“My five-and-twenty thousand pounds, as you call it, would not go very far.”
“What’s the use of money if you don’t spend it? The Duke would go on collecting it and buying more property, which always means more trouble—not because he is avaricious, but because for the time that comes easier than spending. Supposing he had married a woman without a shilling, he would still have been a rich man. As it is, my property was more even than his own. If we can do any good by spending the money, why shouldn’t it be spent?”
“If you can do any good!”
“It all comes round to that. It isn’t because I like always to live in a windmill! I have come to hate it. At this moment I would give worlds to be down at Matching with no one but the children, and to go about in a straw hat and a muslin gown. I have a fancy that I could sit under a tree and read a sermon, and think it the sweetest recreation. But I’ve made the attempt to do all this, and it is so mean to fail!”
“But where is to be the end of it?”
“There shall be no end as long as he is Prime Minister. He is the first man in England. Some people would say the first in Europe—or in the world. A Prince should entertain like a Prince.”
“He need not be always entertaining.”
“Hospitality should run from a man with his wealth and his position, like water from a fountain. As his hand is known to be full, so it should be known to be open. When the delight of his friends is in question he should know nothing of cost. Pearls should drop from him as from a fairy. But I don’t think you understand me.”
“Not when the pearls are to be picked up by Captain Gunners, Lady Glen.”
“I can’t make the men any better—nor yet the women. They are poor mean creatures. The world is made up of such. I don’t know that Captain Gunner is worse than Sir Orlando Drought or Sir Timothy Beeswax. People seen by the mind are exactly different to things seen by the eye. They grow smaller and smaller as you come nearer down to them, whereas things become bigger. I remember when I used to think that members of the Cabinet were almost gods, and now they seem to be no bigger than the shoeblacks—only less picturesque. He told me the other day of the time when he gave up going into power for the sake of taking me abroad. Ah me! how much was happening then—and how much has happened since that! We didn’t know you then.”
“He has been a good husband to you.”
“And I have been a good wife to him! I have never had him for an hour out of my heart since that, or ever for a moment forgotten his interest. I can’t live with him because he shuts himself up reading blue-books, and is always at his office or in the House;—but I would if I could. Am I not doing it all for him? You don’t think that the Captain Gunners are particularly pleasant to me! Think of your life and of mine. You have had lovers.”
“One in my life—when I was quite entitled to have one.”
“Well; I am Duchess of Omnium, and I am the wife of the Prime Minister, and I had a larger property of my own than any other young woman that ever was born; and I am myself too—Glencora McCluskie that was, and I’ve made for myself a character that I’m not ashamed of. But I’d be the curate’s wife tomorrow, and make puddings, if I could only have my own husband and my own children with me. What’s the use of it all? I like you better than anybody else, but you do nothing but scold me.” Still the parties went on, and the Duchess laboured hard among her guests, and wore her jewels, and stood on her feet all the night, night after night, being civil to one person, bright to a second, confidential to a third, and sarcastic to an unfortunate fourth;—and in the morning she would work hard with her lists, seeing who had come to her and who had stayed away, and arranging who should be asked and who should be omitted.
In the meantime the Duke altogether avoided these things. At first he had been content to show himself, and escape as soon as possible;—but now he was never seen at all in his own house, except at certain heavy dinners. To Richmond he never went at all, and in his own house in town very rarely even passed through the door that led into the reception rooms. He had not time for ordinary society. So said the Duchess. And many, perhaps the majority of those who frequented the house, really believed that his official duties were too onerous to leave him time for conversation. But in truth the hours went heavily with him as he sat alone in his study, sighing for some sweet parliamentary task, and regretting the days in which he was privileged to sit in the House of Commons till two o’clock in the morning, in the hope that he might get a clause or two passed in his Bill for decimal coinage.
It was at the Horns at an afternoon party, given there in the gardens by the Duchess, early in July, that Arthur Fletcher first saw Emily after her marriage, and Lopez after the occurrence in Silverbridge. As it happened he came out upon the lawn close after them, and found them speaking to the Duchess as they
