On the Thursday Gerald came home from Scotland. He had arranged his little affair with Lord Percival, not however without some difficulty. Lord Percival had declared he did not understand I.O.U.s in an affair of that kind. He had always thought that gentlemen did not play for stakes which they could not pay at once. This was not said to Gerald himself;—or the result would have been calamitous. Nidderdale was the go-between, and at last arranged it—not however till he had pointed out that Percival, having won so large a sum of money from a lad under twenty-one years of age, was very lucky in receiving substantial security for its payment.
Gerald had chosen the period of his father’s absence for his return. It was necessary that the story of the gambling debt should be told the Duke in February. Silverbridge had explained that to him, and he had quite understood it. He, indeed, would be up at Oxford in February, and, in that case, the first horror of the thing would be left to poor Silverbridge! Thinking of this, Gerald felt that he was bound to tell his father himself. He resolved that he would do so, but was anxious to postpone the evil day. He lingered therefore in Scotland till he knew that his father was in Barsetshire.
On his arrival he was told of Tregear’s accident. “Oh, Gerald; have you heard?” said his sister. He had not as yet heard, and then the history was repeated to him. Mary did not attempt to conceal her own feelings. She was as open with her brother as she had been with Mrs. Finn.
“I suppose he’ll get over it,” said Gerald.
“Is that all you say?” she asked.
“What can I say better? I suppose he will. Fellows always do get over that kind of thing. Herbert de Burgh smashed both his thighs, and now he can move about again—of course with crutches.”
“Gerald! How can you be so unfeeling!”
“I don’t know what you mean. I always liked Tregear, and I am very sorry for him. If you would take it a little quieter, I think it would be better.”
“I could not take it quietly. How can I take it quietly when he is more than all the world to me?”
“You should keep that to yourself.”
“Yes—and so let people think that I didn’t care, till I broke my heart! I shall say just the same to papa when he comes home.” After that the brother and sister were not on very good terms with each other for the remainder of the day.
On the Saturday there was a letter from Silverbridge to Mrs. Finn. Tregear was better; but was unhappy because it had been decided that he could not be moved for the next month. This entailed two misfortunes on him;—first that of being the enforced guest of persons who were not—or, hitherto had not been, his own friends—and then his absence from the first meeting of Parliament. When a gentleman has been in Parliament some years he may be able to reconcile himself to an obligatory vacation with a calm mind. But when the honours and glory are new, and the tedium of the benches has not yet been experienced, then such an accident is felt to be a grievance. But the young member was out of danger, and was, as Silverbridge declared, in the very best quarters which could be provided for a man in such a position.
Phineas Finn told him all the politics; Mrs. Spooner related to him, on Sundays and Wednesdays, all the hunting details; while Lady Chiltern read to him light literature, because he was not allowed to hold a book in his hand. “I wish it were me,” said Gerald. “I wish I were there to read to him,” said Mary.
Then the Duke came home. “Mary,” said he, “I have been distressed to hear of this accident.” This seemed to her to be the kindest word she had heard from him for a long time. “I believe him to be a worthy young man. I am sorry that he should be the cause of so much sorrow to you—and to me.”
“Of course I was sorry for his accident,” she replied, after pausing awhile; “but now that he is better I will not call him a cause of sorrow—to me.” Then the Duke said nothing further about Tregear; nor did she.
“So you have come at last,” he said to Gerald. That was the first greeting—to which the son responded by an awkward smile. But in the course of the evening he walked straight up to his father—“I have something to tell you, sir,” said he.
“Something to tell me?”
“Something that will make you very angry.”
LXV
“Do You Ever Think What Money Is?”
Gerald told his story, standing bolt upright, and looking his father full in the face as he told it. “You lost three thousand four hundred pounds at one sitting to Lord Percival—at cards!”
“Yes, sir.”
“In Lord Nidderdale’s house?”
“Yes, sir. Nidderdale wasn’t playing. It wasn’t his fault.”
“Who were playing?”
“Percival, and Dolly Longstaff, and Jack Hindes—and I. Popplecourt was playing at first.”
“Lord Popplecourt!”
“Yes, sir. But he went away when he began to lose.”
“Three thousand four hundred pounds! How old are you?”
“I am just twenty-one.”
“You are beginning the world well, Gerald! What is the engagement which Silverbridge has made with Lord Percival?”
“To pay him
