“I can’t prevent you.”
Then Tifto got up from his chair, as though he were going. “I wish I knew what I was going to do with myself.”
“I don’t know that I can help you, Major Tifto.”
“I suppose not, my Lord. I haven’t twenty pounds left in all the world. It’s the only thing that wasn’t square that ever I did in all my life. Your Lordship couldn’t do anything for me? We was very much together at one time, my Lord.”
“Yes, Major Tifto, we were.”
“Of course I was a villain. But it was only once; and your Lordship was so rough to me! I am not saying but what I was a villain. Think of what I did for myself by that one piece of wickedness! Master of hounds! member of the club! And the horse would have run in my name and won the Leger! And everybody knew as your Lordship and me was together in him!” Then he burst out into a paroxysm of tears and sobbing.
The young Lord certainly could not take the man into partnership again, nor could he restore to him either the hounds or his club—or his clean hands. Nor did he know in what way he could serve the man, except by putting his hand into his pocket—which he did. Tifto accepted the gratuity, and ultimately became an annual pensioner on his former noble partner, living on the allowance made him in some obscure corner of South Wales.
LXXVI
On Deportment
Frank Tregear had come up to town at the end of February. He remained in London, with an understanding that he was not to see Lady Mary again till the Easter holidays. He was then to pay a visit to Matching, and to enter in, it may be presumed, on the full fruition of his advantages as accepted suitor. All this had been arranged with a good deal of precision—as though there had still been a hope left that Lady Mary might change her mind. Of course there was no such hope. When the Duke asked the young man to dine with him, when he invited him to drink that memorable glass of wine, when the young man was allowed, in the presence of the Boncassens, to sit next Lady Mary, it was of course settled. But the father probably found some relief in yielding by slow degrees. “I would rather that there should be no correspondence till then,” he had said both to Tregear and to his daughter. And they had promised there should be no correspondence. At Easter they would meet. After Easter Mary was to come up to London to be present at her brother’s wedding, to which also Tregear had been formally invited; and it was hoped that then something might be settled as to their own marriage. Tregear, with the surgeon’s permission, took his seat in Parliament. He was introduced by two leading Members on the Conservative side, but immediately afterwards found himself seated next to his friend Silverbridge on the top bench behind the ministers. The House was very full, as there was a feverish report abroad that Sir Timothy Beeswax intended to make a statement. No one quite knew what the statement was to be; but every politician in the House and out of it thought that he knew that the statement would be a bid for higher power on the part of Sir Timothy himself. If there had been dissensions in the Cabinet, the secret of them had been well kept. To Tregear who was not as yet familiar with the House there was no special appearance of activity; but Silverbridge could see that there was more than wonted animation. That the Treasury bench should be full at this time was a thing of custom. A whole broadside of questions would be fired off, one after another, like a rattle of musketry down the ranks, when as nearly as possible the report of each gun is made to follow close upon that of the gun before—with this exception, that in such case each little sound is intended to be as like as possible to the preceding; whereas with the rattle of the questions and answers, each question and each answer becomes a little more authoritative and less courteous than the last. The Treasury bench was ready for its usual responsive firing, as the questioners were of course in their places. The opposition front bench was also crowded, and those behind were nearly equally full. There were many Peers in the gallery, and a general feeling of sensation prevailed. All this Silverbridge had been long enough in the House to appreciate;—but to Tregear the House was simply the House.
“It’s odd enough we should have a row the very first day you come,” said Silverbridge.
“You think there will be a row?”
“Beeswax has something special to say. He’s not here yet, you see. They’ve left about six inches for him there between Roper and Sir Orlando. You’ll have the privilege of looking just down on the top of his head when he does come. I shan’t stay much longer after that.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t mean today. But I should not have been here now—in this very place I mean—but I want to stick to you just at first. I shall move down below the gangway; and not improbably creep over to the other side before long.”
“You don’t mean it?”
“I think I shall. I begin to feel I’ve made a mistake.”
“In coming to this side at all?”
“I think I have. After all it is not very important.”
“What is not important? I think it very important.”
“Perhaps it may be to you, and perhaps you may be able to keep it up. But the more I think of it the less excuse I seem to have for deserting the old ways of the family. What is there in
