He Knew He Was Right

of four or five miles before they reached the park gates, and nothing could be kinder or more friendly than was the new peeress; but Nora told herself that there was no forgetting that her friend was a peeress. She would not be so ill-conditioned as to suggest to herself that her friend patronised her;⁠—and, indeed, had she done so, the suggestion would have been false;⁠—but she could not rid herself of a certain sensation of external inferiority, and of a feeling that the superiority ought to be on her side, as all this might have been hers⁠—only that she had not thought it worth her while to accept it. As these ideas came into her mind, she hated herself for entertaining them; and yet, come they would. While she was talking about her emblematic beefsteak with Hugh, she had no regret, no uneasiness, no conception that any state of life could be better for her than that state in which an emblematic beefsteak was of vital importance; but she could not bring her mind to the same condition of unalloyed purity while sitting with Lady Peterborough in Lord Peterborough’s carriage. And for her default in this respect she hated herself.

“This is the beginning of the park,” said her friend.

“And where is the house?”

“You can’t see the house for ever so far yet; it is two miles off. There is about a mile before you come to the gates, and over a mile afterwards. One has a sort of feeling when one is in that one can’t get out⁠—it is so big.” In so speaking, it was Lady Peterborough’s special endeavour to state without a boast facts which were indifferent, but which must be stated.

“It is very magnificent,” said Nora. There was in her voice the slightest touch of sarcasm, which she would have given the world not to have uttered; but it had been irrepressible.

Lady Peterborough understood it instantly, and forgave it, not attributing to it more than its true meaning, acknowledging to herself that it was natural. “Dear Nora,” she said⁠—not knowing what to say, blushing as she spoke⁠—“the magnificence is nothing; but the man’s love is everything.”

Nora shook herself, and determined that she would behave well. The effort should be made, and the required result should be produced by it. “The magnificence, as an adjunct, is a great deal,” she said; “and for his sake, I hope that you enjoy it.”

“Of course I enjoy it.”

“Wallachia’s teachings and preachings have all been thrown to the wind, I hope.”

“Not quite all. Poor dear Wally! I got a letter from her the other day, which she began by saying that she would attune her correspondence to my changed condition in life. I understood the reproach so thoroughly! And, when she told me little details of individual men and women, and of things she had seen, and said not a word about the rights of women, or even of politics generally, I felt that I was a degraded creature in her sight. But, though you laugh at her, she did me good⁠—and will do good to others. Here we are inside Monkhams, and now you must look at the avenue.”

Nora was now rather proud of herself. She had made the effort, and it had been successful; and she felt that she could speak naturally, and express her thoughts honestly. “I remember his telling me about the avenue the first time I ever saw him;⁠—and here it is. I did not think then that I should ever live to see the glories of Monkhams. Does it go all the way like this to the house?”

“Not quite;⁠—where you see the light at the end the road turns to the right, and the house is just before you. There are great iron gates, and terraces, and wondrous paraphernalia before you get up to the door. I can tell you Monkhams is quite a wonder. I have to shut myself up every Wednesday morning, and hand the house over to Mrs. Crutch, the housekeeper, who comes out in a miraculous brown silk gown, to show it to visitors. On other days, you’ll find Mrs. Crutch quite civil and useful;⁠—but on Wednesdays, she is majestic. Charles always goes off among his sheep on that day, and I shut myself up with a pile of books in a little room. You will have to be imprisoned with me. I do so long to peep at the visitors.”

“And I dare say they want to peep at you.”

“I proposed at first to show them round myself;⁠—but Charles wouldn’t let me.”

“It would have broken Mrs. Crutch’s heart.”

“That’s what Charles said. He thinks that Mrs. Crutch tells them that I’m locked up somewhere, and that that gives a zest to the search. Some people from Nottingham once did break into old Lady Peterborough’s room, and the show was stopped for a year. There was such a row about it! It prevented Charles coming up for the county. But he wouldn’t have got in; and therefore it was lucky, and saved money.”

By this time Nora was quite at her ease; but still there was before her the other difficulty, of meeting Lord Peterborough. They were driven out of the avenue, and round to the right, and through the iron gate, and up to the huge front door. There, upon the top step, was standing Lord Peterborough, with a billycock hat and a very old shooting coat, and nankeen trousers, which were considerably too short for him. It was one of the happinesses of his life to dress just as he pleased as he went about his own place; and it certainly was his pleasure to wear older clothes than anyone else in his establishment. “Miss Rowley,” he said, coming forward to give her a hand out of the carriage, “I am delighted that you should see Monkhams at last.”

“You see I have kept you to your promise. Caroline has been telling me everything about it; but she is not quite a complete