 CHAPTER 45 EARLY IN October the Duke was at matching with his daughter and Phineas Finn and his wife were both with them. On the day after they parted at Ishel the first news respecting Prime Minister had reached him, namely that his son's horse had lost the race. This would not have annoyed him at all, but that the papers which he read contained some vague charge of swindling against somebody and hinted that Lord Silverbridge had been a victim. Even this would not have troubled him, might in some sort of comforted him, were it not made evident to him that his son had been closely associated with swindlers in these transactions. If it were a mere question of money, that might be settled without difficulty. Even though the sum lost might have grown out of what he might have expected into some few thousands, still he would bear it without a word if only he could separate his boy from bad companions. Then came Mr. Morton's letter telling the whole. At the meeting which took place between Silverbridge and his father's agent at Carlton Terrace, it was settled that Mr. Morton should write the letter. Silverbridge tried and found that he could not do it. He did not know how to humiliate himself sufficiently and yet could not keep himself from making attempts to prove that according to all recognized chances his bets had been good bets. Mr. Morton was better able to accomplish the task. He knew the Duke's mind. A very large discretion had been left in Mr. Morton's hands in regard to monies which might be needed on behalf of that dangerous heir. So large that he had been able to tell Lord Silverbridge that if the money was in truth lost according to jockey club rules, it should all be forthcoming on the settling day, certainly without assistance from Messas Comfort and Cribble. The Duke had been nervously afraid of such men of business as Comfort and Cribble and from the earliest days of his son's semi-manhood had been on his guard against them, let any sacrifice be made so that his son might be kept clear from Comforts and Cribbles. For Mr. Morton he had been very explicit. His own pecuniary resources were so great that they could bear some ravaging without serious detriment. It was for his son's character and standing in the world, for his future respectability and dignity, that his fears were so keen and not for his own money. By one so excitable, so fond of pleasure as Lord Silverbridge, some ravaging would probably be made. Let it be met by ready money. Such had been the Duke's instructions to his own trusted man of business, and acting on these instructions Mr. Morton was able to tell the heir that the money should be forthcoming. Mr. Morton, after detailing the extent and the nature of the loss and the steps which he had decided upon taking, went on to explain the circumstances as best he could. He had made some inquiry and felt no doubt that a gigantic swindle had been perpetrated by Major Tifto and others. The swindle had been successful. Mr. Morton had consulted certain gentlemen of high character, versed in affairs of the turf, he mentioned Mr. Lupton among others, and had been assured that though the swindle was undoubted, the money had better be paid. It was thought to be impossible to connect the men who had made the bets with the perpetrators of the fraud, and if Lord Silverbridge were to abstain from paying his bets because his own partner had ruined the animal which belonged to them jointly, the feeling would be against him rather than in his favor. In fact, the jockey club could not sustain him in such refusal. Therefore the money would be paid. Mr. Morton, with some expressions of doubt, trusted that he might be thought to have exercised a wise discretion. Then he went on to express his own opinion in regard to the lasting effect which the matter would have upon the young man. I think, said he, that his lordship is heartily sickened of racing and that he will never return to it. The duke was, of course, very wretched when these tidings first reached him, though he was a rich man and of all men the least careful of his riches. Still, he felt that seventy thousand pounds was a large sum of money to throw away among a nest of swindlers. And then it was excessively grievous to him that his son should have been mixed up with such men. Wishing to screen his son, even from his own anger, he was careful to remember that the promise made that Tifto should be dismissed was not to take effect until after this race had been run. There had been no deceit in that. But then Silverbridge had promised that he would not plunge. There are, however, promises which from their very nature may be broken without falsehood. Plunging is a doubtful word, and the path down to it, like all doubtful paths, is slippery and easy. If that assurance with which Mr. Morton ended his letter could only be made true, he would bring himself to forgive even this offence. The boy must be made to settle himself in life. The Duke resolved that his only revenge should be to press on that marriage with Mabel Grex. At Koblenz, on their way home, the Duke and his daughter were caught up by Mr. and Mrs. Finn, and the matter of the young man's losses was discussed. Finneas had heard all about it and was loud in denunciations against Tifto, Captain Green, Gilbert Villiers, and others whose names had reached him. The money, he thought, should never have been paid. The Duke, however, declared that the money would not cause a moment's regret if only the whole thing could be got rid of at that cost. It had reached Finneas' ears that Tifto was already at loggerheads with his associates. There was some hope that the whole thing might be brought to light by this means. For all that, the Duke cared nothing. If only Silverbridge and Tifto could for the future be kept apart, as far as he and his were concerned, good would have been done rather than harm. While they were in this way together on the Rhine, it was decided that very soon after their return to England, Finneas and Mrs. Finn should go down to matching. When the Duke arrived in London, his sons were not there. Gerald had gone back to Oxford, and Silverbridge had merely left an address. Then his sister wrote him a very short letter. Papa will be so glad if you will come to matching, do come. Of course he came, and presented himself some few days after the Duke's arrival. But he dreaded this meeting with his father, which, however, let it be postponed for ever so long, must come at last. In reference to this, he made a great resolution that he would go instantly as soon as he might be sent for. When the summons came, he started. But though he was by courtesy and earl, and by fact was not only a man, but a member of parliament, though he was half engaged to marry one young lady, and ought to have been engaged to marry another, though he had come to an age at which Pitt was a great minister, and Pope a great poet, still his heart was in his boots as the schoolboys might be when he was driven up to the house at matching. In two minutes, before he had washed the dust from his face, he was with his father. I'm glad to see you, Silverbridge, said the Duke, putting out his hand. I hope I see you well, sir. Fairly well, thank you. Travelling, I think, agrees with me. I miss not my comforts, but a certain knowledge of how things are going on, which comes to us, I think, through our skins when we are at home. A feeling of absence pervades me. Otherwise I like it. And you, what have you been doing? Shooting a little, said Silverbridge, in a moon-caft tone. Shooting a great deal, if what I see in the newspapers may be true, about Mr. Reginald Dobbs and his party, I presume it is a religion to offer up heckatomes to the autumnal gods, who must surely take a keener delight in blood and slaughter than those bloodthirsty gods of old. You should talk to Gerald about that, sir. Has Gerald been so great at his sacrifices? How will that suit with Plato? What does Mr. Simcox say? Of course they were all to have a holiday just at that time, but Gerald is reading. I fancy that Gerald is clever. And he is a great Nimrod, as to hunting. Nimrod, I fancy, got his game in any way that he could compensate. I do not doubt that he trapped foxes. With a rifle at dear, safe for four hundred yards, I would back Gerald against any man of an age in England or Scotland. As for backing Silverbridge, do not you think that we had better have done with that? This was said hardly in a tone of reproach, with something even of banter in it, and as the question was asked the duke was smiling. But in a moment all that sense of joyousness which the young man had felt in singing his brother's praises was expelled. His face fell, and he stood before his father almost like a culprit. We might as well have it out about this racing, continued the duke. Something has to be said about it. You have lost an enormous sum of money. The duke's tone in saying this became terribly severe. Such at least was its sound in his son's ears. He did not mean to be severe. But when he did speak of that which displeased him, his voice naturally assumed that tone of indignation with which in days of yore he had been want to denounce the public extravagance of his opponents in the House of Commons. The father paused, but the son could not speak at the moment. And worse than that, continued the duke, you have lost it in as bad company as you could have found had you picked all England through. Sir Lupton and Sir Henry Playfair and Lord Sterling were in the room when the bets were made. Were the gentlemen you name concerned with Major Tifto? No, sir. Who can tell with whom he may be in a room, though rooms of that kind are, I think, best avoided? Then the duke paused again, but Silverbridge was now sobbing so that he could hardly speak. I am sorry that you should be so grieved, continued the father, but such delights cannot, I think, lead to much real joy. It is for you, sir, said the son, rubbing his eyes with the hand which supported his head. My grief in the matter might soon be cured. How shall I cure it? I will do anything to cure it. Let Major Tifto and the horses go. They are gone, said Silverbridge, energetically jumping from his chair as he spoke. I will never own a horse again, or part of a horse. I will have nothing more to do with races. You will believe me. I will believe anything that you tell me. I won't say that I will not go to another race, because— No, no, I would not have you hamper yourself. Nor shall you bind yourself by any further promises. You have done with racing. Indeed, indeed I have, sir. Then the father came up to the son and put his arms around the young man's shoulders and embraced him. Of course it made me unhappy. I knew it would. But if you are cured of this evil, the money is nothing. What is it all for, but for you and your brother and sister? It was a large sum, but that shall not grieve me. The thing itself is so dangerous that if with that much of loss we can escape, I will think we have made not a bad market. Who owns the horse now? The horses shall be sold, for anything they may fetch so that we may get clear of this dirt. And the major? I know nothing of him. I have not seen him since that day. As he claims on you, not his shilling, it is all the other way. Let it go, then. Be quit of him, however it may be. Send a messenger so that he may understand that you have abandoned racing altogether. Mr. Morton might perhaps see him. That his father should forgive so readily, and yet himself suffer so deeply, affected the son's feeling so strongly, that for a time he could hardly repress his sobs. And now there shall not be a word more said about it, said the Duke suddenly. Silverbridge, in his confusion, could make no answer. There shall not be another word said about it, said the Duke again. And now what do you mean to do with yourself immediately? I'll stay here, sir, as long as you do. Finn and Warburton and I have still a few cupboards to shoot. That's a good reason for staying anywhere. I meant that I would remain while you remain, sir. That, at any rate, is a good reason, as far as I am concerned, but we go to Custon's next week. There's a deal of shooting to be done at Gatheram, said the air. You speak of it as if it were the business of your life, on which your bread depended. One can't expect game to be kept up if nobody goes to shoot it. Can't one? I didn't know. I should have thought that the less was shot, the more there would be to shoot, but I am ignorant in such matters. Silverbridge then broke forth in a long explanation as to the cupboards, gamekeepers, poachers, breeding, and the expectations of the neighborhood at large, in the middle of which he was interrupted by the Duke. I am afraid, my dear boy, that I am too old to learn, but as it is so manifestly a duty, go and perform it like a man. Who will go with you? I will ask Mr. Finn to be one. He will be very hard upon you in the way of politics. I can answer him better than I can you, sir. Mr. Lupton said he would come for a day or two. He'll stand to me. After that his father stopped him as he was about to leave the room. One more word, Silverbridge. Do you remember what you were saying when you walked down to the house with me from your club that night? Silverbridge remembered very well what he had said. He had undertaken to ask Mabel Grex to be his wife, and had received his father's ready approval to the proposition. But at this moment he was unwilling to refer to that matter. I have thought about it very much since that, said the Duke. I may say that I have been thinking of it every day. If there were anything to tell me, you would let me know, would you not? Yes, sir. Then there is nothing to be told. I hope you have not changed your mind. Silverbridge paused a moment, trusting that he might be able to escape the making of any answer. But did Duke evidently intend it to have an answer? It appeared to me, sir, that it did not seem to suit her, said the hardly driven young man. He could not now say that Mabel had shown a disposition to reject his offer, because, as they had been sitting by the Brookside at Killen Codlam, even he, with all his self-difference, had been forced to see what were her wishes. Her confusion and too evident despair when she heard of the offer to the American girl had plainly told her tale. He could not now plead to his father that Mabel Grex would refuse his offer. But his self-defense, when he first found that he had lost himself in love for the American, had been based on that idea. He had done his best to make Mabel understand him. If he had not actually offered to her, he had done the next thing to it, and he had run after her till he was ashamed of such running. She had given him no encouragement, and therefore he had been justified. No doubt he must have been mistaken, that he now perceived. But still he felt himself to be justified. It was impossible that he should explain all this to his father. One thing he certainly could not say, just at present. After his folly in regard to those heavy debts, he could not at once risk his father's renewed anger by proposing to him an American daughter-in-law. That must stand over, that any rate till the girl had accepted him positively. I am afraid it won't come off, sir, he said at last. Then I am to presume that you have changed your mind. I told you when we were speaking of it that I was not confident. She has not—I can't explain it all, sir, but I fear it won't come off. Then the Duke, who had been sitting, got up from his chair, and with his back to the fire, made a final little speech. We decided just now, Silverbridge, that nothing more should be said about that unpleasant racing business, and nothing more shall be said by me. But you must not be surprised if I am anxious to see you settled in life. No young man could be more bound by duty to marry early than you are. In the first place, you have to repair the injury done by my inaptitude for society. You have explained to me that it is your duty to have the Barciccia coverts properly shot, and I have acceded to your views. Surely, it must be equally your duty to see your Barciccia neighbors. And you are a young man every feature of whose character would be improved by matrimony. As far as means are concerned, you are almost as free to make arrangements as though you were already the head of the family. No, sir. I could never bring myself to dictate to a son in regard to a choice of a wife, but I will own that when you told me that you had chosen, I was much gratified. Try and think again when you were pausing amidst your sacrifices at Gatheram, whether that be possible. If it be not, still I would wish you to bear in mind what is my idea as to your duty. Silverbridge said he would bear this in mind, and then escaped from the room. CHAPTER 46 Lady Mary's Dream When the Duke and his daughter reached customs, they found a large party assembled, and were somewhat surprised at the crowd. Lord and Lady Nitterdale were there, which might have been expected as they were part of the family. With Lord Popplecourt had come his recent friend Adolphus Longstaff. That too might have been natural. Mr. and Miss Boncassen were there also, who at this moment were quite strangers to the Duke, and Mr. Lupton. The Duke also found Lady Chiltern, whose father-in-law had more than once sat in the same cabinet with himself, and Mr. Monk, who was generally spoken of as the head of the coming liberal government, and the ladies Adelaide and Flora Fitzhaward, the still unmarried but not very juvenile daughters of the Duke of St. Bungay. These with a few others made a large party and rather confused the Duke, who had hardly reflected that discreet and profitable love-making was more likely to go on among numbers than if the two young people were thrown together with no other companions. Lord Popplecourt had been made to understand what was expected of him, and after some hesitation had submitted himself to the conspiracy. There would not be less at any rate than two hundred thousand pounds, and the connection would be made with one of the highest families in Great Britain. Though Lady Cantrip had said very few words, those words had been expressive, and the young bachelor Pierre had given in his adhesion. Some vague, half-defined tale had been told him, not about Treegear, as Treegear's name had not been mentioned, but respecting some dream of a young man who had flitted across the girl's path during her mother's lifetime. All girls have such dreams, Lady Cantrip had suggested, whereupon Lord Popplecourt said that he supposed it was so, but a softer, purer, more unsullied flower never waited on its stalk till the proper thing should come to pluck it, said Lady Cantrip, rising to unaccustomed poetry on behalf of her friend the Duke. Lord Popplecourt accepted the poetry and was ready to do his best to pluck the flower. Soon after the Duke's arrival, Lord Popplecourt found himself in one of the drawing-rooms with Lady Cantrip and his proposed father-in-law. A hint had been given him that he might as well be home early from shooting so as to be in the way. As the hour in which he was to make himself specially agreeable, both to the father and to the daughter had drawn nigh, he became somewhat nervous and now at this moment was not altogether comfortable. Though he had been concerned in no such matter before, he had an idea that love was a soft kind of thing which ought to steal on one unawares and come and go without trouble. In his case it came upon him with a rough demand for immediate hard work. He had not previously thought that he was to be subjected to such labors, and at this moment almost resented the interference with his ease. He was already a little angry with Lady Cantrip, but at the same time felt himself to be so much in subjection to her that he could not rebel. The duke himself when he saw the young man was hardly more comfortable. He had brought his daughter to customs, feeling that it was his duty to be with her, but he would have preferred to leave the whole operation to the care of Lady Cantrip. He hardly liked to look at the fish whom he wished to catch for his daughter. Whenever this aspect of affairs presented itself to him, he would endeavor to console himself by remembering the past success of a similar transaction. He thought of his own first interview with his wife. You have heard, he had said, what our friends wish. She had pouted her lips, and when gently pressed, had at last muttered, with her shoulder turned to him, that she supposed it was to be so. Very much more coercion had been used to her than either himself or Lady Cantrip had dared to apply to his daughter. He did not think that his girl in her present condition of mind would signify to Lord Papalcourt that she supposed it was to be so. Now that the time for the transaction was present, he felt almost sure it would never be transacted. But still he must go on with it. Were he now to abandon his scheme? Would it not be tantamount to abandoning everything? So he reathed his face in smiles, or made some attempt at it, as he greeted the young man. I hope you and Lady Mary had a pleasant journey abroad, said Lord Papalcourt. Lord Papalcourt, being aware that he had been chosen as a son-in-law, felt himself called upon to be familiar, as well as pleasant. I often thought of you and Lady Mary and wondered what you were about. We were visiting lakes and mountains, churches and picture galleries, cities, and salt mines, said the Duke. Does Lady Mary like that sort of thing? I think she was pleased with what she saw. She has been abroad a great deal before, I believe. It depends so much on whom you meet when abroad. This was unfortunate, because it recalled tree gear to the Duke's mind. We saw very few people whom we knew, he said. I've been shooting in Scotland with Silverbridge and Gerald and Reginald Dobbs and Nitterdale, and that fellow tree gear, who was so thick with Silverbridge, indeed. I'm told that Lord Gerald is going to be the great shot of his day, said Lady Cantrip. It is a distinction, said the Duke bitterly. He did not beat me by so much, continued Papalcourt. I think Tree Gear did the best with his rifle. One morning he potted three. Dobbs was disgusted. He hated Tree Gear. Isn't it stupid half a dozen men getting together in that way, asked Lady Cantrip. Nitterdale is always jolly. I'm glad to hear that, said the mother-in-law. And Gerald is a regular brick, the Duke bowed. Silverbridge used always to be going off to kill in Codlam, where there were a lot of ladies. He is very sweet, you know, on this American girl whom you have here. Again, the Duke winced. Dobbs is awfully good at making out the shooting, but then he is a tyrant. Nevertheless, I agree with him. If you mean to do a thing, you should do it. Certainly, said the Duke, but you should make up your mind first whether the thing is worth doing. Just so, said Papalcourt, and as grouse and dear together are about the best things out, most of us made up our minds that it was worth doing. But that fellow Tree Gear would argue it out. He said a gentleman oughtn't to play billiards as well as a marker. I think he was right, said the Duke. Do you know Mr. Tree Gear, Duke? I have met him with my son. Do you like him? I've seen very little of him. I cannot say I do. He thinks so much of himself. Of course, he's very intimate with Silverbridge, and that is all anyone knows of him. The Duke bowed almost hotly, though why he bowed he could hardly have explained to himself. Lady Cantrick bit her lips in disgust. He's just the fellow, continued Papalcourt, to think that some princess has fallen in love with him. Then the Duke left the room. You had better not talk to him about Mr. Tree Gear, said Lady Cantrick. Why not? I don't know whether he approves of the intimacy between him and Lord Silverbridge. I should think not. A man without any position or a shilling in the world. The Duke is peculiar. If a subject is distasteful to him, he does not like it to be mentioned. You had better not mention Mr. Tree Gear, Lady Cantrick, as she said this blushed inwardly at her own hypocrisy. It was, of course, contrived at dinner that Lord Papalcourt should take out Lady Mary. It is impossible to discover how such things get wind, but there was already an idea prevalent at customs that Lord Papalcourt had matrimonial views and that these views were looked upon favorably. You may be quite sure of it, Mr. Lupton, Lady Adelaide Fitzhaward had said. I'll make a bet that I'm married before this time next year. It will be a terrible case of beauty and the beast, said Lupton. Lady Chiltern had whispered a suspicion of the same kind and had expressed a hope that the lover would be worthy of the girl. And Dolly Longstaff had chaffed his friend Papalcourt on the subject, Papalcourt having laid himself open by indiscreet allusions to Dolly's love for Miss Boncassen. Everybody can't have it as easily arranged for him as you, a Duke's daughter in a pot of money without so much as the trouble of asking for it. What do you know about the Duke's children? That's what it is to be a Lord and not to have a father. Papalcourt tried to show that he was disgusted, but he felt himself all the more strongly bound to go on with his project. It was therefore a matter of course that these should-be lovers would be sent out of the room together. You'll give your arm to Mary, Lady Cantrip said, dropping the ceremonial prefix. Lady Mary, of course, went out as she was bitten, though everybody else knew it. No idea of what was intended had yet come across her mind. The should-be lover immediately reverted to the Austrian tour, expressing a hope that his neighbor had enjoyed herself. There's nothing I like so much myself, said he, remembering some of the Duke's words, as mountains, cities, salt mines, and all that kind of thing. There's such a lot of interest about it. Did you ever see a salt mine? Well, not exactly a salt mine, but I have coal mines on my property in Staffordshire. I'm very fond of coal. I hope you like coal. I like salt a great deal better to look at. But which do you think pays best? I don't mind telling you, though it's a kind of thing I never talk about to strangers. The royalties from the Bloggone and two lamins go up regularly 2,000 pounds every year. I thought we were talking about what was pretty to look at. So we were. I'm as fond of pretty things as anybody. Do you know original Dobbs? No, I don't. Is he pretty? He used to be so angry with Silverbridge because Silverbridge would say Crummy Toddie was ugly. Was Crummy Toddie ugly? Just a plain house on a moor. That sounds ugly. I suppose your family like pretty things. I hope so. I do. I know. Lord Papalcourt endeavored to look as though he intended her to understand that she was the pretty thing which he most particularly liked. She partly conceived his meaning and was disgusted accordingly. On the other side of her sat Mr. Boncassen, to whom she had been introduced in the drawing room and who had said a few words to her about some Norwegian poet. She turned round to him and asked him some questions about the scald. And so, getting into conversation with him, managed to turn her shoulder to her suitor. On the other side of him sat Lady Rosina de Corsi, to whom, as being an old woman and an old maid, he felt very little inclined to be courteous. She said a word, asking him whether he did not think the weather was treacherous. He answered her very curtly and sat bolt upright, looking forward on the table and taking his dinner as it came to him. He had been put there in order that Lady Mary Palliser might talk to him and he regarded interference on the part of that old American as being un-gentlemanlike. But the old American disregarded him and went on with his quotations from the Scandinavian bard. But Mr. Boncassen sat next to Lady Cantrip and when at last he was called upon to give his ear to the Countess. Lady Mary was again vacant for Papalcourt's attentions. Are you very fond of poetry, he asked? Very fond. So am I. Which do you like best, Tennyson or Shakespeare? They're very unlike. Yes, they are unlike. Or Moore's melodies. I'm very fond of when in death I shall calm recline. I think this is equal to anything. Reginald Dobbs would have it that poetry is all Bosch. Then I think that Mr. Reginald Dobbs must be all Bosch himself. There was a man there named Trigir who had brought some books. Then there was a pause. Lady Mary had not a word to say. Dobbs used to declare that he was always pretending to read poetry. Mr. Trigir never pretends anything. Do you know him, asked the rival? He's my brother's most particular friend. Ah yes, I daresay Silverbridge has talked to you about him. I think he's a stuck up sort of fellow. To this there was not a word of reply. Where did your brother pick him up? They were at Oxford together. I must say, I think he gives himself airs, because, you know, he's nobody. I don't know anything of the kind, said Lady Mary, becoming very red. And as he is my brother's most particular friend, his very friend of friends, I think he would better not abuse him to me. I don't think the Duke is very fond of him. I don't care who's fond of him. I am very fond of Silverbridge and I won't hear his friend ill-spoken of. I daresay he had some books with him. He is not at all the sort of man to go to a place and satisfy himself with doing nothing but killing animals. Do you know him, Lady Mary? I've seen him, and of course I've heard a great deal of him from Silverbridge. I would rather not talk any more about him. You seem to be very fond of Mr. Treegear, he said angrily. It is no business of yours, Lord Papalcourt, whether I'm fond of anybody or not. I have told you that Mr. Treegear is my brother's friend, and that ought to be enough. Lord Papalcourt was a young man possessed of a certain amount of ingenuity. It was said of him that he knew on which side his bread was buttered, and that if you wish to take him in, you must get up early. After dinner and during the night, he pondered a good deal on what he had heard. Lady Cantrip had told him there had been a dream. What was he to believe about that dream? Had he not better avoid the error of putting too fine a point upon it and tell himself at once that a dream in this instant meant a lover? Lady Mary had already been troubled by a lover. He was disposed to believe that young ladies often do have objectionable lovers and that things get themselves right afterwards. Young ladies can be made to understand the beauty of coal mines almost as readily as young gentlemen. There would be the 200,000 pounds, and there was the girl, beautiful, well-born and thoroughly well-mannered. But what if this Treegear and the dream were one and the same? If so, had he not received plenty of evidence that the dream had not yet passed away, a remnant of affection for the dream would not have been a fatal barrier, had not the girl been so fierce with him in defense of her dream? He remembered too what the Duke had said about Treegear and Lady Cantrip's advice to him to be silent in respect to the man. And then do girls generally defend their brother's friends as she had defended Treegear? He thought not. Putting all these things together on the following morning, he came to an uncomfortable belief that Treegear was the dream. Soon after that he found himself near to Dolly Longstaff as they were shooting. You know that fellow Treegear, don't you? Oh, Lord, yes, he's Silverbridge's pal. Did you ever hear anything about him? What sort of thing? Was he ever, ever in love with anyone? I fancy he used to be awfully spewney on Mab Grex. I remember hearing that they would have been married, only that neither of them had sixpence. Oh, Lady Mabel Grex. That's a horse of another color. And which is the horse of your color? I haven't got a horse, said Lord Papalcourt, going away to his own corner. End of chapter 46. Chapter 47 of the Duke's Children. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 47. Miss Boncassen's Idea of Heaven. It was generally known that Dolly Longstaff had been heavily smitten by the charms of Miss Boncassen, but the world hardly gave him credit for the earnestness of his affection. Dolly had never been known to be in earnest in anything, but now he was in very truth in love. He had agreed to be Papalcourt's companion at Custon's, because he had heard that Miss Boncassen would be there. He had thought over the matter with more consideration than he had ever before given to any subject. He had gone so far as to see his own man of business, with a view of ascertaining what settlements he could make and what income he might be able to spend. He had told himself over and over again that he was not the sort of fellow that ought to marry, but it was all of no avail. He confessed to himself that he was completely bowled over, knocked off his pins. "'Is a fellow to have no chance,' he said to Miss Boncassen at Custon's. "'If I understand what a fellow means, I'm afraid not. "'No man alive was ever more earnest than I am. "'Well, Mr. Longstaff, I do not suppose that you have been trying "'to take me in all this time. "'I hope you do not think ill of me. "'I may think well of a great many gentlemen "'without wishing to marry them.' "'But does love go for nothing,' said Dolly, "'putting his hand upon his heart? "'Perhaps there are so many that love you? "'Not above half a dozen or so. "'You can make a joke of it when I, "'but I don't think Miss Boncassen, "'you would all realize what I feel. "'As to settlements and all that, "'your father could do what he likes with me. "'My father has nothing to do with it, "'and I don't know what settlements mean. "'We never think anything of settlements in our country. "'If two young people love each other, "'they go and get married. "'Let us do the same here. "'But the two young people don't love each other. "'Look here, Mr. Longstaff. "'It's my opinion that a young woman ought not "'to be pestered. "'Pestered? "'You forced me to speak in that way. "'I've given you an answer ever so many times. "'I will not be made to do it over and over again.' "'It's that damned fellow silver bridge,' "'he exclaimed almost angrily. "'On hearing this, Miss Boncassen left the room "'without speaking another word, "'and Dolly Longstaff found himself alone. "'He saw what he had done as soon as she was gone. "'After that, he could hardly venture to persevere again, "'here at Custon's. "'He waited over in his mind for a long time, "'almost coming to a resolution in favor of hard drink. "'He had never felt anything like this before. "'He was so uncomfortable that he couldn't eat his luncheon, "'though in accordance with his usual habit, "'he had breakfasted off soda and brandy "'and a morsel of deviled toast. "'He did not know himself and his changed character. "'I wonder whether she understands "'that I have four thousand pounds a year of my own, "'and she'll have twelve thousand pounds more "'when my governor goes. "'She was so headstrong that it was impossible "'to explain anything to her.' "'I'm off to London,' he said to Popplecourt that afternoon. "'Nonsense! "'He said you'd stay for ten days. "'All the same, I'm going at once. "'I've sent to Bridgeport for a trap, "'and I shall sleep tonight at Dorchester. "'What's the meaning of it all? "'I've had some words with somebody. "'Don't mind asking any more. "'Not with a duke. "'The duke? No, I haven't spoken to him. "'Oh, Lord Cantrip, I wish you wouldn't ask questions. "'If you've quarrelled with anybody, "'you ought consult a friend. "'It's nothing of that kind. "'Then it's a lady. It's the American girl. "'Don't I tell you I don't want to talk about it. "'I'm going. I've told Lady Cantrip "'that my mother wasn't well and wants to see me. "'You'll stop your time out, I suppose. "'I don't know. "'You've got it all square, no doubt. "'I wish I'd have handled to my name. "'I never cared for it before. "'I'm sorry you're so down at the mouth. "'Why don't you try again? "'The thing is to stick to him like wax. "'If ten times of asking won't do, go in twenty times.' "'Dali shook his head despondently. "'What can you do when a girl walks out of the room "'and slams the door in your face? "'She'll get it hot and heavy before she has done. "'I know what she's after. "'She might as well cry for the moon.' "'And so Dali got into the trap and went to Brudport "'and slept that night at the hotel at Dorchester. "'Lord Papalcourt, though he could give "'such excellent advice to his friend, "'had been able as yet to do very little in his own case. "'He had been a week at customs "'and had said not a word to denote his passion. "'Day after day he had prepared himself for the encounter, "'but the lady had never given him the opportunity. "'When he sat next to her at dinner, "'she would be very silent. "'If he stayed at home on a morning, she was not visible. "'During the short evenings, he could never get her attention. "'And he made no progress with the Duke. "'The Duke had been very courteous to him at Richmond, "'but here he was monosyllabic and almost sullen. "'Once or twice Lord Papalcourt "'had had a little conversation with Lady Cantrip. "'Dear girl,' said her ladyship, "'she's so little given to seeking admiration, I daresay. "'Girls are so different, Lord Papalcourt. "'With some of them it seems that a gentleman need "'to have no trouble in explaining what it is that he wishes. "'I don't think Lady Mary is like that at all. "'Not in the least, anyone who addresses her "'must be prepared to explain himself fully. "'Nor art he to hope to get much encouragement at first. "'I do not think that Lady Mary will bestow her heart "'until she is sure she can give it with safety. "'There was an amount of falsehood in this "'which was proof at any rate, "'a very strong friendship on the part of Lady Cantrip. "'After a few days, Lady Mary became more intimate "'with the American and his daughter "'than with any others of the party. "'Perhaps she liked to talk about the Scandinavian poets "'of whom Mr. Boncassan was so fond. "'Perhaps she felt sure that her transatlantic friend "'would not make love to her. "'Perhaps it was that she yielded to the various "'allurements of Miss Boncassan. "'Miss Boncassan saw the Duke of Omnium "'for the first time at customs, "'and there had the first opportunity of asking herself, "'how such a man as that would receive from his son "'and heir such an announcement as Lord Silverbridge "'would have to make him, should she, "'at the end of three months, accept his offer? "'She was quite aware that Lord Silverbridge "'need not repeat the offer unless he were so pleased. "'But she thought that he would come again. "'He had so spoken that she was sure of his love "'and had so spoken as to obtain hers. "'Yes, she was sure that she loved him. "'She had never seen anything like him before, "'so glorious in his beauty, so gentle in his manhood, "'so powerful and yet so little imperious, "'so great in condition, "'and yet so little confident in his own greatness, "'so bolstered up with external advantages, "'and so little apt to trust anything but his own heart "'and his own voice. "'In asking for her love, "'he had put forward no claim but his own love. "'She was glad he was what he was. "'She counted at their full value all his natural advantages "'to be an English Duchess. "'Oh, yes, her ambition understood it all. "'But she loved him because in the expression of his love, "'no hint had fallen from him of the greatness "'of the benefits which he could confer upon her. "'Yes, she would like to be a Duchess, "'but not to be a Duchess, "'would she become the wife of a man "'who should begin his courtship "'by assuming a superiority? "'Now the chances of society had brought her "'into the company of his nearest friends. "'She was in the house with his father "'and with his sister. "'Now and again the Duke spoke a few words to her "'and always did so with a peculiar courtesy. "'But she was sure that the Duke had heard nothing "'of his son's courtship, "'and she was equally sure that the matter "'had not reached Lady Mary's ears. "'She perceived that the Duke and her father "'would often converse together. "'Mr. Boncassen would discuss republicanism generally "'and the Duke would explain that theory of monarchy "'as it prevails in England, "'which but very few Americans "'have ever been made to understand. "'All this, Miss Boncassen watched with pleasure. "'She was still of opinion "'that it would not become her to force her way "'into a family which would endeavor to repudiate her. "'She would not become this young man's wife "'if all connected with the young man "'would resolve to reject the contact. "'But if she could conquer them, then, "'then she thought that she could put her little hand "'into that young man's grasp with a happy heart. "'It was in this frame of mind "'that she laid herself out, not unsuccessfully, "'to win the esteem of Lady Mary Palliser. "'I do not know whether you approve it,' "'Lady Cantrip said to the Duke, "'but Mary has become very intimate "'with our new American friend. "'At this time Lady Cantrip had become very nervous, "'so as almost to wish that Lady Mary's difficulties "'might be unraveled elsewhere than at customs.' "'They seem to be sensible people,' said the Duke. "'I don't know when I have met a man "'with higher ideas on politics than Mr. Boncassen. "'His daughter is popular with everybody. "'A nice lady-like girl,' said the Duke, "'and appears to have been well-educated. "'It was now near the end of October, "'and the weather was peculiarly fine. "'Perhaps in our climate, "'October would of all months be the most delightful "'if something of its charms were not detracted from, "'by the feeling that with it will depart "'the last relics of the delights of summer. "'The leaves are still there "'with their gorgeous coloring, but they are going. "'The last rose still lingers on the bush, "'but it is the last. "'The woodland walks are still pleasant to the feet, "'but caution is heard on every side "'as to the coming winter.' "'The park at customs, which was spacious, "'had many woodland walks attached to it, "'from which, through vistas of the timber, "'distant glimpses of the sea were caught. "'Within half a mile of the house the woods were reached, "'and within a mile the open sea was in sight, "'and yet the wanderers might walk for miles "'without going over the same ground. "'Here, without other companions, "'Lady Mary and Miss Boncassen found themselves "'one afternoon, and here the latter "'told her story to her lover's sister. "'I so longed to tell you something,' she said. "'Is it a secret?' asked Lady Mary. "'Well, yes it is. "'If you will keep it so. "'I would rather you should keep it a secret, "'but I will tell you.' "'Then she stood still, looking into the other's face. "'I wonder how you'll take it. "'Can it be?' "'Your brother has asked me to be his wife. "'Silva Bridge?' "'Yes, Lord Silver Bridge. "'You are astonished.'" Lady Mary was very much astonished. So much astonished that words escaped from her, which she regretted afterwards. I thought there was someone else. Who else? Lady Mabel Grex. "'But I know nothing.' "'I think not,' said Miss Boncassen slowly. "'I have seen them together, and I think not. "'There might be somebody, though I think not her. "'But why do I say that? "'Why do I malign him and make so little of myself? "'There is no one else, Lady Mary. "'Is he not true? "'I think he is true. "'I am sure he is true. "'And he has asked me to be his wife. "'What did you say?' "'Well, what do you think? "'What is it probable that such a girl as I would say "'when such a man as your brother asks her to be his wife? "'Is he not such a man as a girl would love? "'Oh, yes! "'Is he not handsome as a god?' "'Mary stared at her with all her eyes, "'and sweeter than any god those pagan races knew? "'And is he not good tempered and loving? "'And has he not that perfection of manly dash, "'without which I do not think I could give my heart to any man? "'Then you've accepted him, and his rank and his wealth, "'the highest position in all the world in my eyes. "'I do not think you should take him for that. "'Does it not all help? "'Can you put yourself in my place? "'Why should I refuse him? "'No, not for that. "'I would not take him for that. "'But if I love him, because he is all "'that my imagination tells me that a man ought to be, "'if to be his wife seems to me to be the greatest bliss "'that could happen to a woman, "'if I feel that I could die to serve him, "'that I could live to worship him, "'that his touch would be sweet to me, his voice, music, "'his strength the only support in the world "'on which I would care to lean, what then? "'Is it so? "'Yes, it is so. "'It is after that fashion that I love him. "'He's my hero, and not the less so, "'because there is none higher than he among the nobles "'of the greatest land under the sun. "'Would you have me for a sister?' "'Lady Mary could not answer all at once. "'She had to think of her father, "'and then she thought of her own lover. "'Why should not Silverbridge be as well entitled "'to his choice as she considered herself to be? "'And yet how would it be with her father? "'Silverbridge would in process of time "'be the head of the family. "'Would it be proper that he should marry an American? "'He would not like me for a sister. "'I was thinking of my father, for myself I like you. "'Shall I tell you what I said to him? "'If you will.' "'I told him that he must ask his friends "'that I would not be his wife to be rejected by them all, "'nor will I. "'Though it be heaven, I will not creep there through a hole. "'If I cannot go in with my head upright, "'I will not go even there.' "'Then she turned round as though she were prepared "'in her emotion to walk back to the house alone. "'But Lady Mary ran after her, and having caught her, "'put her arm round her waist, and kissed her. "'I, at any rate, will love you,' said Lady Mary. "'I will do as I have said,' continued Miss Boncassen. "'I will do as I have said. "'Though I love your brother down to the ground, "'he shall not marry me without his father's consent. "'Then they returned arm in arm, close together, "'but very little more was said between them. "'When Lady Mary entered the house, "'she was told that Lady Cantrip wished to see her "'in her own room.' End of Chapter 47. Chapter 48 of The Duke's Children. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nicholas Clifford. The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 48. The party at Custins is broken up. The message was given to Lady Mary after so solemn a fashion that she was sure some important communication was to be made to her. Her mind at that moment had been filled with her new friend's story. She felt that she required some time to meditate before she could determine what she herself would wish. But when she was going to her own room in order that she might think it over, she was summoned to Lady Cantrip. "'My dear,' said the Countess, "'I wish you to do something to oblige me.' "'Of course I will.' "'Lord Popplecourt wants to speak to you.' "'Who?' "'Lord Popplecourt.' "'What can Lord Popplecourt have to say to me?' "'Can you not guess? "'Lord Popplecourt is a young nobleman "'standing very high in the world, "'possessed of ample means just in that position "'in which it behooves such a man "'to look about for a wife.' "'Lady Mary pressed her lips together "'and clenched her two hands. "'Can you not imagine what such a gentleman "'may have to say?' "'Then there was a pause, but she made no immediate answer. "'I am to tell you, my dear, "'that your father would approve of it.' "'Approve of what?' "'He approves of Lord Popplecourt "'as a suitor for your hand.' "'How can he?' "'Why not, Mary? "'Of course he has made it his business "'to ascertain all particulars "'as to Lord Popplecourt's character and property.' "'Papa knows that I love somebody else.' "'My dear Mary, that is all vanity. "'I don't think Papa can want to see me married to a man "'when he knows that with all my heart and soul... "'Oh, Mary!' "'When he knows,' continued Mary, "'who would not be put down, "'that I love another man with all my heart, "'what will Lord Popplecourt say if I tell him that? "'If he says anything to me, I shall tell him. "'Lord Popplecourt, he cares for nothing "'but his coal mines. "'Of course, if you bid me, see him, I will. "'But it can do no good. "'I despise him, and if he troubles me, I shall hate him. "'As for marrying him, I would sooner die this minute.'" After this, Lady Cantrip did not insist on the interview. She expressed to regret that things should be as they were, explained in sweetly innocent phrases that in a certain rank of life young ladies could not always marry the gentleman to whom their fancies might attach them, but must, not infrequently, postpone their youthful inclinations to the will of their elders, or, in less delicate language, that though they might love in one direction, they must marry in another, and then express to hope that her dear Mary would think over these things and try to please her father. "'Why does he not try to please me?' said Mary. Then Lady Cantrip was obliged to see Lord Popplecourt a necessity which was a great nuisance to her. "'Yes, she understands what you mean, "'but she is not prepared for it yet. "'You must wait a while. "'I don't see why I am to wait. "'She is very young, and so are you, indeed. "'There is plenty of time.' "'There is somebody else, I suppose.' "'I told you,' said Lady Cantrip, "'in her softest voice, "'that there has been a dream across her path. "'It's that tragear. "'I am not prepared to mention names,' said Lady Cantrip, "'astonished that he should know so much. "'But indeed you must wait.' "'I don't see it, Lady Cantrip.' "'What can I say more? "'If you think that such a girl as Lady Mary Palliser, "'the daughter of the Duke of Omnium, "'possessed of fortune, beauty, and every good gift "'is to come like a bird to your call, "'you will find yourself mistaken. "'All that her friends can do for you will be done. "'The rest must remain with yourself.' "'During that evening, Lord Papalcourt endeavored "'to make himself pleasant "'to one of the Fitz-Howard young ladies, "'and on the next morning he took his leave of customs. "'I will never interfere again "'in reference to anybody's child as long as I live,' "'Lady Cantrip said to her husband that night.' "'Lady Mary was very much tempted "'to open her heart to Miss Boncassen. "'It would be delightful to her to have a friend, "'but were she to engage Miss Boncassen's sympathies "'on her behalf, she must, of course, "'sympathize with Miss Boncassen in return. "'And what if, after all, Silverbridge "'were not devoted to the American beauty? "'What if it should turn out "'that he was going to marry Lady Mabel Grex?' "'I wish she would call me Isabel,' "'her friend said to her. "'It is so odd, since I have left New York, "'I have never heard my name from any lips "'except my fathers and mothers.' "'Has not Silverbridge ever called you "'by your Christian name?' "'I think not. "'I am sure he never has. "'But he had, though it had passed by her "'at the moment without attention. "'It all came from him so suddenly, "'and yet I expected it, "'but it was too sudden for Christian names "'in pretty talk. "'I do not even know what his name is.' "'Plantaginate, but we always call him Silverbridge. "'Plantaginate is very much prettier. "'I shall always call him Plantaginate. "'But I recall that. "'You will not remember that against me? "'I will remember nothing that you do not wish. "'I mean that if all the granges of all the palaces "'could consent to put up with poor me, "'if heaven were open to me with a straight gate "'so that I could walk out of our republic "'into your aristocracy with my head erect, "'with the stars and stripes waving proudly round me "'till I had been accepted into the shelter "'of the Omnium Griffins, then I would call him. "'There's one palace that would welcome you. "'Would you, dear, then I will love you so dearly. "'May I call you Mary? "'Of course you may. "'Mary is the prettiest name under the sun, "'but Plantaginate is so grand. "'Which of the kings did you branch off from? "'I know nothing about it, "'from none of them I should think. "'There is some story about a sir guy "'who was the king's friend. "'I never trouble myself about it. "'I hate aristocracy.' "'Do you, dear?' "'Yes,' said Mary, full of her own grievances. "'It is an abominable bondage, "'and I do not see that it does any good at all.' "'I think it is so glorious,' said the American. "'There is no such mischievous nonsense "'in all the world as equality. "'That is what Father said. "'What men ought to want is liberty. "'It is terrible to be tied up in a small circle,' "'said the Duke's daughter. "'What do you mean, Lady Mary? "'I thought you were going to call me Mary. "'What I mean is this. "'Suppose that Silverbridge loves you better "'than all the world. "'I hope he does. "'I think he does. "'And suppose he could not marry you "'because of his aristocracy?' "'But he can. "'I thought you were saying yourself, saying what? "'That he could not marry me? "'No, indeed. "'But that under certain circumstances "'I would not marry him. "'You don't suppose that I think he would be disgraced? "'If so, I would go away at once, "'and he should never again see my face "'or hear my voice. "'I think myself good enough for the best man God ever made. "'But if others think differently, "'and those others are so closely concerned with him, "'and would be so closely concerned with me "'as to trouble our joint lives, "'then will I neither subject him to such sorrow "'nor will I encounter it myself.' "'It all comes from what you call aristocracy. "'No, dear, but from the prejudices of an aristocracy. "'To tell the truth, Mary, "'the more difficult a place is to get into, "'the more the right of going in is valued. "'If everybody could be a duchess and a palacer, "'I should not perhaps think so much about it. "'I thought it was because you loved him. "'So I do. "'I love him entirely. "'I have not said a word of that to him, "'but I do, if I know at all what love is. "'But if you love a star, "'the pride you have in your star will enhance your love. "'Though you know that you must die of your love, "'still you must love your star.' "'And yet Mary could not tell her tale in return. "'She could not show the reverse picture, "'that she, being a star, "'was anxious to dispose of herself "'after the fashion of poor human rushlights. "'It was not that she was ashamed of her love, "'but that she could not bring herself to yield altogether "'in reference to the great dissent "'which Silverbridge would have to make. "'On the day after this, "'the last day of the Duke's sojourn at Custon's, "'the last also of the Boncassen's visit, "'it came to pass that the Duke and Mr. Boncassen, "'with Lady Mary and Isabelle, "'were all walking in the woods together. "'And it so happened "'that when they were at a little distance from the house, "'each of the girls was walking with the other girl's father. "'Isabelle had calculated what she would say to the Duke, "'should a time for speaking come to her. "'She could not tell him of his son's love. "'She could not ask his permission. "'She could not explain to him all her feelings "'or tell him what she thought of her proper way "'of getting into heaven. "'That must come afterwards, "'if it should ever come at all. "'But there was something that she could tell. "'We are so different from you,' she said, "'speaking of her own country. "'And yet so like,' said the Duke, smiling, "'your language, your laws, your habits. "'But still, there is such a difference. "'I do not think there is a man in the whole union "'more respected than father. "'I dare say not. "'Many people think if he would only allow himself "'to be put in nomination, "'he might be the next president. "'The choice, I am sure, would do your country honor. "'And yet his father was a poor laborer "'who earned his bread among the shipping at New York. "'That kind of thing would be impossible here. "'My dear young lady, there you wrong us. "'Do I? "'Certainly, a prime minister with us "'might as easily come from the same class. "'Here you think so much of rank. "'You are a Duke. "'But a prime minister can make a Duke. "'And if a man can raise himself "'by his own intellect to that position, "'no one will think of his father or his grandfather. "'The sons of merchants have with us "'been prime ministers more than once, "'and no Englishmen ever were more honored "'among their countrymen. "'Our peerage is continually being recruited "'from the ranks of the people, "'and hence it gets its strength. "'Is it so? "'There is no greater mistake than to suppose "'that inferiority of birth is a barrier "'to success in this country.'" She listened to this, and to much more on the same subject with attentive ears, not shaken in her ideas as to the English aristocracy in general, but thinking that she was perhaps learning something of his own individual opinions. If he were more liberal than others, on that liberality might perhaps be based her own happiness and fortune. He, in all this, was quite unconscious of the working of her mind. Nor, in discussing such matters generally, did he ever mingle his own private feelings, his own pride of race and name, his own ideas of what was due to his ancient rank with the political creed by which his conduct in public life was governed. The peer who sat next to him in the House of Lords, whose grandmother had been a washerwoman, and whose father an innkeeper, was to him every wit as good a peer as himself. And he would as soon sit in council with Mr. Monk, whose father had risen from a mechanic to be a merchant, as with any nobleman who could count ancestors against himself. But there was an inner feeling in his bosom as to his own family, his own name, his own children, and his own personal self, which was kept altogether apart from his grand political theories. It was a subject on which he never spoke, but the feeling had come to him as part of his birthright, and he conceived that it would pass through him to his children after the same fashion. It was this which made the idea of a marriage between his daughter and Tragear intolerable to him, and which would operate as strongly in regard to any marriage which his son might contemplate. Lord Grex was not a man with whom he would wish to form any intimacy. He was, as we may say, a wretched, unprincipled old man, bad all round, and such the duke knew him to be, but the blue blood and the rank were there, and as the girl was good herself, he would have been quite contented that his son should marry the daughter of Lord Grex, that one and the same man should have been in one part of himself so unlike the other part that he should have set one set of opinions so contrary to another set. Poor Isabel Boncassen did not understand. End of chapter 48. Chapter 49 of The Duke's Children. This is a LibriVox recording. Old LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nicholas Clifford. The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 49, The Major's Fate. The affair of Prime Minister and the Nail was not allowed to fade away into obscurity. Through September and October, it was made a matter for pungent inquiry. The Jockey Club was alive. Mr. Poock was very instant, with many pookites anxious to free themselves from suspicion. Sporting men declared that the honour of the turf required that every detail of the case should be laid open, but by the end of October, though every detail had been surmised, nothing had in truth been discovered. Nobody doubted that the Tifto had driven the Nail into the horse's foot, and that Green and Gilbert Villiers had shared the bulk of the plunder. They had gone off in their travels together, and the fact that each of them had been in possession of about 20,000 pounds was proved. But then there was no law against two gentlemen having such a sum of money. It was notorious that Captain Green and Mr. Gilbert Villiers had enriched themselves to this extent by the failure of Prime Minister, but yet nothing was proved. That the Major had either himself driven in the Nail or seen it done, all racing men were agreed. He had been out with the horse in the morning, and had been the first to declare that the animal was lame, and he had been with the horse till the farrier had come, but he had concocted a story for himself. He did not dispute that the horse had been lame to buy the machinations of Green and Villiers with the assistance of the groom. No doubt, he said, these men, who had been afraid to face an inquiry, had contrived and had carried out the inequity. How the lameness had been caused, he could not pretend to say. The groom, who was at the horse's head, and who evidently knew how these things were done, might have struck a nerve in the horse's foot with his boot. But when the horse was got into the stable, he, Tifto, so he declared, had once ran out to send for the farrier. During the minute so occupied, the operation must have been made with a nail. That was Tifto's story, and as he kept his ground, there were some few who believed it. But though the story was so far good, he had at moments been imprudent and had talked when he should have been silent. The whole matter had been a torment to him. In the first place, his conscience made him miserable. As long as it had been possible to prevent the evil, he had hoped to make a clean breast of it at Lord Silverbridge. Up to this period in his life, everything had been square with him. He had betted square and had ridden square and had run horses square. He had taken a pride in this, as though it had been a great virtue. It was not without great inward grief that he had deprived himself of the consolations of these reflections. But when he had approached his noble partner, his noble partner snubbed him at every turn, and he did the deed. His reward was to be 3,000 pounds, and he got his money. The money was very much to him. What perhaps had been almost enough to comfort him in his misery had not those other rascals got so much more. When he heard that the groom's fee was higher than his own, it almost broke his heart. Green and Villiers, men of infinitely lower standing, men at whom the bear garden would not have looked, had absolutely netted fortunes on which they could live in comfort. No doubt they had run away while Tifto still stood his ground, but he soon began to doubt whether to have run away with 20,000 pounds was not better than to remain with such small plunder as had fallen to his lot among such faces as those which now looked upon him. Then when he had drunk a few glasses of whiskey and water, he said something very foolish as to his power of punishing that swindler green. An attempt had been made to induce Silverbridge to delay the payment of his bets, but he had been very eager that they should be paid. Under the joint auspices of Mr. Lupton and Mr. Morton, the horses were sold and the establishment was annihilated with considerable loss, but with great dispatch, the duke had been urgent, the jockey club and the racing world and the horsey fraternity generally might do what seemed to them good so that Silverbridge was extricated from the matter. Silverbridge was extricated and the duke cared nothing for the rest, but Silverbridge could not get out of the mess quite so easily as his father wished. Two questions arose about Major Tifto outside the racing world, but within the domain of the world of sport and pleasure generally, as to one of which it was impossible that Silverbridge should not express an opinion. The first question had reference to the mastership of the Runnymede Hounds. In this our young friend was not bound to concern himself. The other affected the Bear Garden Club and as Lord Silverbridge had introduced the major, he could hardly forbear from the expression of an opinion. There was a meeting of the subscribers to the hunt in the last week in October. At that meeting Major Tifto told his story. There he was to answer any charge that might be brought against him. If he had made money by losing the race, where was it and whence had it come? Was it not clear that a conspiracy might have been made without his knowledge and clear also that the real conspirators had levanted? He had not levanted. The hounds were his own. He had undertaken to hunt the country for the season and they had undertaken to pay him a certain sum of money. He should expect and demand that sum of money. If they chose to make any other arrangement for the year following, they could do so. Then he sat down and the meeting was adjourned. The secretary having declared that he would not act in that capacity any longer nor collect the funds. A farmer had also asserted that he and his friends had resolved that Major Tifto should not ride over their fields. On the next day the Major had his hounds out and some of the London men with a few of the neighbors joined him. The gates were locked but the hounds ran and those who chose to ride managed to follow them. There were men who will stick to their sport though a Pollyon himself should carry the horn. Who cares whether the lady who fills a theater be or be not a moral young woman or whether the bandmaster who keeps such excellent time in a ball has or has not paid his debts? There were men of this sort who supported Major Tifto but then there was a general opinion that the runny mead hunt would come to an end unless a new master could be found. Then in the first week in November a special meeting was called at the Bear Garden at which Lord Silverbridge was asked to attend. It is impossible that he should be allowed to remain in the club. This was said to Lord Silverbridge by Mr. Lupton. Either he must go or the club must be broken up. Silverbridge was very unhappy on the occasion. He had at last been reasoned into believing that the horse had been made the victim of foul play but he persisted in saying that there was no conclusive evidence against Tifto. The matter was argued with him. Tifto had laid bets against the horse. Tifto had been hand in glove with green. Tifto could not have been absent from the horse above two minutes. The thing could not have been arranged without Tifto. As he had brought Tifto into the club and had been his partner on the turf it was his business to look into the matter. But for all that said he, I'm not going to jump on a man when he's down unless I feel sure that he's guilty. Then the meeting was held and Tifto himself appeared. When the accusation was made by Mr. Lupton who proposed that he should be expelled he burst into tears. The whole story was repeated. The nail and the hammer and the lameness and the moments were counted up and poor Tifto's bets and friendship with green were made apparent and the case was submitted to the club. An old gentleman who had been connected with the turf all his life and who would not have scrupled by square betting to rob his dearest friend of his last chilling seconded the proposition telling all the story over again. Then Major Tifto was asked whether he wished to say anything. I've got to say that I'm here, said Tifto still crying and if I'd done anything of that kind of course I'd have gone with the rest of them. I put it to Lord Silverbridge to say whether I'm that sort of fellow. Then he sat down. Upon this there was the pause and the club was manifestly of the opinion that Lord Silverbridge ought to say something. I think that Major Tifto should not have betted against the horse, said Silverbridge. I can explain that, said the Major. Let me explain that. Everybody knows that I'm a man of small means. I wanted the edge. I only wanted the edge. Mr. Lupton shook his head. Why have you not shown me your book? I told you before that it was stolen. Green got hold of it. I did win it a little. I never said I didn't. But what is that to do with hammering a nail into a horse's foot? I have always been true to you, Lord Silverbridge and you ought to stick up for me now. I will have nothing further to do with the matter, said Silverbridge, one way or the other. And he walked out of the room and out of the club. The affair was ended by a magnanimous declaration on the part of Major Tifto that he would not remain in a club in which he was suspected and by a consent on the part of the meeting to receive the Major's instant resignation. End of Chapter 49 Chapter 50 of The Duke's Children This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Piper Hayes The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollop Chapter 50 The Duke's Arguments The Duke, before he left customs, had an interview with Lady Cantrip at which that lady found herself called upon to speak her mind freely. I don't think she cares about Lord Popplecourt, Lady Cantrip said. I am sure I don't know why she should, said the Duke, who was often very aggravating even to his friend. But as we had thought, she ought to do as she is told, said the Duke, remembering how obedient his Glencora had been. Has he spoken to her? I think not. Then how can we tell? I asked her to see him, but she expressed so much dislike that I could not press it. I am afraid, Duke, that you will find it difficult to deal with her. I have found it very difficult. As you have trusted me so much, yes, I have trusted you and do trust you. I hope you understand that I appreciate your kindness. Perhaps then you will let me say what I think. Certainly, Lady Cantrip, Mary is a very peculiar girl, with great gifts, but... But what? She is obstinate. Perhaps it would be fairer to say that she has great firmness of character. It is within your power to separate her from Mr. Tragear. It would be foreign to her character to leave you, except with your approbation. You mean she will not run away. She will do nothing without your permission. But she will remain unmarried unless she be allowed to marry Mr. Tragear. What do you advise, then, that you should yield? As regards money, you could give them what they want. Let him go into public life. You can manage that for him. He is conservative. What does that matter when the question is one of your daughter's happiness? Everybody tells me that he is clever and well conducted. He betrayed nothing by his face, as this was said to him. But as he got into the carriage, he was a miserable man. It is very well to tell a man that he should yield. But there is nothing so wretched to a man as yielding. Young people and women have to yield. But for such a man as this, to yield is in itself a misery. In this matter the Duke was quite certain of the propriety of his judgment. To yield would be not only to mortify himself, but to do wrong at the same time. He had convinced himself that the Papal Court arrangement would come to nothing. Nor had he and Lady Cantrip combined, been able to exercise over her, the sort of power to which Lady Glencora had been subjected. If he persevered, and he still was sure, almost sure, that he would persevere, his object must be achieved after a different fashion. There must be infinite suffering, suffering both to him and to her. Could she have been made to consent to marry someone else, terrible as the rupture might have been, she would have reconciled herself at last to her new life. So it had been with his Glencora, after a time, now the misery must go on from day to day beneath his eyes, with the knowledge, on his part, that he was crushing all joy out of her young wife, and the conviction, on her part, that she was being treated with continued cruelty by her father. It was a terrible prospect. But, if it was manifestly his duty to act after this fashion, must he not do his duty. If he were to find that by persevering in this course he would doom her to death, or perchance to madness, what then? If it were right, he must still do it. He must still do it. If the weakness incident to his human nature did not rob him of the necessary firmness. If every foolish girl were indulged, all restraint would be lost. And there would be an end to those rules as to birth and position by which he thought his world was kept straight. And then, mixed with all this, was his feeling of the young man's arrogance in looking for such a match. Here was a man without a shilling, whose manifest duty it was to go to work so that he might earn his bread, who, instead of doing so, had hoped to raise himself to wealth and position by entrapping the heart of an unwary girl. There was something to the Duke's thinking base in this, and much more base because the unwary girl was his own daughter. That such a man as Tragear should make an attack upon him and select his rank, his wealth, and his child as the stepping stones by which he intended to rise. But what so impudent, so arrogant, so unblushingly disregardful of propriety, as that he should endeavor to select his victim from such a family as that of the palisers, and that he should lay his impious hand on the very daughter of the Duke of Omnium. But together with all this there came upon him moments of ineffable tenderness. He felt as though he longed to take her in his arms and tell her that if she were unhappy, so would he be unhappy too, to make her understand that a hard necessity had made this sorrow common to them both. He thought that, if she would only allow it, he could speak of her love as a calamity which had befallen them, as from the hand of fate and not as a fault. If he could make a partnership in misery with her so that each might believe that each was acting for the best, then he could endure all that might come. But, as he was well aware, she regarded him as being simply cruel to her. She did not understand that he was performing an imperative duty. She had set her heart upon a certain object, and having taught herself that in that way happiness might be reached had no conception that there should be something in the world, some idea of personal dignity, more valuable to her than the fruition of her own desires. And yet every word he spoke to her was affectionate. He knew that she was bruised, and if it might be possible she would pour oil into her wounds even though she would not recognize the hand which relieved her. They slept one night in town, where they encountered Silverbridge soon after his retreat from the Bear Garden. I cannot quite make up my mind, sir, about that fellow Tifto, he said to his father. I hope you have made up your mind that he is no fit companion for yourself. That's over, everybody understands that, sir. Is anything more necessary? I don't like feeling that he has been ill-used. They have made him resign the club, and I fancy they won't have him at the hunt. He has lost no money by you. Oh, no! Then I think you may be indifferent. From all that I hear, I think he must have won money, which will probably be a consolation to him. I think they have been hard upon him, continued Silverbridge. Of course he is not a good man, nor a gentleman, nor possessed of very high feelings. But a man is not to be sacrificed altogether for that. There are so many men who are not gentlemen, and so many gentlemen who are bad fellows. I have no doubt Mr. Lupton knew what he was about, replied the Duke. On the next morning the Duke and Lady Mary went down to matching, and as they sat together in the carriage after leaving the railway, the father endeavored to make himself pleasant to his daughter. I suppose we shall stay at matching now till Christmas, he said. I hope so. Whom would you like to have here? I don't want any one, Papa. You will be very sad without somebody. Would you like the Finns? Please, Papa, I like her. He never talks anything but politics. He is none the worse for that, Mary. I wonder whether Lady Mabel Grex would come. Lady Mabel Grex? You do not like her? Oh yes, I like her, but what made you think of her, Papa? Perhaps Silverbridge would come to us then. Lady Mary thought that she knew a great deal more about that than her father did. Is he fond of Lady Mabel, Papa? Well, I don't know. There are secrets which should not be told. I think they are very good friends. I would not have her asked unless it would please you. I like her very much, Papa, and perhaps we might get the Bond Cassons to come to us. I did say a word to him about it. Now, as Mary felt, difficulty was heaping itself upon difficulty. I have seldom met a man in whose company I could take richer than in that of Mr. Bond Casson. And the young lady seems to be worthy of her father. Mary was silent, feeling the complication of the difficulties. Do you not like her? asked the Duke. Very much indeed, said Mary. Then let us fix a day and ask them. If you will come to me after dinner with an almanac, we will arrange it. Of course you will invite that Miss Kesowary too. The complication seemed to be very bad indeed. In the first place, was it not clear that she, Lady Mary, ought not to be a party to asking Miss Bond Casson to meet her brother at matching? Would it not be imperative on her part to tell her father the whole story? And yet how could she do that? It had been told her in confidence, and she remembered what her own feelings had been Mrs. Finn had suggested the propriety of telling the story which had been told to her. And how would it be possible to ask Lady Mabel to come to matching to meet Miss Bond Casson in the presence of Silverbridge? If the party could be made up without Silverbridge, things might run smoothly. As she was thinking of this in her own room, thinking also how happy she could be if one other name might be added to the list of guests, the Duke had gone alone into his library. There a pile of letters reached him, among which he found one marked private, and addressed in a hand which he did not recognize. This he opened suddenly, with a conviction that it would contain a thorn, and turning over the page found the signature to it was Francis Tragear. The man's name was Wormwood to him. He at once felt that he would wish to have his dinner. His fragment of a dinner brought to him in that solitary room, and that he might remain secluded for the rest of the evening. But still he must read the letter, and he read it. My dear Lord Duke, if my mode of addressing your grace be too familiar, I hope you will excuse it. It seems to me that if I were to use one more distant, I should myself be detracting something from my right to make the claim which I intend to put forward. You know what my feelings are in reference to your daughter. I do not pretend to suppose that they should have the least weight with you, but you know also what her feelings are for me. A man seems to be vain when he expresses his conviction of a woman's love for himself, but this matter is so important to her, as well as to me, that I am compelled to lay aside all pretense. If she do not love me as I love her, then the whole thing drops to the ground. Then it will be for me to take myself off from out of your notice and from hers, and to keep to myself whatever heart-breaking I may have to undergo. But if she be as steadfast in this matter as I am, if her happiness be fixed on marrying me as mine is on marrying her, then I think I am entitled to ask you whether you are justified in keeping us apart. I know well what are the discrepancies. Speaking from my own feeling, I regard very little those of rank. I believe myself to be as good a gentleman as though my father's forefathers had sat for centuries past in the House of Lords. I believe that you would have thought so too, had you and I been brought in contact on any other subject. The discrepancy in regard to money is, I own, a great trouble to me. Having no wealth of my own, I wish that your daughter were so circumstance that I could go out into the world and earn bread for her. I know myself so well that I dare say positively that her money, if it be that she will have money, had no attractions for me when I first became acquainted with her, and adds nothing now to the persistency with which I claim her hand. But I venture to ask whether you can dare to keep us apart if her happiness depends on her love for me. It is now more than six months since I called upon you in London and explained my wishes. You will understand me when I say that I cannot be contented to sit idle, trusting simply to the assurance which I have of her affection. Did I doubt it? My way would be more clear. I should feel in that case that she would yield to your wishes, and I should then, as I have said before, just take myself out of the way. But if it be not so, then I am bound to do something on her behalf as well as my own. What am I to do? Any endeavor to meet her clandestinely is against my instincts and would certainly be rejected by her. A secret correspondence would be equally distasteful to both of us. Whatever I do in this matter, I wish you to know that I do it. Yours always, most faithfully, and with the greatest respect, Francis Traguire. He read the letter very carefully, and at first was simply astonished by what he considered to be the unparalleled arrogance of the young man. In regard to rank this young gentleman thought himself to be as good as anybody else. In regard to money he did acknowledge some inferiority, but that was a misfortune and could not be helped. Not only was the letter arrogant, but the fact that he should dare to write any letter on such a subject was proof of most unpardonable arrogance. The Duke walked about the room thinking of it till he was almost in a passion. Then he read the letter again, and was gradually pervaded by a feeling of its manliness. Its arrogance remained, but with its arrogance there was a certain boldness which induced respect. Whether I am such a son-in-law as you would like or not, it is your duty to accept me. If by refusing to do so you will render your daughter miserable. That was Mr. Traguire's argument. He himself might be prepared to argue in answer that it was his duty to reject such a son-in-law. Even though by rejecting him he might make his daughter miserable. He was not shaken, but with his condemnation of the young man there was mingled something of respect. He continued to digest the letter before the hour of dinner, and when the almanac was brought to him he fixed on certain days. The bun-castons he knew would be free from engagements in ten days' time. As to Lady Mabel, he seemed to think it almost certain that she would come. I believe she is always going about, from one house to another at this time of year, said Mary. I think she will come to us, if it be possible, said the Duke. And you must write to Silverbridge. And what about Mr. and Mrs. Finn? She promised she would come again, you know, they are at their own place in Surrey. They will come unless they have friends with them. They have no shooting, and nothing brings people together now except shooting. I suppose there are things here to be shot. And be sure you write to Silverbridge. End of Chapter 50 Chapter 51 of the Duke's Children This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Piper Hayes. The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 51 The Duke's Guests The Duke of Omnium presents his compliments to Mr. Francis Tragear, and begs to acknowledge the receipt of Mr. Tragear's letter of blank. The Duke has no other communication to make to Mr. Tragear and must beg to decline any further correspondence. This was the reply which the Duke wrote to the applicant for his daughter's hand, and he wrote it at once. He had acknowledged to himself that Tragear had shown a certain manliness in his appeal, but not on that account was such a man to have all that he demanded. It seemed to the Duke that there was no alternative between such a note as that given above and a total surrender. But the post did not go out during the night, and the note lay hidden in the Duke's private drawer till the morning. There was still that locus pentensii which should be accorded to all letters written in anger. During the day he thought over it all constantly, not in any spirit of yielding, not descending a single step from that altitude of conviction, which made him feel that it might be his duty absolutely to sacrifice his daughter. But asking himself whether it might not be well that he should explain the whole matter at length to the young man, he thought he could put the matter strongly. It was not by his own doing that he belonged to an aristocracy which, if all exclusiveness were banished from it, must cease to exist. But being what he was, having been born to such privileges and such limitations, was he not bound in duty to maintain a certain exclusiveness? He would appeal to the young man himself to say whether marriage ought to be free between all classes of the community, and if not between all, who was to maintain the limits but they, to whom authority in such matters is given, so much in regard to rank? And then he would ask this young man whether he thought it fitting that a young man whose duty, according to all known principles, it must be to earn his bread, should avoid that manifest duty by taking a wife who could maintain him. As he roamed around his park alone, he felt that he could write such a letter as would make an impression even upon a lover. But when he had come back to his study, other reflections came to his aid. Though he might write the most appropriate letter in the world, would there not certainly be a reply? As to conviction, had he ever known an instance of a man who had been convinced by an adversary? Of course there would be a reply and replies, and to such a correspondence there would be no visible end. Words, when once written, remain or may remain in testimony forever. So at last, when the moment came, he sent off those three lines with his uncourteous compliments and his demand that there should be no further correspondence. At dinner he endeavored to make up for this harshness by increased tenderness to his daughter, who was altogether ignorant of the correspondence. Have you written your letters, dear? She said she had written them. I hope the people will come. If it will make you comfortable, Papa. It is for your sake I wish them to be here. I think that Lady Mabel and Miss Boncassen are just such girls as you would like. I do like them, only—only what? Miss Boncassen is an American. Is that an objection? According to my ideas, it is desirable to become acquainted with persons of various nations. I have heard no doubt many stories of the awkward manners displayed by American ladies. If you look for them, you may probably find American women who are not polished. I do not think I shall collimniate my own country if I say the same of English women. It should be our object to select for our own acquaintances the best we can find of all countries. It seems to me that Miss Boncassen is a young lady with whom any other young lady might be glad to form an acquaintance. This was a little sermon which Mary was quite contented to endure in silence. She was, in truth, fond of the young American beauty and had felt a pleasure in the intimacy which the girl had proposed to her. But she thought it inexpedient that Miss Boncassen, Lady Mabel, and Silverbridge should be at matching together. Therefore she made a reply to her father's sermon which hardly seemed to go to the point at issue. She is so beautiful, she said. Very beautiful, said the Duke. But what has that to do with it? My girl need not be jealous of any girl's beauty. Mary laughed and shook her head. What is it, then? Perhaps Silverbridge might admire her. I have no doubt he would, or does, for I am aware that they have met. But why should he not admire her? I don't know, said Lady Mary, sheepishly. I fancy that there is no danger in that direction. I think Silverbridge understands what is expected from him. Had not Silverbridge plainly showed that he understood what was expected from him when he selected Lady Mabel, nothing could have been more proper, and the Duke had been altogether satisfied. That in such a matter there should have been a change in so short of time did not occur to him. Poor Mary was now completely silenced. She had been told that Silverbridge understood what was expected from him, and, of course, could not fail to carry home to herself an accusation that she failed to understand what was expected from her. She had written her letters but had not as yet sent them. Those to Mrs. Finn and to the two young ladies had been easy enough. Could Mr. and Mrs. Finn come to matching on the 20th of November? Papa says that you promised to return, and thinks this time will perhaps suit you. And then to Lady Mabel. Do come if you can, and Papa particularly says that he hopes Miss Casowary will come also. To Miss Boncassen she had written a long letter, but that too had been written very easily. I write to you instead of your mama, because I know you. You must tell her that, and then she will not be angry. I am only Papa's messenger, and I am to say how much he hopes that you will come on the 20th. Mr. Boncassen is to bring the whole British Museum if he wishes. Then there was a little postscript which showed that there was already considerable intimacy between the two young ladies. We won't have either Mr. L. or Lord P. Not a word was said about Lord Silverbridge. There was not even an initial to indicate his name. But the letter to her brother was more difficult. In her epistles to those others she had so framed her words as if possible to bring them to matching. But in writing to her brother she was anxious so to write as to deter him from coming. She was bound to obey her father's commands. He had desired that Silverbridge should be asked to come and he was asked to come. But she craftily endeavored so to word the invitation that he should be induced to remain away. It is all Papa's doing, she said, and I am glad that he should like to have people here. I have asked the Finns, with whom Papa seems to have made up everything. Mr. Warburton will be here, of course, and I think Mr. Morton is coming. He seems to think that a certain amount of shooting ought to be done. Then I have invited Lady Mabel Grex and Miss Case-Wary, all of Papa's choosing, and the Von Cassants. Now you will know whether the set will suit you. Papa has particularly begged that you will come, apparently because of Lady Mabel. I don't at all know what that means. Perhaps you do. As I like Lady Mabel, I hope she will come. Surely Silverbridge would not run himself into the jaws of the lion. When he heard that he was specially expected by his father to come to matching in order that he might make himself agreeable to one young lady, he would hardly venture to come, seeing that he would be bound to make love to another young lady. To Mary's great horror all the invitations were accepted. Mr. and Mrs. Finn were quite at the Duke's disposal, that she had expected. The Von Cassants would all come. This was signified in a note from Isabelle, which covered four sides of the paper and was full of fun. But under her signature had been written a few words, not in fun, words which Lady Mary perfectly understood. I wonder, I wonder, I wonder. Did the Duke, when inviting her, know anything of his son's inclinations? Would he be made to know them now, during this visit? And what would he say when he did know them? That the Von Cassants would come was a matter of course. But Mary had thought that Lady Mabel would refuse. She had told Lady Mabel that the Von Cassants had been asked, and to her thinking it had not been improbable that the young lady would be unwilling to meet her rival at matching. But the invitation was accepted. But it was her brother's ready acquiescence which troubled Mary chiefly. He wrote as though there were no doubt about the matter. Of course there is a deal of shooting to be done, he said, and I consider myself bound to look after it. There ought not to be less than four guns, particularly if Warburton is to be one of them. I like Warburton very much, and I think he shoots badly to ingratiate himself with the governor. I wonder whether the governor would get leave for Gerald for a week. He has been sticking to his work like a brick. If not, would he mind my bringing someone? You ask the governor and let me know. I'll be there on the 20th. I wonder whether they'll let me hear what goes on among them about politics. I'm sure there is not one of them hates certimony worse than I do. Lady Maeve is a brick, and I'm glad you have asked her. I don't think she'll come as she likes shedding herself up at Grex. Miss Boncassen is another brick, and if you can manage about Gerald I will say that you are a third. This would have been all very well had she not known that secret. Could it be that Miss Boncassen had been mistaken? She was forced to write again to say that her father did not think it right that Gerald should be brought away from his studies for the sake of shooting, and that the necessary fourth gun would be there in the person of one bearing to neural. Then she added, Lady Mabel Grex is coming, and so is Miss Boncassen. But to this she received no reply. Though Silverbridge had written to his sister in his usual careless style, he had considered the matter much. The three months were over. He had no idea of any hesitation on his part. He had asked her to be his wife, and he was determined to go on with his suit. Had he ever been enabled to make the same request to Mabel Grex, or had she answered him when he did half make it in a serious manner, he would have been true to her. He had not told his father, or his sister, or his friends, as Isabel had suggested. He would not do so till he should have received some more certain answer from her. But in respect to his love he was prepared to be quite as obstinate as his sister. It was a matter for his own consideration, and he would choose for himself. The three months were over, and it was now his business to present himself to the lady again. That Lady Mabel should also be at matching would certainly be a misfortune. He thought it probable that she, knowing that Isabel Boncassen and he would be there together, would refuse the invitation. Surely she ought to do so. That was his opinion when he wrote to his sister. When he heard afterwards that she intended to be there, he could only suppose that she was prepared to accept the circumstances as they stood. End of chapter 51