthur."

'• Never ; — not to you, nor to all the world. I know what it has
been. I know ypu are not now as you were then. You have been
his wife, and are now his widow."

" That should be enough."

" But, Buch as you are, my happiness is in your hands. If it
were not so, do you think that all my family as well as yours would
join in wishing that you may become my wife P There is nothing
to conceal. When you married that man you know what my
mother thought of it ; and what John thought of it, and his wife.
They had wanted you to be my wife ; and mey want it now, — be-
cause they are anxious fbr my happiness. And your father wishes
it, and your brother wishes it, — because they trust me, and think
that I snould be a good husband to you."

'• Good ! " she exclaimed, hardly knowing what she meant by
repeating the word.

" After that you have no right to set yourself up to judge what
may be best for my happiness. They who know how to jud^ are all
united. Whatever you may have been, they believe that it will be
good for me that you should now be my wife. After that you
must talk about me no longer, unless you will talk of my wislies."

** Do you think I am not anxious for your happiness P "

*• I do not know ; — but I shall find out in time. That is what I
have to say about myself. And as to you, is it not* much the
same P I know you love me. Whatever me feeling was that over-
came you as to that other man, — it has j,pne. T cannot now stop
to be tender and soft in my words. The thing to be said is too
serious to me. And every fiiend you have wants you to marry the
man you love and to put an end to the desolation which you have
brought on yourself. There is not one among us all, Fletchers and
Whartons, whose comfort does not more or less depend on your
sacrificing the luxury of your own woe."

"Luxury!"

" Yes ; luxury. No man ever had a right to say more positively
to a woman that it was her duty to marry him, than I have to you.
And I do say it. I say it on behalf of all of us, that it is your duty.
I won't talk of my own love now, because you know it. You
cannot doubt it. I won't even talk of yours, because I am sure of

THE WHARTON WKHDINO.

it. But I say that it is vour duty to give up drowning ug all ^'a
tears, buryiiif]; us in desolation. You are one of us, anti shou!^ io
as all of us wish you. If, indeed, you could not love me it would
be different. There I I have said what I've got to sav. Tou
are crying, and I will not take your answer now. I will come to
ou again to-morrow, and then you shall answer me. But, romem-

r when you do so that the happiness of many people depend on
what you say." Then he left her very suddenly and hurned back
to the houHe by himself.

He had been very rough with her, — had not once attempted to
touch her hand or even ner arm, had spoken no soft word to her,
speaking of his own love a3 a thing too certain to need further
words ; and he had declared himself to be so assured of her love
that there was no favour for him now to ask, nothing for which he
was bound to pray as a lover. All that was past. He had simply
declared it to be her duty to marry him, ana had told her so with
much sternness. He had walked fast, compelling her to accompany
him, had frowned at her, and had more than once stamped his foot
upon the ground. During the whole interview she had been so
near to weeping that she could hardly speak. Once or twice she
had almost thought him to be cruel ; — but he had forced her to
acluiowledge to herself that all that he had said was. true and un-
answerable. Had he pressed her for an answer at the moment she
would not have known in what words to couch a refusal. And yet
as she made her way alone back to the house she assured herself
that sho would have refused.

He had given her four-and-twenty hours, and at the end of that
time she would be bound to give him her answer, — an answer
which must then be final. And as she said this to herself she
found that she was admitting a doubt. She hardly knew how not
to doubt, knowing, as she did, that all whom she loved were on
one side, while on the other was nothing but the stubbornness of
her own convictions. But still the conviction was left to her.
Over and* over again she declared to herself that it was not fit,
meaning thereby to assure herself that a higher duty even than
that wmch she owed to her friends, demanded from her thr^t she
should be true to her convictions. She met him that day at
dinner, but he hardly spoke to her. They sat together in the
same room during tne evening but she hardly once heard his
voice. It seemed to her t?iat ne avoided even looking at her.
When they separated for the night he parted from her almost as
though they had been strangers. Surely he was angiy with her
because she was stubborn, — uiought evil of her because she would
not do as others wished her ! She laid awake di^ ag the long night
thinking of it all. I£ it might be so ! Oh ; — if i ight be so ! If it
might be done without utter ruin to her own self-respect as a woman !

In the morning she was down early, — not having anything to
say, with no clear purpose as yet before her, — but still with a
feeling that perhaps that morning might alter all things for her.

KJBtSKM rtBitmt X T 'A ' .^iSfUBCM^mSit

542

THE PRIME MINISTER.

He was the ^.atest of the party, not coining in for prayers as did
all the others, but taking his seat when the others had half
finished their breakfast. As he sat down he gave a general half-
uttered greeting to them all, but spoke no special word to any of
them. It chanced that his seat was next to hers, but m her he
did not address himself at all. Then the meal was over, and the
chairs were withdrawn, and the party grouped itself about with
vague uncertain movements, as men and women do before they
leave the breakfast table for the work of the day. She meditated
her escape, but felt that she could not leave the room before Lady
Wharton or Mrs. Fletcher, — who had remained at Wharton to
keep her mother company for a while. At last they went ; — but
then, just as she was escaping, be put his hand upon her and
reminded her of her appointment. "I shall be in the hall in a
quarter of an hour,'* he said. *' Will you meet me there? " Then
ahe bowed her head to him and passed on.

She was there at the time named and found him standing by
the hall door, waiting for her. His hat was already on his head
and his back was tumost turned to her. He opened the door,
and, allowing her to pass out first, led the way to the shrubbery.
He did not speak to her till he had closed behind her the little iron
gate which separated the walk from the garden, and then by9
turned upon her with one word. "Well?" he said. She was
silent for a moment and then he repeated his eager question ;
"Well;— well? »^

'* I should disgrace you," she said, not firmly as before, but
whispering the words.

He waited for no other assent. The form of the words told him
that he had won the day. In a moment his arms were round her,
and her veil was oflP, and his lips were pressed to hers ; — and when
she could see his countenance the whole form of Ids face was
altered to her. It was bright as it used to be bright v . old days,
and he was smiling on her as he used to smile. "My^own," he
said; — "my wife — my own !" And she had no longer tne power
to deny him. "Not yet, Arthur; not yet," was all that she
could say.

CHAPTER LXXX.

THE LAST MEETING AT MATCHING.

The ex-Prime Minister did not carry out his purpose of leaving
London in the middle of the season and travelling* either to Italy
or Norway. He was away from London at Whit&untide longer
perhaps than he might have been if still in office, and during this
period regarded himself as a mau from whose hands all work had

THE LAST MEETING AT MATGUINO.

548

been taken,— as one who had been found unfit to carry any longer
a burden seryiceably ; but before June was over he and the Duchess
were back in London, and gradually he allowed himself to open his
mouth on this or that subject in the House of Lords, — not pitching
into everybody all round, as his wife had recommended, — but ex-
pressing an opinion now and again, generally in support of his
friends, with tne dignity which should belong to a retired Prime
Minister. The Duchess too reqovered much of her good temper, —
as far at least as the outward show went. One or two who knew
her, especially Mrs. Finn, were aware that her hatred and her ideas
of revenge were not laid aside ; but she went on from day to day
anathematising her special enemies and abstained from reproach-
ing her husband for his pusillanimity. Then came the question
as to the autumn. "Let's have everybody down at Gatherum,
just as we had before," said the Duchess.

The proposition almost took away the Duke's breath. *' Why do
you. want a crowd, like that ?"

*' Just to show them that we are not beaten because we are
turned out."

** But, in as much as we were turned out, we were beaten. And
what has a gathering of people at my private house to do with a
political manoeuvre ? Do you especially want to go to Qatherum ?"

" I hate the place. You know I do."

** Then why should you propose to go there P " He hardly yet
knew his wife well enough to understand that the suggestion had
been a joke. ** If you don't wish to go abroad "

** I hate going abroad."

*' Then we'll remain at Matching. You don't hate Matching."

*' Ah dear ! There are memories there too. But you like it."

'* My books are there."

•* Blue books," said the Duchess.

" And there is plenty of room if you wish to have friends."

** I simpoae we must have somebody. You can't live without
your Mentor."

" You can ask whom you please," he said almost fretfully.

"Lady Rosina, of course," suggested the Duchess. Then he
turned to the papers before him and wouldn't say another word.
Th<d matter ended in a party much as usual being collected at
Matching about the middle of October, — Telemachus having spent
the early part of the autumn with Mentor at Long Royston. There
might perhaps be a dozen guests in the house, and among them of
course were Phineas Finn and his wife. And Mr. Grey was there,
having come back from his eastern mission, — whose unfortunate
abandonment of his seat at Silverbridge had caused so many
troubles, — and Mrs. Grey, who in days now long passed had
been almost as necessary to Lady Glencora, as was now her later
friend Mrs. Finn, — and the Cantrips, and for a short time the St.
Bungays. But Lady Rosina De Courcy on this occasion was not
present. There were few there whom my patient readers have

544

THE PRIME MINISTER.

not seen at Matching before ; but among those few was Arthur
Fletcher.

" So it is to be," said the Duchess to the member for Silverbridge
one morning. She had by this time become intimate with " her
member," as she would sometimes call him in joke, and had con-
cerned herself much as to his matrimonial prospects.

"Yes, Duchess; it is to be, — unless some unforeseen circum-
stance should ai'ise."

*' What circumstance P "

*' Ladies and gentlemen sometimes do change their minds ; — but
in this case I do not think it likely."

*• And why ain't you being married now, Mr. Fletcher ? "

" We have agreed to postpone it till next year ; — so that we may
be quite sure of our own minds."

* ' I know you are laughing at me ; but nevertheless I am very
glad that it is settled. Pray tell her from me that I shall call again
as soon as ever she is Mrs. Fletcher, though I don't think she
repaid either of the last two visits I made her."

** You must make excuses for her, Duchess."

" Of course. I know. After all she is a most fortunate woman.
And as for you, — I regard you as a hero among lovers."

"I'm getting used to it, ' she said one day to Mrs. Finn.

•* Of course you'll get used to it. We get used to anything that
chance sends us in a marvellously short time."

•' What I mean is that I can go to bed, and sleep, and get up and
eat my meals without missiiig the sound of the trumpets so much
as I did at first. I remember hearing of people who lived in a
mill, and couldn't sleep when the mill stopped. It was like that
with me when our mill stopped at first. I had got myself so used
to the excitement of it," that I could hardly live without it."

*• You might have all the excitement still, if you pleased. You
need not be dead to politics because your husband is not Prime
Minister."

** No; never again, — unless he should come back. If any one
had told me ten years ago that I should have taken an interest in
this or that man being in the Government I should have laughed
him to scorn. It did not seem possible to me then that I should
care what became of such men as Sir Timothy Beeswax and Mr.
Boby. But I did get to be anxious about it when Plantagenet was
shifted from one office to another."

" Of course you did. Do you think I am not anxious about
Phineas ? "

• ' But when he became Prime Minister, I gave myself up to it
altogether. I shall nevej forget what I felt when he came to me
and told me that perhaps it might be so ; — but told me also that he
would escape from it if it were possible. I was the Lady Macbeth
of the Occasion all over ; — whereas he was so scrupulous, so bm--
dened with conscience ! As for me I would have taken it by any
means. Then it was that the old Duke played the part of the

fts Arthur

Iverbridge
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THE LAST MEETING AT MATCHINO.

54S

three witched to a nicety. Well, there hasn't been any absolute
murder, and I hayen't quite gone mad."

' * Nor need you be afraid though all the woods of Gatherum
should come to Matching."

'• Ood forbid I I will never see anything of Gatherum again.
What annoys me most is, and always was, that he wouldn't under-
stand what I felt about it ; — how proud I was that he should be
Prime Minister, how anxious that he should be great and noble
ill his office ; — how I worked for him, and not at all for any pleasure
of my own."

"I think he did feel it."

"No; — not as I did. At last he liked the power, — or rather
feared the disgrace of losing it. But he had no idea of the personal
grandeur of the place. He never understood that to be Prime
Minister in England is as much as to be an Emperor in France, and
much more than being President in America. Oh, how I did
labour for him, — and how he did scold me for it with those quiet
little stinging words of his ! I was vulgar ! "

' ' Is that a quiet word ? "

"Yes; — as he used it; — and indiscreet, and ignorant, and
stupid. I bore it all, thotigh sometimes I was dying with vexa-
tion. Now it's all over, and here we are as humdrum as any one
else. And the Beeswaxes, and the Robys, and the Droughts, and
the Pountneys, and the Lopezes, have all passed over the scene !
Do you remember that Pountney aflfair, and how he turned the
poor man out of the house P "

" It served him right."

" It would have served them all right to be turned out, — only
they were there for a purpose. I did like it in a way, and it makes
me sad to think that the feeling can neyer come again. Even if
they should have him back again, it would be a very lame affair
to me then. I can never again rouse myself to the effort of pre-
paring food and lodging for half the Parliament and their wives.
I shall never again think that I can help to rule England by coax-
ing unpleasant men. It is done and gone, and can never como
back again«"

Not long after this the Duke took Mr. Monk, who had como
down to Matching for a few days, out to the very spot on which he
had sat when he indulged himself in lecturing Pnineas Finn on
conservatism and liberalism generally, and then asked the Chan-
cellor of the Exchequer what he thought of the present state of
public affairs. He himself had sii.pported Mr. Gresham's govern-
ment, and did not belong to it because he could not at present
reconcile himself to filling any office. Mr. Monk did not scruple
to say that in his opinion the present legitimate division of parties
was preferable to the Coalition which had existed for three years.
** lu such an arrangement," said Mr. Monk, " there must always
be a certain amor .t of distrust, and such a feeling is fatal to any
great work."

r N

. 1^1

*iTf^^: „ .^

"if^Cl

546

THE PRIME Ml>..friir?.

" I think I distrusted no one till separ .tioa o;a.nio, — and when it
did come it was not caused by me.*

" I am not blamine any one now," said the other ; " but men
who have been brought up with opinions altogether different, even
with diffei^ent instincts as to politics, who from their mother's milk
have been nourished on codes of thought altogether apposed to each
other, cannot work together with confidence even though they may
desire the same thing. The very ideas which ar'^ sweet as honey
to the ohe are bitter as gall to the ether."

" You think, then, that we made a great mistake ? "

*' I will not say that," said Mr. Monk. *• There was a difficulty
at the time, and that difficulty was overcome. The Government
was carried on, and was on the whole respected. History will givf
you credit for patriotism, patience, and courage. No man could
nave done it better than you did ; — probably no other man of the
day so well."

" But it was not a great part to play P" The Buke in his ner-
vousness, as he said this, could not avoid the use of that question-
ing tone which requires an answer.

" Great enough to satisfy tJie heart of a xaan who has fortified
himself against the evil side of ambition. After all, what is it that
the Prime Minister of such a country as thid should chiefly regard ?
Is it not the prosperity of the country ? It is not often that we
want great measures, or new arrangements that shall be vital to
the country. Politicians now look for grievances, not because the
grievances are heavy, but trusting that *S.e honour of abolishing
them may be great. It is the old story of the needy knife-grinder
who, if left to himself, would have no grievance of which to
ooraplain."

* jut there a ,, ;evances," said the Duke. "Look at mone-
tary donominatic * Look at our weights and msasures."

*• Well ; yes. x will not say that everything has as yet been
reduced to divine order. But when we took office three years ago
we certainly did not intend to settle those difficulties."

** No, indeed," said the Duke, sadly.

'• But we did do aft that we meant to do. For my own part,
there is only one thing in it that I regret, and one only whiph you
fchould regret also till you have resolved to remedy it.

"What thing is that?"

" Your own retirement from official life. If the country is to
lose your services for the long course of years during which you
will p-obably sit in Parliament, then I shall think that the country
has lost more than it has ^ined by the Coalition."

The Duke sat for a while silent, looking at the view, and, before
ans'H'ering Mr. Monk, — while arranging his answer, — once or twice
in - half-absent way, called bis companion's attention to the scene
before him. But, during this time he was going through an act of
painful repentance. He was condemning himself for a woid or two
that had been ill-spoken by himself, ana which, sinc« the moment

nw^': V -^

THE LAST rrEETIN' AT MATCdlNO.

r>47

i wben it

but men
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of its uttoiance, he had never ceased to remember with Rhft!."*. IIt»
told himself now, after his own secret fashion, that he i>^i\iil do
penance for these words by the humiliation of a direct con '. Eidi'*U( a
of them. He must declare that Ccesar would at some ; , .are Vme
be prepared to serve under Pompev. Then he made il. avf n/or.
" Mr. Monk," he said, *' I should be false if I were to deny ihat if.
pleases me to hear you say so. I have thought much of all thaf
for the last two or three months. You may probably have seen
that I am not a man endowed with that fortitude which enableB
many to bear vexations with an easy spirit. I am ^ven to fretting,
and I am inclined to think that a popular minister in a free country
should be so constituted as to be free from that infirmity. I shall
certainly never desire to be at the head of a Government again.
For a few years I would prefer to remain out of office. But I wiU
endeavour to look forward to a time when I may again perhaps be
of some humble use."

k at mone-
ys."

IS yet been
« years ago

THE END.

r own part,
r whjph you

ountry is to

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the country

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igh an act of

woid or two

the moment