“Then my opinion might go for something with you?”
“So it does, sir; I shouldn’t have doubted at all only for that little. Still, you see, as the thing is—how am I to help myself?”
“You believe that you must be right—you, who have never given an hour’s study to the subject!”
“No, sir. In comparison with a great many men, I know that I am a fool. Perhaps it is because I know that, that I am a Conservative. The Radicals are always saying that a Conservative must be a fool. Then a fool ought to be a Conservative.”
Hereupon the father got up from his chair and turned round, facing the fire, with his back to his son. He was becoming very angry, but endeavoured to restrain his anger. The matter in dispute between them was of so great importance, that he could hardly be justified in abandoning it in consequence of arguments so trifling in themselves as these which his son adduced. As he stood there for some minutes thinking of it all, he was tempted again and again to burst out in wrath and threaten the lad—to threaten him as to money, as to his amusements, as to the general tenure of his life. The pity was so great that the lad should be so stubborn and so foolish! He would never ask his son to be a slave to the Liberal party, as he had been. But that a Palliser should not be a Liberal—and his son, as the first recreant Palliser—was wormwood to him! As he stood there he more than once clenched his fist in eager desire to turn upon the young man; but he restrained himself, telling himself that in justice he should not be angry for such offence as this. To become a Conservative, when the path to Liberalism was so fairly open, might be the part of a fool, but could not fairly be imputed as a crime. To endeavour to be just was the study of his life, and in no condition of life can justice be more imperatively due than from a father to his son.
“You mean to stand for Silverbridge?” he said at last.
“Not if you object, sir.”
This made it worse. It became now still more difficult for him to scold the young man.
“You are aware that I should not meddle in any way.”
“That was what I supposed. They will return a Conservative at any rate.”
“It is not that I care about,” said the Duke sadly.
“Upon my word, sir, I am very sorry to vex you; but what would you have me do? I will give up Parliament altogether, if you say that you wish it.”
“No; I do not wish that.”
“You wouldn’t have me tell a lie?”
“No.”
“What can I do then?”
“Learn what there is to learn from some master fit to teach you.”
“There are so many masters.”
“I believe it to be that most arrogant ill-behaved young man who was with me yesterday who has done this evil.”
“You mean Frank Tregear?”
“I do mean Mr. Tregear.”
“He’s a Conservative, of course; and of course he and I have been much together. Was he with you yesterday, sir?”
“Yes, he was.”
“What was that about?” asked Lord Silverbridge, in a voice that almost betrayed fear, for he knew very well what cause had produced the interview.
“He has been speaking to me—” When the Duke had got so far as this he paused, finding himself to be hardly able to declare the disgrace which had fallen upon himself and his family. As he did tell the story, both his face and his voice were altered, so that the son, in truth, was scared. “He has been speaking to me about your sister. Did you know of this?”
“I knew there was something between them.”
“And you encouraged it?”
“No, sir; just the contrary. I have told him that I was quite sure it would never do.”
“And why did you not tell me?”
“Well, sir; that was hardly my business, was it?”
“Not to guard the honour of your sister?”
“You see, sir, how many things have happened all at once.”
“What things?”
“My dear mother, sir, thought well of him.” The Duke uttered a deep sigh and turned again round to the fire. “I always told him that you would never consent.”
“I should think not.”
“It has come so suddenly. I should have spoken to you about it as soon as—as soon as—” He had meant to say as soon as the husband’s grief for the loss of his wife had been in some degree appeased, but he could not speak the words. The Duke, however, perfectly understood him. “In the meantime, they were not seeing each other.”
“Nor writing?”
“I think not.”
“Mrs. Finn has known it all.”
“Mrs. Finn!”
“Certainly. She has known it all through.”
“I do not see how it can have been so.”
“He told me so himself,” said the Duke, unwittingly putting words into Tregear’s mouth which Tregear had never uttered. “There must be an end of this. I will speak to your sister. In the meantime, the less, I think, you see of Mr. Tregear the better. Of course it is out of the question he should be allowed to remain in this house. You will make him understand that at once, if you please.”
“Oh, certainly,” said Silverbridge.
VIII
“He Is a Gentleman”
The Duke returned to Matching an almost brokenhearted man. He had intended to go down into Barsetshire, in reference to the coming elections;—not with the view of interfering in any unlordly, or rather unpeerlike fashion, but thinking that if his eldest son were to stand for the county in a proper constitutional spirit, as the eldest son of so great a county magnate ought to do, his presence at Gatherum Castle, among his own people, might probably be serviceable, and would certainly be gracious. There would be no question of entertainment. His bereavement would make that impossible. But there would come from his presence a certain savour of proprietorship, and a
