The Palliser Novels
Chapter 53 : CHAPTER LXXII.Showing How George Vavasor Paid a Visit It was nearly seven o'clock

CHAPTER LXXII.

Showing How George Vavasor Paid a Visit It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening, - a hot, July evening, - when the woman went from Vavasor's room, and left him there alone. It was necessary that he should immediately do something. In the first place he must dine, unless he meant to carry out his threat, and shoot himself at once. But he had no such intention as that, although he stood for some minutes with the pistol in his hand. He was thinking then of shooting some one else. But he resolved that, if he did so at all, he would not do it on that evening, and he locked up the pistol again in the standing desk. After that, he took up some papers, referring to steam packets, which were lying on his table. They contained the programmes of different companies, and showed how one vessel went on one day to New York, and another on another day would take out a load of emigrants for New Zealand and Australia. "That's a good line," said he, as he read a certain prospectus. "They generally go to the bottom, and save a man from any further trouble on his own account." Then he dressed himself, putting on his boots and coat, and went out to his club for his dinner.

London was still fairly full, - that is to say, the West End was not deserted, although Parliament had been broken up two months earlier than usual, in preparation for the new elections. Many men who had gone down into the country were now back again in town, and the dining-room at the club was crowded. Men came up to him condoling with him, telling him that he was well rid of a great nuisance, that the present Members for the Chelsea Districts would not sit long, or that there would be another general election in a year or two. To all these little speeches he made cheerful replies, and was declared by his acquaintance to bear his disappointment well. Calder Jones came to him and talked hunting talk, and Vavasor expressed his intention of being at Roebury in November. "You had better join our club," said Calder Jones. In answer to which Vavasor said that he thought he would join the club. He remained in the smoking-room till nearly eleven; then he took himself home, and remained up half the night destroying papers. Every written doc.u.ment on which he could lay his hands he destroyed. All the pigeon-holes of his desk were emptied out, and their contents thrown into the flames. At first he looked at the papers before he burned them; but the trouble of doing so soon tired him, and he condemned them all, as he came to them, without examination. Then he selected a considerable amount of his clothes, and packed up two portmanteaus, folding his coats with care, and inspecting his boots narrowly, so that he might see which, out of the large number before him, it might be best worth his while to take with him. When that was done, he took from his desk a bag of sovereigns, and, pouring them out upon the table, he counted them out into parcels of twenty-five each, and made them up carefully into rouleaus with paper. These, when complete, he divided among the two portmanteaus and a dressing-bag which he also packed and a travelling desk, which he filled with papers, pens, and the like. But he put into it no written doc.u.ment. He carefully looked through his linen, and anything that had been marked with more than his initials he rejected. Then he took out a bundle of printed cards, and furnished a card-case with them. On these cards was inscribed the name of Gregory Vance. When all was finished, he stood for awhile with his back to the fireplace contemplating his work. "After all," he said to himself, "I know that I shall never start; and, if I do, n.o.body can hinder me, and my own name would be as good as any other. As for a man with such a face as mine not being known, that is out of the question." But still he liked the arrangements which he had made, and when he had looked at them for awhile he went to bed.

He was up early the next morning, and had some coffee brought to him by the servant of the house, and as he drank it he had an interview with his landlady. "He was going," he said; - "going that very day." It might be possible that he would change his mind; but as he would desire to start without delay, if he did go, he would pay her then what he owed her, and what would be due for her lodgings under a week's notice. The woman stared, and curtseyed, and took her money. Vavasor, though he had lately been much pressed for money, had never been so foolish as to owe debts where he lived. "There will be some things left about, Mrs Bunsby," he said, "and I will get you to keep them till I call or send." Mrs Bunsby said that she would, and then looked her last at him. After that interview she never saw him again.

When he was left alone he put on a rough morning coat, and taking up the pistol, placed it carefully in his pocket, and sallied forth. It was manifest enough that he had some decided scheme in his head, for he turned quickly towards the West when he reached the Strand, went across Trafalgar Square to Pall Mall East, and then turned up Suffolk Street. Just as he reached the club-house at the corner he paused and looked back, facing first one way and then the other. "The chances are that I shall never see anything of it again," he said to himself. Then he laughed in his own silent way, shook his head slightly, and turning again quickly on his heel, walked up the street till he reached the house of Mr Jones, the pugilistic tailor. The reader, no doubt, has forgotten all he ever knew of Mr Jones, the pugilistic tailor. It can soon be told again. At Mr Jones's house John Grey lodged when he was in London, and he was in London at this moment.

Vavasor rang the bell, and as soon as the servant came he went quickly into the house, and pa.s.sed her in the pa.s.sage. "Mr Grey is at home," he said. "I will go up to him." The girl said that Mr Grey was at home, but suggested that she had better announce the gentleman. But Vavasor was already halfway up the stairs, and before the girl had reached the first landing place, he had entered Mr Grey's room and closed the door behind him.

Grey was sitting near the open window, in a dressing-gown, and was reading. The breakfast things were on the table, but he had not as yet breakfasted. As soon as he saw George Vavasor, he rose from his chair quickly, and put down his book. "Mr Vavasor," he said, "I hardly expected to see you in my lodgings again!"

"I dare say not," said Vavasor; "but, nevertheless, here I am." He kept his right hand in the pocket which held the pistol, and held his left hand under his waistcoat.

"May I ask why you have come?" said Grey.

"I intend to tell you, at any rate, whether you ask me or not. I have come to declare in your own hearing, - as I am in the habit of doing occasionally behind your back, - that you are a blackguard, - to spit in your face, and defy you." As he said this he suited his action to his words, but without any serious result. "I have come here to see if you are man enough to resent any insult that I can offer you; but I doubt whether you are."

"Nothing that you can say to me, Mr Vavasor, will have any effect upon me; - except that you can, of course, annoy me."

"And I mean to annoy you, too, before I have done with you. Will you fight me?"

"Fight a duel with you, - with pistols? Certainly not."

"Then you are a coward, as I supposed."

"I should be a fool if I were to do such a thing as that."

"Look here, Mr Grey. You managed to worm yourself into an intimacy with my cousin, Miss Vavasor, and to become engaged to her. When she found out what you were, how paltry, and mean, and vile, she changed her mind, and bade you leave her."

"Are you here at her request?"

"I am here as her representative."

"Self-appointed, I think."

"Then, sir, you think wrong. I am at this moment her affianced husband; and I find that, in spite of all that she has said to you, - which was enough, I should have thought, to keep any man of spirit out of her presence, - you still persecute her by going to her house, and forcing yourself upon her presence. Now, I give you two alternatives. You shall either give me your written promise never to go near her again, or you shall fight me."

"I shall do neither one nor the other, - as you know very well yourself."

"Stop till I have done, sir. If you have courage enough to fight me, I will meet you in any country. I will fight you here in London, or, if you are afraid of that, I will go over to France, or to America, if that will suit you better."

"Nothing of the kind will suit me at all. I don't want to have anything to do with you."

"Then you are a coward."

"Perhaps I am; - but your saying so will not make me one."

"You are a coward, and a liar, and a blackguard. I have given you the option of behaving like a gentleman, and you have refused it. Now, look here. I have come here with arms, and I do not intend to leave this room without using them, unless you will promise to give me the meeting that I have proposed." And he took the pistol out of his pocket.

"Do you mean that you are going to murder me?" Grey asked. There were two windows in the room, and he had been sitting near to that which was furthest removed from the fireplace, and consequently furthest removed from the bell, and his visitor was now standing immediately between him and the door. He had to think what steps he might best take, and to act upon his decision instantly. He was by no means a timid man, and was one, moreover, very little p.r.o.ne to believe in extravagant action. He did not think, even now, that this disappointed, ruined man had come there with any intention of killing him. But he knew that a pistol in the hands of an angry man is dangerous, and that it behoved him to do his best to rid himself of the nuisance which now enc.u.mbered him. "Do you mean that you are going to murder me?" he had said.

"I mean that you shall not leave this room alive unless you promise to meet me, and fight it out." Upon hearing this, Grey turned himself towards the bell. "If you move a step, I will fire at you," said Vavasor. Grey paused a moment, and looked him full in the face. "I will," said Vavasor again.

"That would be murder," said Grey.

"Don't think that you will frighten me by ugly words," said Vavasor. "I am beyond that."

Grey had stopped for a moment to fix his eyes on the other man's face; but it was only for a moment, and then he went on to the bell. He had seen that the pistol was pointed at himself, and had once thought of rus.h.i.+ng across the room at his adversary, calculating that a shot fired at him as he did so might miss him, and that he would then have a fair chance of disarming the madman. But his chief object was to avoid any personal conflict, to escape the indignity of a scramble for the pistol, - and especially to escape the necessity of a consequent appearance at some police-office, where he would have to justify himself, and answer the questions of a lawyer hired to cross-question him. He made, therefore, towards the bell, trusting that Vavasor would not fire at him, but having some little thought also as to the danger of the moment. It might be that everything was over for him now, - that the fatal hour had come, and that eternity was close upon him. Something of the spirit of a prayer flashed across his mind as he moved. Then he heard the click of the pistol's hammer as it fell, and was aware that his eyes were dazzled, though he was unconscious of seeing any flame. He felt something in the air, and knew that the pistol had been fired; - but he did not know whether the shot had struck him or had missed him. His hand was out for the bell-handle, and he had pulled it, before he was sure that he was unhurt.

"Dation!" exclaimed the murderer. But he did not pull the trigger again. Though the weapon had of late been so often in his hands, he forgot, in the agitation of the moment, that his missing once was but of small matter if he chose to go on with his purpose. Were there not five other barrels for him, each making itself ready by the discharge of the other? But he had paused, forgetting, in his excitement, the use of his weapon, and before he had bethought himself that the man was still in his power, he heard the sound of the bell. "Dation!" he exclaimed. Then he turned round, left the room, hurried down the stairs, and made his way out into the street, having again pa.s.sed the girl on his way.

Grey, when he perceived that his enemy was gone, turned round to look for the bullet or its mark. He soon found the little hole in the window-shutter, and probing it with the point of his pencil, came upon the morsel of lead which might now just as readily have been within his own brain. There he left it for the time, and then made some not inaccurate calculation as to the narrowness of his own escape. He had been standing directly between Vavasor and the shutter, and he found, from the height of the hole, that the shot must have pa.s.sed close beneath his ear. He remembered to have heard the click of the hammer, but he could not remember the sound of the report, and when the girl entered the room, he perceived at once from her manner that she was unaware that firearms had been used.

"Has that gentleman left the house?" Grey asked. The girl said that he had left the house. "Don't admit him again," said he; - "that is, if you can avoid it. I believe he is not in his right senses." Then he asked for Mr Jones, his landlord, and in a few minutes the pugilistic tailor was with him.

During those few minutes he had been called upon to resolve what he would do now. Would he put the police at once upon the track of the murderer, who was, as he remembered too well, the first cousin of the woman whom he still desired to make his wife? That cross-examination which he would have to undergo at the police-office, and again probably in an a.s.size court, in which all his relations with the Vavasor family would be made public, was very vivid to his imagination. That he was called upon by duty to do something he felt almost a.s.sured. The man who had been allowed to make such an attempt once with impunity, might probably make it again. But he resolved that he need not now say anything about the pistol to the pugilistic tailor, unless the tailor said something to him.

"Mr Jones," he said, "that man whom I had to put out of the room once before, has been here again."

"Has there been another tussle, sir?"

"No; - nothing of that kind. But we must take some steps to prevent his getting in again, if we can help it."

Jones promised his aid, and offered to go at once to the police. To this, however, Mr Grey demurred, saying that he should himself seek a.s.sistance from some magistrate. Jones promised to be very vigilant as to watching the door; and then John Grey sat down to his breakfast. Of course he thought much of what had occurred. It was impossible that he should not think much of so narrow an escape. He had probably been as near death as a man may well be without receiving any injury; and the more he thought of it, the more strongly he was convinced that he could not allow the thing to pa.s.s by without some notice, or some precaution as to the future.

At eleven o'clock he went to Scotland Yard, and saw some officer great in power over policemen, and told him all the circ.u.mstances, - confidentially. The powerful officer recommended an equally confidential reference to a magistrate; and towards evening a very confidential policeman in plain clothes paid a visit to Vavasor's lodgings in Cecil Street. But Vavasor lodged there no longer. Mrs Bunsby, who was also very confidential, - and at her wits' end because she could not learn the special business of the stranger who called, - stated that Mr George Vavasor left her house in a cab at ten o'clock that morning, having taken with him such luggage as he had packed, and having gone, "she was afraid, for good," as Mrs Bunsby expressed it.

He had gone for good, and at the moment in which the policeman was making the inquiry in Cecil Street, was leaning over the side of an American steamer which had just got up her steam and weighed her anchor in the Mersey. He was on board at six o'clock, and it was not till the next day that the cabman was traced who had carried him to Euston Square Station. Of course, it was soon known that he had gone to America, but it was not thought worth while to take any further steps towards arresting him. Mr Grey himself was decidedly opposed to any such attempt, declaring his opinion that his own evidence would be insufficient to obtain a conviction. The big men in Scotland Yard were loth to let the matter drop. Their mouths watered after the job, and they had very numerous and very confidential interviews with John Grey. But it was decided that nothing should be done. "Pity!" said one enterprising superintendent, in answer to the condolings of a brother superintendent. "Pity's no name for it. It's the greatest shame as ever I knew since I joined the force. A man as was a Member of Parliament only last Session, - as belongs to no end of swell clubs, a gent as well known in London as any gent about the town! And I'd have had him back in three months, as sure as my name's Walker." And that superintendent felt that his profession and his country were alike disgraced.

And now George Vavasor vanishes from our pages, and will be heard of no more. Roebury knew him no longer, nor Pall Mall, nor the Chelsea Districts. His disappearance was a nine days' wonder, but the world at large knew nothing of the circ.u.mstances of that attempt in Suffolk Street. Mr Grey himself told the story to no one, till he told it to Mr Palliser at Lucerne. Mr Scruby complained bitterly of the way in which Vavasor had robbed him; but I doubt whether Scruby, in truth, lost much by the transaction. To Kate, down in Westmoreland, no tidings came of her brother, and her sojourn in London with her aunt had nearly come to an end before she knew that he was gone. Even then the rumour reached her through Captain Bellfield, and she learned what few facts she knew from Mrs Bunsby in Cecil Street.

"He was always mysterious," said Mrs Greenow, "and now he has vanished. I hate mysteries, and, as for myself, I think it will be much better that he should not come back again." Perhaps Kate was of the same opinion, but, if so, she kept it to herself.

CHAPTER LXXIII.

In Which Come Tidings of Great Moment to All Pallisers It was not till they had been for a day or two together at Lucerne that Mr Grey told Mr Palliser the story of George Vavasor's visit to him in Suffolk Street. Having begun the history of his connection with Alice, he found himself obliged to go with it to the end, and as he described the way in which the man had vanished from the sight of all who had known him, - that he had in truth gone, so as no longer to be a cause of dread, he could not without dissimulation, keep back the story of that last scene. "And he tried to murder you!" said Mr Palliser. "He should be caught and, - and - " Mr Palliser hesitated, not liking to say boldly that the first cousin of the lady who was now living with him ought to be hung.

"It is better as it is," said Grey.

"He actually walked into your rooms in the day time, and fired a pistol at you as you were sitting at your breakfast! He did that in London, and then walked off and went abroad, as though he had nothing to fear!"

"That was just it," said Grey.

Mr Palliser began to think that something ought to be done to make life more secure in the metropolis of the world. Had he not known Mr Grey, or been accustomed to see the other man in Parliament, he would not have thought so much about it. But it was almost too much for him when he reflected that one man whom he now called his friend, had been nearly murdered in daylight, in the heart of his own part of London, by another man whom he had reckoned among his Parliamentary supporters. "And he has got your money too!" said Palliser, putting all the circ.u.mstances of the case together. In answer to this Mr Grey said that he hoped the loss might eventually be his own; but that he was bound to regard the money which had been taken as part of Miss Vavasor's fortune. "He is simply the greatest miscreant of whom I ever heard in my life," said Mr Palliser. "The wonder is that Miss Vavasor should ever have brought herself to - to like him." Then Mr Grey apologized for Alice, explaining that her love for her cousin had come from her early years; that the man himself was clever and capable of a.s.suming pleasant ways, and that he had not been wholly bad till ruin had come upon him. "He attempted public life and made himself miserable by failing, as most men do who make that attempt," said Grey. This was a statement which Mr Palliser could not allow to pa.s.s without notice. Whereupon the two men got away from George Vavasor and their own individual interests, and went on seriously discussing the merits and demerits of public life. "The end of it all is," said Grey at last, "that public men in England should be rich like you, and not poor like that miserable wretch, who has now lost everything that the Fates had given him."

They continued to live at Lucerne in this way for a fortnight. Mr Grey, though he was not unfrequently alone with Alice, did not plead his suit in direct words; but continued to live with her on terms of close and easy friends.h.i.+p. He had told her that her cousin had left England, - that he had gone to America immediately after his disappointment in regard to the seat in Parliament, and that he would probably not return. "Poor George!" Alice had said; "he is a man very much to be pitied." "He is a man very much to be pitied," Grey had replied. After that, nothing more was said between them about George Vavasor. From Lady Glencora Alice did hear something; but Lady Glencora herself had not heard the whole story. "I believe he misbehaved himself, my dear," Lady Glencora said; "but then, you know, he always does that. I believe that he saw Mr Grey and insulted him. Perhaps you had better not ask anything about it till by-and-by. You'll be able to get anything out of him then." In answer to this Alice made her usual protest, and Lady Glencora, as was customary, told her that she was a fool.

I am inclined to think that Mr Grey knew what he was about. Lady Glencora once scolded him very vehemently for not bringing the affair to an end. "We shall be going on to Italy before it's settled," she said; "and I don't suppose you can go with us, unless it is settled." Mr Grey protested that he had no intention of going to Italy in either case.

"Then it will be put off for another year or two, and you are both of you as old as Adam and Eve already."

"We ancient people are never impatient," said Grey, laughing.

"If I were you I would go to her and tell her, roundly, that she should marry me, and then I would shake her. If you were to scold her, till she did not know whether she stood on her head or her heels, she would come to reason."

"Suppose you try that, Lady Glencora!"

"I can't. It's she that always scolds me, - as you will her, when she's your wife. You and Mr Palliser are very much alike. You're both of you so very virtuous that no woman would have a chance of picking a hole in your coats."

But Lady Glencora was wrong. Alice would, no doubt, have submitted herself patiently to her lover's rebukes, and would have confessed her own sins towards him with any amount of self-accusation that he might have required; but she would not, on that account, have been more willing to obey him in that one point, as to which he now required present obedience. He understood that she must be taught to forgive herself for the evil she had done, - to forgive herself, at any rate in part, - before she could be induced to return to her old allegiance to him. Thus they went on together at Lucerne, pa.s.sing quiet, idle days, - with some pretence of reading, with a considerable amount of letter-writing, with boat excursions and pony excursions, - till the pony excursions came to a sudden end by means of a violent edict, as to which, and the cause of it, a word or two must be said just now. During these days of the boats and the ponies, the carriage which Lady Glencora hated so vehemently was shut up in limbo, and things went very pleasantly with her. Mr Palliser received political letters from England, which made his mouth water sadly, and was often very fidgety. Parliament was not now sitting, and the Government would, of course, remain intact till next February. Might it not be possible that when the rent came in the Cabinet, he might yet be present at the darning? He was a constant man, and had once declared his intention of being absent for a year. He continued to speak to Grey of his coming travels, as though it was impossible that they should be over until after the next Easter. But he was sighing for Westminster, and regretting the blue books which were acc.u.mulating themselves at Matching; - till on a sudden, there came to him tidings which upset all his plans, which routed the ponies, which made everything impossible, which made the Alps impa.s.sable and the railways dangerous, which drove Burgo Fitzgerald out of Mr Palliser's head, and so confused him that he could no longer calculate the blunders of the present Chancellor of the Exchequer. All the Palliser world was about to be moved from its lowest depths, to the summits of its highest mountains. Lady Glencora had whispered into her husband's ear that she thought it probable - ; she wasn't sure; - she didn't know. And then she burst out into tears on his bosom as he sat by her on her bedside.

He was beside himself when he left her, which he did with the primary intention of telegraphing to London for half a dozen leading physicians. He went out by the lake side, and walked there alone for ten minutes in a state of almost unconscious exaltation. He did not quite remember where he was, or what he was doing. The one thing in the world which he had lacked; the one joy which he had wanted so much, and which is so common among men, was coming to him also. In a few minutes it was to him as though each hand already rested on the fair head of a little male Palliser, of whom one should rule in the halls at Gatherum, and the other be eloquent among the Commons of England. Hitherto, - for the last eight or nine months, since his first hopes had begun to fade, - he had been a man degraded in his own sight amidst all his honours. What good was all the world to him if he had nothing of his own to come after him? We must give him his due, too, when we speak of this. He had not had wit enough to hide his grief from his wife; his knowledge of women and of men in social life had not been sufficient to teach him how this should be done; but he had wished to do it. He had never willingly rebuked her for his disappointment, either by a glance of his eye, or a tone of his voice; and now he had already forgiven everything. Burgo Fitzgerald was a myth. Mrs Marsham should never again come near her. Mr Bott was, of course, a thing abolished; - he had not even had the sense to keep his seat in Parliament. Dandy and Flirt should feed on gilded corn, and there should be an artificial moon always ready in the ruins. If only those dable saddle-ponies of Lucerne had not come across his wife's path! He went at once into the yard and ordered that the ponies should be abolished; - sent away, one and all, to the furthest confines of the canton; and then he himself inspected the cus.h.i.+ons of the carriage. Were they dry? As it was August in those days, and August in Lucerne is a warm month, it may be presumed that they were dry.

He then remembered that he had promised to send Alice up to his wife, and he hurried back into the house. She was alone in the breakfast-room, waiting for him and for his wife. In these days, Mr Grey would usually join them at dinner; but he seldom saw them before eleven or twelve o'clock in the day. Then he would saunter in and join Mr Palliser, and they would all be together till the evening. When the expectant father of embryo dukes entered the room, Alice perceived at once that some matter was astir. His manner was altogether changed, and he showed by his eye that he was eager and moved beyond his wont. "Alice," he said, "would you mind going up to Glencora's room? She wishes to speak to you." He had never called her Alice before, and as soon as the word was spoken, he remembered himself and blushed.

"She isn't ill, I hope?" said Alice.

"No; - she isn't ill. At least I think she had better not get up quite yet. Don't let her excite herself, if you can help it."

"I'll go to her at once," said Alice rising.

"I'm so much obliged to you; - but, Miss Vavasor - "

"You called me Alice just now, Mr Palliser, and I took it as a great compliment."

He blushed again. "Did I? Very well. Then I'll do it again - if you'll let me. But, if you please, do be as calm with her as you can. She is so easily excited, you know. Of course, if there's anything she fancies, we'll take care to get it for her; but she must be kept quiet." Upon this Alice left him, having had no moment of time to guess what had happened, or was about to happen; and he was again alone, contemplating the future glories of his house. Had he a thought for his poor cousin Jeffrey, whose nose was now so terribly out of joint? No, indeed. His thoughts were all of himself, and the good things that were coming to him, - of the new world of interest that was being opened for him. It would be better to him, this, than being Chancellor of the Exchequer. He would rather have it in store for him to be father of the next Duke of Omnium, than make half a dozen consecutive annual speeches in Parliament as to the ways and means, and expenditure of the British nation! Could it be possible that this foreign tour had produced for him this good fortune? If so, how luckily had things turned out! He would remember even that ball at Lady Monk's with grat.i.tude. Perhaps a residence abroad would be best for Lady Glencora at this particular period of her life. If so, abroad she should certainly live. Before resolving, however, on anything permanently on this head, he thought that he might judiciously consult those six first-rate London physicians, whom, in the first moment of his excitement, he had been desirous of summoning to Lucerne.

In the meantime Alice had gone up to the bedroom of the lady who was now to be the subject of so much anxious thought. When she entered the room, her friend was up and in her dressing-gown, lying on a sofa which stood at the foot of the bed. "Oh, Alice, I'm so glad you've come," said Lady Glencora. "I do so want to hear your voice." Then Alice knelt beside her, and asked her if she were ill.

"He hasn't told you? But of course he wouldn't. How could he? But, Alice, how did he look? Did you observe anything about him? Was he pleased?"

"I did observe something, and I think he was pleased. But what is it? He called me Alice. And seemed to be quite unlike himself. But what is it? He told me that I was to come to you instantly."

"Oh, Alice, can't you guess?" Then suddenly Alice did guess the secret, and whispered her guess into Lady Glencora's ear. "I suppose it is so," said Lady Glencora. "I know what they'll do. They'll kill me by fussing over me. If I could go about my work like a washerwoman, I should be all right."

"I am so happy," she said, some two or three hours afterwards. "I won't deny that I am very happy. It seemed as though I were destined to bring nothing but misery to everybody, and I used to wish myself dead so often. I shan't wish myself dead now."

"We shall all have to go home, I suppose?" said Alice.

"He says so; - but he seems to think that I oughtn't to travel above a mile and a half a day. When I talked of going down the Rhine in one of the steamers, I thought he would have gone into a fit. When I asked him why, he gave me such a look. I know he'll make a goose of himself; - and he'll make geese of us, too; which is worse."

On that afternoon, as they were walking together, Mr Palliser told the important secret to his new friend, Mr Grey. He could not deny himself the pleasure of talking about this great event. "It is a matter, you see, of such immense importance to me," Mr Palliser said.

"Indeed, it is," said Grey. "Every man feels that when a child is about to be born to him." But this did not at all satisfy Mr Palliser.

"Yes," said he. "That's of course. It is an important thing to everybody; - very important, no doubt. But, when a man - . You see, Grey, I don't think a man is a bit better because he is rich, or because he has a t.i.tle; nor do I think he is likely to be in any degree the happier. I am quite sure that he has no right to be in the slightest degree proud of that which he has had no hand in doing for himself."

"Men usually are very proud of such advantages," said Grey.

"I don't think that I am; I don't, indeed. I am proud of some things. Whenever I can manage to carry a point in the House, I feel very proud of it. I don't think I ever knocked under to any one, and I am proud of that." Perhaps, Mr Palliser was thinking of a certain time when his uncle the Duke had threatened him, and he had not given way to the Duke's threats. "But I don't think I'm proud because chance has made me my uncle's heir."

"Not in the least, I should say."

"But I do feel that a son to me is of more importance than it is to most men. A strong anxiety on the subject, is, I think, more excusable in me than it might be in another. I don't know whether I quite make myself understood?"

"Oh, yes! When there's a dukedom and heaven knows how many thousands a year to be disposed of, the question of their future owners.h.i.+p does become important."

"This property is so much more interesting to one, if one feels that all one does to it is done for one's own son."

"And yet," said Grey, "of all the great plunderers of property throughout Europe, the Popes have been the most greedy."

"Perhaps it's different, when a man can't have a wife," said Mr Palliser.

From all this it may be seen that Mr Palliser and Mr Grey had become very intimate. Had chance brought them together in London they might have met a score of times before Mr Palliser would have thought of doing more than bowing to such an acquaintance. Mr Grey might have spent weeks at Matching, without having achieved anything like intimacy with its n.o.ble owner. But things of that kind progress more quickly abroad than they do at home. The deck of an ocean steamer is perhaps the most prolific hotbed of the growth of sudden friends.h.i.+ps; but an hotel by the side of a Swiss lake does almost as well.

For some time after this Lady Glencora's conduct was frequently so indiscreet as to drive her husband almost to frenzy. On the very day after the news had been communicated to him, she proposed a picnic, and made the proposition not only in the presence of Alice, but in that of Mr Grey also! Mr Palliser, on such an occasion, could not express all that he thought; but he looked it.

"What is the matter, now, Plantagenet?" said his wife.

"Nothing," said he; - "nothing. Never mind."

"And shall we make this party up to the chapel?"

The chapel in question was Tell's chapel - ever so far up the lake. A journey in a steam-boat would have been necessary.

"No!" said he, shouting out his refusal at her. "We will not."

"You needn't be angry about it," said she; - as though he could have failed to be stirred by such a proposition at such a time. On another occasion she returned from an evening walk, showing on her face some sign of the exercise she had taken.

"Good G! Glencora," said he, "do you mean to kill yourself?"

He wanted her to eat six or seven times a day; and always told her that she was eating too much, remembering some ancient proverb about little and often. He watched her now as closely as Mrs Marsham and Mr Bott had watched her before; and she always knew that he was doing so. She made the matter worse by continually proposing to do things which she knew he would not permit, in order that she might enjoy the fun of seeing his agony and amazement. But this, though it was fun to her at the moment, produced anything but fun, as its general result.

"Upon my word, Alice, I think this will kill me," she said. "I am not to stir out of the house now, unless I go in the carriage, or he is with me."

"It won't last long."

"I don't know what you call long. As for walking with him, it's out of the question. He goes about a mile an hour. And then he makes me look so much like a fool. I had no idea that he would be such an old coddle."