The American Senator

I am ignorant, set me right and laugh at me. But if what I say is true, then your interruption is surely a sign of imbecility. I say that the change was forced upon you by the feeling of the people, but that its very expediency has demoralized the army, because the army was irrational. And how is it with the navy? What am I to believe when I hear so many conflicting statements among yourselves?” During this last appeal, however, the noise at the back of the hall had become so violent, that the Senator was hardly able to make his voice heard by those immediately around him. He himself did not quail for a moment, going on with his gestures, and setting down his foot as though he were still confident in his purpose of overcoming all opposition. He had not much above half done yet. There were the lawyers before him, and the Civil Service, and the railways, and the commerce of the country, and the labouring classes. But Lord Drummond and others near him were becoming terrified, thinking that something worse might occur unless an end was put to the proceedings. Then a superintendent of police came in and whispered to his Lordship. A crowd was collecting itself in Piccadilly and St. James’s Street, and perhaps the Senator had better be withdrawn. The officer did not think that he could safely answer for the consequences if this were carried on for a quarter of an hour longer. Then Lord Drummond having meditated for a moment, touched the Senator’s arm and suggested a withdrawal into a side room for a minute. “Mr. Gotobed,” he said, “a little feeling has been excited and we had better put an end to this for the present.”

“Put an end to it?”

“I am afraid we must. The police are becoming alarmed.”

“Oh, of course; you know best. In our country a man is allowed to express himself unless he utters either blasphemy or calumny. But I am in your hands and of course you must do as you please.” Then he sat down in a corner, and wiped his brow. Lord Drummond returned to the hall, and there endeavoured to explain that the lecture was over for that night. The row was so great that it did not matter much what he said, but the people soon understood that the American Senator was not to appear before them again.

It was not much after nine o’clock when the Senator reached his hotel, Lord Drummond having accompanied him thither in a cab. “Good night, Mr. Gotobed,” said his Lordship. “I cannot tell you how much I respect both your purpose and your courage;⁠—but I don’t know how far it is wise for a man to tell any other man, much less a nation, of all his faults.”

“You English tell us of ours pretty often,” said the Senator.

When he found himself alone he thought of it all, giving himself no special credit for what he had done, acknowledging to himself that he had often chosen his words badly and expressed himself imperfectly, but declaring to himself through it all that the want of reason among Britishers was so great, that no one ought to treat them as wholly responsible beings.

LXXIX

The Last Days of Mary Masters

The triumph of Mary Masters was something more than a nine days’ wonder to the people of Dillsborough. They had all known Larry Twentyman’s intentions and aspirations, and had generally condemned the young lady’s obduracy, thinking, and not being slow to say, that she would live to repent her perversity. Runciman who had a thoroughly warmhearted friendship for both the attorney and Larry had sometimes been very severe on Mary. “She wants a touch of hardship,” he would say, “to bring her to. If Larry would just give her a cold shoulder for six months, she’d be ready to jump into his arms.” And Dr. Nupper had been heard to remark that she might go farther and fare worse. “If it were my girl I’d let her know all about it,” Ribbs the butcher had said in the bosom of his own family. When it was found that Mr. Surtees the curate was not to be the fortunate man, the matter was more inexplicable than ever. Had it then been declared that the owner of Hoppet Hall had proposed to her, all these tongues would have been silenced, and the refusal even of Larry Twentyman would have been justified. But what was to be said and what was to be thought when it was known that she was to be the mistress of Bragton? For a day or two the prosperity of the attorney was hardly to be endured by his neighbours. When it was first known that the stewardship of the property was to go back into his hands, his rise in the world was for a time slightly prejudicial to his popularity; but this greater stroke of luck, this latter promotion which would place him so much higher in Dillsborough than even his father or his grandfather had ever been, was a great trial of friendship.

Mrs. Masters felt it all very keenly. All possibility for reproach against either her husband or her stepdaughter was of course at an end. Even she did not pretend to say that Mary ought to refuse the squire. Nor, as far as Mary was concerned, could she have further recourse to the evils of Ushanting, and the peril of social intercourse with ladies and gentlemen. It was manifest that Mary was to be a lady with a big house, and many servants, and, no doubt, a carriage and horses. But still Mrs. Masters was not quite silenced. She had daughters of her own, and would solace herself by declaring to them, to her husband, and to her specially intimate friends, that of course they would see no more of Mary. It wasn’t for them to expect to be asked