“Papa, we will go at once if you wish it,” said his daughter.
“Nay, Emily; do not turn upon me. I cannot but be sensible to the insult of his daily presence; but even that is better than losing you.”
Then there occurred a ludicrous incident—or combination of incidents—which, in spite of their absurdity, drove Mr. Wharton almost frantic. First there came to him the bill from Messrs. Stewam and Sugarscraps for the dinner. At this time he kept nothing back from his daughter. “Look at that!” he said. The bill was absolutely made out in his name.
“It is a mistake, papa.”
“Not at all. The dinner was given in my house, and I must pay for it. I would sooner do so than that he should pay it—even if he had the means.” So he paid Messrs. Stewam and Sugarscraps £25 9s. 6d., begging them as he did so never to send another dinner into his house, and observing that he was in the habit of entertaining his friends at less than three guineas a head. “But Château Yquem and Côte d’Or!” said Mr. Sugarscraps. “Château fiddlesticks!” said Mr. Wharton, walking out of the house with his receipt.
Then came the bill for the brougham—for the brougham from the very day of their return to town after their wedding trip. This he showed to Lopez. Indeed the bill had been made out to Lopez and sent to Mr. Wharton with an apologetic note. “I didn’t tell him to send it,” said Lopez.
“But will you pay it?”
“I certainly shall not ask you to pay it.” But Mr. Wharton at last did pay it, and he also paid the rent of the rooms in the Belgrave Mansions, and between £30 and £40 for dresses which Emily had got at Lewes and Allenby’s under her husband’s orders in the first days of their married life in London.
“Oh, papa, I wish I had not gone there,” she said.
“My dear, anything that you may have had I do not grudge in the least. And even for him, if he would let you remain here, I would pay willingly. I would supply all his wants if he would only—go away.”
L
Mr. Slide’s Revenge
“Do you mean to say, my lady, that the Duke paid his electioneering bill down at Silverbridge?”
“I do mean to say so, Mr. Slide.” Lady Eustace nodded her head, and Mr. Quintus Slide opened his mouth.
“Goodness gracious!” said Mrs. Leslie, who was sitting with them. They were in Lady Eustace’s drawing-room, and the patriotic editor of the People’s Banner was obtaining from a new ally information which might be useful to the country.
“But ’ow do you know, Lady Eustace? You’ll pardon the persistency of my inquiries, but when you come to public information accuracy is everything. I never trust myself to mere report. I always travel up to the very fountain ’ead of truth.”
“I know it,” said Lizzy Eustace oracularly.
“Um—m!” The Editor as he ejaculated the sound looked at her ladyship with admiring eyes—with eyes that were intended to flatter. But Lizzie had been looked at so often in so many ways, and was so well accustomed to admiration, that this had no effect on her at all. “ ’E didn’t tell you himself; did ’e, now?”
“Can you tell me the truth as to trusting him with my money?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Shall I be safe if I take the papers which he calls bills of sale?”
“One good turn deserves another, my lady.”
“I don’t want to make a secret of it, Mr. Slide. Pountney found it out. You know the Major?”
“Yes, I know Major Pountney. He was at Gatherum ’imself, and got a little bit of cold shoulder;—didn’t he?”
“I dare say he did. What has that to do with it? You may be sure that Lopez applied to the Duke for his expenses at Silverbridge, and that the Duke sent him the money.”
“There’s no doubt about it, Mr. Slide,” said Mrs. Leslie. “We got it all from Major Pountney. There was some bet between him and Pountney, and he had to show Pountney the cheque.”
“Pountney saw the money,” said Lady Eustace.
Mr. Slide stroked his hand over his mouth and chin as he sat thinking of the tremendous national importance of this communication. The man who had paid the money was the Prime Minister of England—and was, moreover, Mr. Slide’s enemy! “When the right ’and of fellowship has been rejected, I never forgive,” Mr. Slide has been heard to say. Even Lady Eustace, who was not particular as to the appearance of people, remarked afterwards to her friend that Mr. Slide had looked like the devil as he was stroking his face. “It’s very remarkable,” said Mr. Slide; “very remarkable!”
“You won’t tell the Major that we told you,” said her Ladyship.
“Oh dear, no. I only just wanted to ’ear how it was. And as to embarking your money, my lady, with Ferdinand Lopez—I wouldn’t do it.”
“Not if I get the bills of sale? It’s for rum, and they say rum will go up to any price.”
“Don’t, Lady Eustace. I can’t say any more—but don’t. I never mention names. But don’t.”
Then Mr. Slide went at once in search of Major Pountney, and having found the Major at his club extracted from him all that he knew about the Silverbridge payment. Pountney had really seen the Duke’s cheque for £500. “There was some bet—eh, Major?” asked Mr. Slide.
“No, there wasn’t. I know who has been telling you. That’s Lizzie Eustace, and just like her mischief. The way of it was this;—Lopez, who was very angry, had boasted that he would bring the Duke down on his marrowbones. I was laughing at him as we sat at dinner one day afterwards, and he took out the cheque and showed it me. There was the Duke’s own
