The Prime Minister

have taken Lady Eustace, but it was held by Mrs. Dick that her ladyship had somewhat impaired her rights by the eccentricities of her career, and also that she would amiably pardon any little wrong against her of that kind⁠—whereas Lady Monogram was a person to be much considered. Then followed Sir Damask with Lady Eustace. They seemed to be paired so well together that there could be no doubt about them. The ministerial Roby, who was really the hero of the night, took Mrs. Happerton, and our friend Mr. Wharton took the Secretary’s wife. All that had been easy⁠—so easy that fate had good-naturedly arranged things which are sometimes difficult of management. But then there came an embarrassment. Of course it would in a usual way be right that a married man as was Mr. Happerton should be assigned to the widow Mrs. Leslie, and that the only two “young” people⁠—in the usual sense of the word⁠—should go down to dinner together. But Mrs. Roby was at first afraid of Mr. Wharton, and planned it otherwise. When, however, the last moment came she plucked up courage, gave Mrs. Leslie to the great commercial man, and with a brave smile asked Lopez to give his arm to the lady he loved. It is sometimes so hard to manage these “little things,” said she to Lord Mongrober as she put her hand upon his arm. His lordship had been kept standing in that odious drawing-room for more than half-an-hour waiting for a man whom he regarded as a poor Treasury hack, and was by no means in a good humour. Dick Roby’s wine was no doubt good, but he was not prepared to purchase it at such a price as this. “Things always get confused when you have waited an hour for anyone,” he said. “What can one do, you know, when the House is sitting?” said the lady apologetically. “Of course you lords can get away, but then you have nothing to do.” Lord Mongrober grunted, meaning to imply by his grunt that anyone would be very much mistaken who supposed that he had any work to do because he was a peer of Parliament.

Lopez and Emily were seated next to each other, and immediately opposite to them was Mr. Wharton. Certainly nothing fraudulent had been intended on this occasion⁠—or it would have been arranged that the father should sit on the same side of the table with the lover, so that he should see nothing of what was going on. But it seemed to Mr. Wharton as though he had been positively swindled by his sister-in-law. There they sat opposite to him, talking to each other apparently with thoroughly mutual confidence, the very two persons whom he most especially desired to keep apart. He had not a word to say to either of the ladies near him. He endeavoured to keep his eyes away from his daughter as much as possible, and to divert his ears from their conversation;⁠—but he could not but look and he could not but listen. Not that he really heard a sentence. Emily’s voice hardly reached him, and Lopez understood the game he was playing much too well to allow his voice to travel. And he looked as though his position were the most commonplace in the world, and as though he had nothing of more than ordinary interest to say to his neighbour. Mr. Wharton, as he sat there, almost made up his mind that he would leave his practice, give up his chambers, abandon even his club, and take his daughter at once to⁠—to;⁠—it did not matter where, so that the place should be very distant from Manchester Square. There could be no other remedy for this evil.

Lopez, though he talked throughout the whole of dinner⁠—turning sometimes indeed to Mrs. Leslie who sat at his left hand⁠—said very little that all the world might not have heard. But he did say one such word. “It has been so dreary to me, the last month!” Emily of course had no answer to make to this. She could not tell him that her desolation had been infinitely worse than his, and that she had sometimes felt as though her very heart would break. “I wonder whether it must always be like this with me,” he said⁠—and then he went back to the theatres, and other ordinary conversation.

“I suppose you’ve got to the bottom of that champagne you used to have,” said Lord Mongrober, roaring across the table to his host, holding his glass in his hand, and with strong marks of disapprobation on his face.

“The very same wine as we were drinking when your lordship last did me the honour of dining here,” said Dick. Lord Mongrober raised his eyebrows, shook his head and put down the glass.

“Shall we try another bottle?” asked Mrs. Dick with solicitude.

“Oh, no;⁠—it’d be all the same, I know. I’ll just take a little dry sherry if you have it.” The man came with the decanter. “No, dry sherry;⁠—dry sherry,” said his lordship. The man was confounded, Mrs. Dick was at her wits’ ends, and everything was in confusion. Lord Mongrober was not the man to be kept waiting by a government subordinate without exacting some penalty for such ill-treatment.

“ ’Is lordship is a little out of sorts,” whispered Dick to Lady Monogram.

“Very much out of sorts, it seems.”

“And the worst of it is, there isn’t a better glass of wine in London, and ’is lordship knows it.”

“I suppose that’s what he comes for,” said Lady Monogram, being quite as uncivil in her way as the nobleman.

“ ’E’s like a good many others. He knows where he can get a good dinner. After all, there’s no attraction like that. Of course, a ’ansome woman won’t admit that, Lady Monogram.”

“I will not admit it, at any rate, Mr. Roby.”

“But I don’t doubt Monogram is as careful as anyone else to get the best cook he can, and takes a good deal of