“Poor papa!”
“He was dreadfully cut up about Gerald. And then he is so good! He said more to me about Gerald than he ever did about my own little misfortune at Oxford; but to Gerald himself he said almost nothing. Now he has forgiven me because he thinks I am constant at the House.”
“And are you?”
“Not so much as he thinks. I do go there—for his sake. He has been so good about my changing sides.”
“I think you were quite right there.”
“I am beginning to think I was quite wrong. What did it matter to me?”
“I suppose it did make papa unhappy.”
“Of course it did;—and then this affair of yours.” As soon as this was said Lady Mary at once hardened her heart against her father. Whether Silverbridge was or was not entitled to his own political opinions—seeing that the Pallisers had for ages been known as staunch Whigs and Liberals—might be a matter for question. But that she had a right to her own lover she thought that there could be no question. As they were sitting in the cab he could hardly see her face, but he was aware that she was in some fashion arming herself against opposition. “I am sure that this makes him very unhappy,” continued Silverbridge.
“It cannot be altered,” she said.
“It will have to be altered.”
“Nothing can alter it. He might die, indeed;—or so might I.”
“Or he might see that it is no good—and change his mind,” suggested Silverbridge.
“Of course that is possible,” said Lady Mary very curtly—showing plainly by her manner that the subject was one which she did not choose to discuss any further.
“It is very good of you to come to me,” said Lady Mabel, kissing her new acquaintance. “I have heard so much about you.”
“And I also of you.”
“I, you know, am one of your brother’s stern Mentors. There are three or four of us determined to make him a pattern young legislator. Miss Cassewary is another. Only she is not quite so stern as I am.”
“He ought to be very much obliged.”
“But he is not—not a bit. Are you, Lord Silverbridge?”
“Not so much as I ought to be, perhaps.”
“Of course there is an opposing force. There are the racehorses, and the drag, and Major Tifto. No doubt you have heard of Major Tifto. The Major is the Mr. Worldly-Wiseman who won’t let Christian go to the Strait Gate. I am afraid he hasn’t read his Pilgrim’s Progress. But we shall prevail, Lady Mary, and he will get to the beautiful city at last.”
“What is the beautiful city?” he asked.
“A seat in the Cabinet, I suppose—or that general respect which a young nobleman achieves when he has shown himself able to sit on a bench for six consecutive hours without appearing to go to sleep.”
Then they went to lunch, and Lady Mary did find herself to be happy with her new acquaintance. Her life since her mother’s death had been so sad, that this short escape from it was a relief to her. Now for awhile she found herself almost gay. There was an easy liveliness about Lady Mabel—a grain of humour and playfulness conjoined—which made her feel at home at once. And it seemed to her as though her brother was at home. He called the girl Lady Mab, and Queen Mab, and once plain Mabel, and the old woman he called Miss Cass. It surely, she thought, must be the case that Lady Mabel and her brother were engaged.
“Come upstairs into my own room—it is nicer than this,” said Lady Mabel, and they went from the dining-room into a pretty little sitting-room with which Silverbridge was very well acquainted. “Have you heard of Miss Boncassen?” Mary said she had heard something of Miss Boncassen’s great beauty. “Everybody is talking about her. Your brother met her at Mrs. Montacute Jones’s garden-party, and was made a conquest of instantly.”
“I wasn’t made a conquest of at all,” said Silverbridge.
“Then he ought to have been made a conquest of. I should be if I were a man. I think she is the loveliest person to look at and the nicest person to listen to that I ever came across. We all feel that, as far as this season is concerned, we are cut out. But we don’t mind it so much because she is a foreigner.” Then just as she said this the door was opened and Frank Tregear was announced.
Everybody there present knew as well as does the reader, what was the connection between Tregear and Lady Mary Palliser. And each knew that the other knew it. It was therefore impossible for them not to feel themselves guilty among themselves. The two lovers had not seen each other since they had been together in Italy. Now they were brought face to face in this unexpected manner! And nobody except Tregear was at first quite sure whether somebody had not done something to arrange the meeting. Mary might naturally suspect that Lady Mabel had done this in the interest of her friend Tregear, and Silverbridge could not but suspect that it was so. Lady Mabel, who had never before met the other girl, could hardly refrain from thinking that there had been some underhand communication—and Miss Cassewary was clearly of opinion that there had been some understanding.
Silverbridge was the first to speak. “Halloo, Tregear, I didn’t know that we were to see you.”
“Nor I, that I should see you,” said he. Then of course there was a shaking of hands all round, in the course of which ceremony he came to Mary the last. She gave him her hand, but had not a word to say to him. “If I had known that you were here,” he said, “I should not have come; but I need hardly say how glad I am to see you—even in this way.” Then the two girls were convinced that the meeting was accidental; but Miss Cass still had her doubts.
Conversation became at
