The Duke’s Children

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 till 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. Moreton ended his letter could only be made true, he could 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 Coblenz, 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. Phineas 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 Finn’s 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 Phineas 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 an 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 a schoolboy’s might be, when he was driven up to the house at Matching.

In two minutes, before he had washed the dust from his face and hands, he was with his father. “I am 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 mooncalf tone.

“Shooting a great deal, if what I see in the newspapers be true about Mr. Reginald Dobbes and his party. I presume it is a religion to offer up hecatombs 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 compass it. I do not doubt but that he trapped foxes.”

“With a rifle at deer, say for four hundred yards, I would back Gerald against any man of his 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 wont 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