The Prime Minister

really bad in a man’s conduct. He did not know that he had done evil in applying to the Duke for the money. He had only meant to attack the Duke; and when the money had come it had been regarded as justifiable prey. And when after receiving the Duke’s money, he had kept also Mr. Wharton’s money, he had justified himself again by reminding himself that Mr. Wharton certainly owed him much more than that. In a sense he was what is called a gentleman. He knew how to speak, and how to look, how to use a knife and fork, how to dress himself, and how to walk. But he had not the faintest notion of the feelings of a gentleman. He had, however, a very keen conception of the evil of being generally ill spoken of. Even now, though he was making up his mind to leave England for a long term of years, he understood the disadvantage of leaving it under so heavy a cloud;⁠—and he understood also that the cloud might possibly impede his going altogether. Even in Coleman Street they were looking black upon him, and Mr. Hartlepod went so far as to say to Lopez himself, that, “by Jove, he had put his foot in it.” He had endeavoured to be courageous under his burden, and every day walked into the offices of the Mining Company, endeavouring to look as though he had committed no fault of which he had to be ashamed. But after the second day he found that nothing was said to him of the affairs of the Company, and on the fourth day Mr. Hartlepod informed him that the time allowed for paying up his shares had passed by, and that another local manager would be appointed. “The time is not over till tomorrow,” said Lopez angrily. “I tell you what I am told to tell you,” said Mr. Hartlepod. “You will only waste your time by coming here any more.”

He had not once seen Mr. Wharton since the statement made in Parliament, although he had lived in the same house with him. Everett Wharton had come home, and they two had met;⁠—but the meeting had been stormy. “It seems to me, Lopez, that you are a scoundrel,” Everett said to him one day after having heard the whole story⁠—or rather many stories⁠—from his father. This took place not in Manchester Square, but at the club, where Everett had endeavoured to cut his brother-in-law. It need hardly be said that at this time Lopez was not popular at his club. On the next day a meeting of the whole club was to be held that the propriety of expelling him might be discussed. But he had resolved that he would not be cowed, that he would still show himself, and still defend his conduct. He did not know, however, that Everett Wharton had already made known to the Committee of the club all the facts of the double payment.

He had addressed Everett in that solicitude to which a man should never be reduced of seeking to be recognised by at any rate one acquaintance⁠—and now his brother-in-law had called him a scoundrel in the presence of other men. He raised his arm as though to use the cane in his hands, but he was cowed by the feeling that all there were his adversaries. “How dare you use that language to me!” he said very weakly.

“It is the language that I must use if you speak to me.”

“I am your brother-in-law, and that restrains me.”

“Unfortunately you are.”

“And am living in your father’s house.”

“That, again, is a misfortune which it appears difficult to remedy. You have been told to go, and you won’t go.”

“Your ingratitude, sir, is marvellous! Who saved your life when you were attacked in the park, and were too drunk to take care of yourself? Who has stood your friend with your closefisted old father when you have lost money at play that you could not pay? But you are one of those who would turn away from any benefactor in his misfortune.”

“I must certainly turn away from a man who has disgraced himself as you have done,” said Everett, leaving the room. Lopez threw himself into an easy-chair, and rang the bell loudly for a cup of coffee, and lit a cigar. He had not been turned out of the club as yet, and the servant at any rate was bound to attend to him.

That night he waited up for his father-in-law in Manchester Square. He would certainly go to Guatemala now⁠—if it were not too late. He would go though he were forced to leave his wife behind him, and thus surrender any further hope for money from Mr. Wharton beyond the sum which he would receive as the price of his banishment. It was true that the fortnight allowed to him by the Company was only at an end that day, and that, therefore, the following morning might be taken as the last day named for the payment of the money. No doubt, also, Mr. Wharton’s bill at a few days’ date would be accepted if that gentleman could not at the moment give a cheque for so large a sum as was required. And the appointment had been distinctly promised to him with no other stipulation than that the money required for the shares should be paid. He did not believe in Mr. Hartlepod’s threat. It was impossible, he thought, that he should be treated in so infamous a manner merely because he had had his election expenses repaid him by the Duke of Omnium! He would, therefore, ask for the money, and⁠—renounce the society of his wife.

As he made this resolve something like real love returned to his heart, and he became for a while sick with regret. He assured himself that he had loved her, and that he could love her still;⁠—but why had she not been true to him? Why