For nearly a month after this the question subsided. A Minister is not bound to bestow a Garter the day after it becomes vacant. There are other Knights to guard the throne, and one may be spared for a short interval. But during that interval many eyes were turned towards the stall in St. George’s Chapel. A good thing should be given away like a clap of thunder if envy, hatred, and malice are to be avoided. A broad blue ribbon across the chest is of all decorations the most becoming, or, at any rate, the most desired. And there was, I fear, an impression on the minds of some men that the Duke in such matters was weak and might be persuaded. Then there came to him an application in the form of a letter from the new Marquis of Mount Fidgett—a man whom he had never seen, and of whom he had never heard. The new Marquis had hitherto resided in Italy, and men only knew of him that he was odious to his uncle. But he had inherited all the Fichy Fidgett estates, and was now possessed of immense wealth and great honour. He ventured, he said, to represent to the Prime Minister that for generations past the Marquises of Mount Fidgett had been honoured by the Garter. His political status in the country was exactly that enjoyed by his late uncle; but he intended that his political career should be very different. He was quite prepared to support the Coalition. “What is he that he should expect to be made a Knight of the Garter?” said our Duke to the old Duke.
“He is the Marquis of Mount Fidgett, and next to yourself, perhaps, the richest peer of Great Britain.”
“Have riches anything to do with it?”
“Something certainly. You would not name a pauper peer.”
“Yes;—if he was a man whose career had been highly honourable to the country. Such a man, of course, could not be a pauper, but I do not think his want of wealth should stand in the way of his being honoured by the Garter.”
“Wealth, rank, and territorial influence have been generally thought to have something to do with it.”
“And character nothing!”
“My dear Duke, I have not said so.”
“Something very much like it, my friend, if you advocate the claim of the Marquis of Mount Fidgett. Did you approve of the selection of the late Marquis?”
“I was in the Cabinet at the time, and will therefore say nothing against it. But I have never heard anything against this man’s character.”
“Nor in favour of it. To my thinking he has as much claim, and no more, as that man who just opened the door. He was never seen in the Lower House.”
“Surely that cannot signify.”
“You think, then, that he should have it?”
“You know what I think,” said the elder statesman thoughtfully. “In my opinion there is no doubt that you would best consult the honour of the country by allowing her Majesty to bestow this act of grace upon a subject who has deserved so well from her Majesty as yourself.”
“It is quite impossible.”
“It seems to me,” said the Duke, not appearing to notice the refusal of his friend, “that in this peculiar position you should allow yourself to be persuaded to lay aside your own feeling. No man of high character is desirous of securing to himself decorations which he may bestow upon others.”
“Just so.”
“But here the decoration bestowed upon the chief whom we all follow, would confer a wider honour upon many than it could do if given to anyone else.”
“The same may be said of any Prime Minister.”
“Not so. A commoner, without high permanent rank or large fortune, is not lowered in the world’s esteem by not being of the Order. You will permit me to say—that a Duke of Omnium has not reached that position which he ought to enjoy unless he be a Knight of the Garter.” It must be borne in mind that the old Duke, who used this argument, had himself worn the ribbon for the last thirty years. “But if—”
“Well;—well.”
“But if you are—I must call it obstinate.”
“I am obstinate in that respect.”
“Then,” said the Duke of St. Bungay, “I should recommend her Majesty to give it to the Marquis.”
“Never,” said the Prime Minister, with very unaccustomed energy. “I will never sanction the payment of such a price for services which should never be bought or sold.”
“It would give no offence.”
“That is not enough, my friend. Here is a man of whom I only know that he has bought a great many marble statues. He has done nothing for his country, and nothing for his sovereign.”
“If you are determined to look to what you call desert alone, I would name Lord Drummond.” The Prime Minister frowned and looked unhappy. It was quite true that Lord Drummond had contradicted him, and that he had felt the injury grievously. “Lord Drummond has been very true to us.”
“Yes;—true to us! What is that?”
“He is in every respect a man of character, and well looked upon in the country. There would be some enmity and a good deal of envy—which might be avoided by either of the courses I have proposed; but those courses you will not take. I take it for granted that you are anxious to secure the support of those who generally act with Lord Drummond.”
“I don’t know that I am.” The old Duke shrugged his shoulders. “What I mean is, that I do not think that we ought to pay an increased price for their support. His lordship is very well as the Head of an Office; but he is not nearly so great a man as my friend Lord Cantrip.”
“Cantrip would not join us. There is no evil in politics so great as that of seeming to buy the men who will
