The Duke’s Children

of Parliament they at present only knew that he had been sent away from Oxford⁠—not so very long ago⁠—for painting the Dean’s house scarlet. The speech was not very brilliant. He told them that he was very much obliged to them for the honour they had done him. Though he could not follow exactly his father’s political opinions⁠—he would always have before his eyes his father’s political honesty and independence. He broke down two or three times and blushed, and repeated himself, and knocked his words a great deal too quickly one on the top of another. But it was taken very well, and was better than was expected. When it was over he wrote a line to the Duke.

My dear Father,

I am Member of Parliament for Silverbridge⁠—as you used to be in the days which I can first remember. I hope you won’t think that it does not make me unhappy to have differed from you. Indeed it does. I don’t think that anybody has ever done so well in politics as you have. But when a man does take up an opinion I don’t see how he can help himself. Of course I could have kept myself quiet;⁠—but then you wished me to be in the House. They were all very civil to me at Silverbridge, but there was very little said.

Your affectionate Son,

Silverbridge.

XV

The Duke Receives a Letter⁠—and Writes One

The Duke, when he received Mrs. Finn’s note, demanding an interview, thought much upon the matter before he replied. She had made her demand as though the Duke had been no more than any other gentleman, almost as though she had a right to call upon him to wait upon her. He understood and admired the courage of this;⁠—but nevertheless he would not go to her. He had trusted her with that which of all things was the most sacred to him, and she had deceived him! He wrote to her as follows:

The Duke of Omnium presents his compliments to Mrs. Finn. As the Duke thinks that no good could result either to Mrs. Finn or to himself from an interview, he is obliged to say that he would rather not do as Mrs. Finn has requested.

But for the strength of this conviction the Duke would have waited upon Mrs. Finn most willingly.

Mrs. Finn when she received this was not surprised. She had felt sure that such would be the nature of the Duke’s answer; but she was also sure that if such an answer did come she would not let the matter rest. The accusation was so bitter to her that she would spare nothing in defending herself⁠—nothing in labour and nothing in time. She would make him know that she was in earnest. As she could not succeed in getting into his presence she must do this by letter⁠—and she wrote her letter, taking two days to think of her words.

May 18, 18⁠—.

My dear Duke of Omnium,

As you will not come to me, I must trouble your Grace to read what I fear will be a long letter. For it is absolutely necessary that I should explain my conduct to you. That you have condemned me I am sure you will not deny;⁠—nor that you have punished me as far as the power of punishment was in your hands. If I can succeed in making you see that you have judged me wrongly, I think you will admit your error and beg my pardon. You are not one who from your nature can be brought easily to do this; but you are one who will certainly do it if you can be made to feel that by not doing so you would be unjust. I am myself so clear as to my own rectitude of purpose and conduct, and am so well aware of your perspicuity, that I venture to believe that if you will read this letter I shall convince you.

Before I go any further I will confess that the matter is one⁠—I was going to say almost of life and death to me. Circumstances, not of my own seeking, have for some years past thrown me so closely into intercourse with your family that now to be cast off, and to be put on one side as a disgraced person⁠—and that so quickly after the death of her who loved me so dearly and who was so dear to me⁠—is such an affront as I cannot bear and hold up my head afterwards. I have come to be known as her whom your uncle trusted and loved, as her whom your wife trusted and loved⁠—obscure as I was before;⁠—and as her whom, may I not say, you yourself trusted? As there was much of honour and very much of pleasure in this, so also was there something of misfortune. Friendships are safest when the friends are of the same standing. I have always felt there was danger, and now the thing I feared has come home to me.

Now I will plead my case. I fancy, that when first you heard that I had been cognisant of your daughter’s engagement, you imagined that I was aware of it before I went to Matching. Had I been so, I should have been guilty of that treachery of which you accuse me. I did know nothing of it till Lady Mary told me on the day before I left Matching. That she should tell me was natural enough. Her mother had known it, and for the moment⁠—if I am not assuming too much in saying so⁠—I was filling her mother’s place. But, in reference to you, I could not exercise the discretion which a mother might have used, and I told her at once, most decidedly, that you must be made acquainted with the fact.

Then Lady Mary expressed to me her wish⁠—not that this matter should be kept any longer from you,