After lunch Mabel came suddenly behind the chair on which Silverbridge was sitting and asked him to take a walk with her. Was she not afraid of the snow? “Perhaps you are,” she said laughing. “I do not mind it in the least.” When they were but a few yards from the front door, she put her hand upon his arm, and spoke to him as though she had arranged the walk with reference to that special question, “And now tell me all about Frank.”
She had arranged everything. She had a plan before her now, and had determined in accordance with that plan that she would say nothing to disturb him on this occasion. If she could succeed in bringing him into good humour with herself, that should be sufficient for today. “Now tell me everything about Frank.”
“Frank is member of Parliament for Polpenno. That is all.”
“That is so like a man and so unlike a woman. What did he say? What did he do? How did he look? What did you say? What did you do? How did you look?”
“We looked very miserable, when we got wet through, walking about all day in the rain.”
“Was that necessary?”
“Quite necessary. We looked so mean and draggled that nobody would have voted for us, only that poor Mr. Carbottle looked meaner and more draggled.”
“The Duke says you made ever so many speeches.”
“I should think I did. It is very easy to make speeches down at a place like that. Tregear spoke like a book.”
“He spoke well?”
“Awfully well. He told them that all the good things that had ever been done in Parliament had been carried by the Tories. He went back to Pitt’s time, and had it all at his fingers’ ends.”
“And quite true.”
“That’s just what it was not. It was all a crammer. But it did as well.”
“I am glad he is a member. Don’t you think the Duke will come round a little now?”
When Tregear and the election had been sufficiently discussed, they came by degrees to Major Tifto and the two thunderbolts. Silverbridge, when he perceived that nothing was to be said about Isabel Boncassen, or his own freedom in the matter of lovemaking, was not sorry to have a friend from whom he could find sympathy for himself in his own troubles. With some encouragement from Mabel the whole story was told. “Was it not a great impertinence?” she asked.
“It was an awful bore. What could I say? I was not going to pronounce judgment against the poor devil. I daresay he was good enough for Mr. Jawstock.”
“But I suppose he did cheat horribly.”
“I daresay he did. A great many of them do cheat. But what of that? I was not bound to give him a character, bad or good.”
“Certainly not.”
“He had not been my servant. It was such a letter. I’ll show it you when we get in!—asking whether Tifto was fit to be the depositary of the intimacy of the Runnymede hunt! And then Tif’s letter;—I almost wept over that.”
“How could he have had the audacity to write at all?”
“He said that ‘him and me had been a good deal together.’ Unfortunately that was true. Even now I am not quite sure that he lamed the horse himself.”
“Everybody thinks he did. Percival says there is no doubt about it.”
“Percival knows nothing about it. Three of the gang ran away, and he stood his ground. That’s about all we do know.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I had to address him as Sir, and beg him not to write to me any more. Of course they mean to get rid of him, and I couldn’t do him any good. Poor Tifto! Upon the whole I think I hate Jawstock worse than Tifto.”
Lady Mabel was content with her afternoon’s work. When they had been at Matching before the Polpenno election, there had apparently been no friendship between them—at any rate no confidential friendship. Miss Boncassen had been there, and he had had neither ears nor eyes for anyone else. But now something like the feeling of old days had been restored. She had not done much towards her great object;—but then she had known that nothing could be done till he should again be in a good humour with her.
On the Sunday, the Monday, and the Tuesday they were again together. In some of these interviews Silverbridge described the Polpenno people, and told her how Miss Tregear had been reassured by his eloquence. He also read to her the Jawstock and Tifto correspondence, and was complimented by her as to his prudence and foresight. “To tell the truth I consulted Mr. Lupton,” he said, not liking to take credit for wisdom which had not been his own. Then they talked about Grex, and Killancodlem, about Gerald and the shooting, about Mary’s love for Tregear, and about the work of the coming Session. On all these subjects they were comfortable and confidential—Miss Boncassen’s name never having been as yet so much as mentioned.
But still the real work was before her. She had not hoped to bring him round to kneel once more at her feet by such gentle measures as these. She had not dared to dream that he could in this way be taught to forget the past autumn and all its charms. She knew well that there was something very difficult before her. But, if that difficult thing might be
