“Yes, Lady Chiltern; yes,” said Mr. Spooner, as he took a seat at the table; “wonders never cease, do they?” He had prepared himself even for this moment, and had determined to show Miss Palliser that he could be sprightly and engaging even without his hunting habiliments.
“What will Lord Chiltern do without you?” one of the ladies asked.
“He’ll have to do his best.”
“He’ll never kill a fox,” said Miss Palliser.
“Oh, yes; he knows what he’s about. I was so fond of my pillow this morning that I thought I’d let the hunting slide for once. A man should not make a toil of his pleasure.”
Lady Chiltern knew all about it, but Adelaide Palliser knew nothing. Madame Goesler, when she observed the light-blue necktie, at once suspected the execution of some great intention. Phineas was absorbed in his observation of the difference in the man. In his pink coat he always looked as though he had been born to wear it, but his appearance was now that of an amateur actor got up in a miscellaneous middle-age costume. He was sprightly, but the effort was painfully visible. Lady Baldock said something afterwards, very ill-natured, about a hog in armour, and old Mrs. Burnaby spoke the truth when she declared that all the comfort of her tea and toast was sacrificed to Mr. Spooner’s frock coat. But what was to be done with him when breakfast was over? For a while he was fixed upon poor Phineas, with whom he walked across to the stables. He seemed to feel that he could hardly hope to pounce upon his prey at once, and that he must bide his time.
Out of the full heart the mouth speaks. “Nice girl, Miss Palliser,” he said to Phineas, forgetting that he had expressed himself nearly in the same way to the same man on a former occasion.
“Very nice, indeed. It seems to me that you are sweet upon her yourself.”
“Who? I! Oh, no—I don’t think of those sort of things. I suppose I shall marry some day. I’ve a house fit for a lady tomorrow, from top to bottom, linen and all. And my property’s my own.”
“That’s a comfort.”
“I believe you. There isn’t a mortgage on an acre of it, and that’s what very few men can say. As for Miss Palliser, I don’t know that a man could do better; only I don’t think much of those things. If ever I do pop the question, I shall do it on the spur of the moment. There’ll be no preparation with me, nor yet any beating about the bush. ‘Would it suit your views, my dear, to be Mrs. Spooner?’ that’s about the long and the short of it. A clean-made little mare, isn’t she?” This last observation did not refer to Adelaide Palliser, but to an animal standing in Lord Chiltern’s stables. “He bought her from Charlie Dickers for a twenty pound note last April. The mare hadn’t a leg to stand upon. Charlie had been stagging with her for the last two months, and knocked her all to pieces. She’s a screw, of course, but there isn’t anything carries Chiltern so well. There’s nothing like a good screw. A man’ll often go with two hundred and fifty guineas between his legs, supposed to be all there because the animal’s sound, and yet he don’t know his work. If you like schooling a young ’un, that’s all very well. I used to be fond of it myself; but I’ve come to feel that being carried to hounds without much thinking about it is the cream of hunting, after all. I wonder what the ladies are at? Shall we go back and see?” Then they turned to the house, and Mr. Spooner began to be a little fidgety. “Do they sit altogether mostly all the morning?”
“I fancy they do.”
“I suppose there’s some way of dividing them. They tell me you know all about women. If you want to get one to yourself, how do you manage it?”
“In perpetuity, do you mean, Mr. Spooner?”
“Any way;—in the morning, you know.”
“Just to say a few words to her?”
“Exactly that;—just to say a few words. I don’t mind asking you, because you’ve done this kind of thing before.”
“I should watch my opportunity,” said Phineas, remembering a period of his life in which he had watched much and had found it very difficult to get an opportunity.
“But I must go after lunch,” said Mr. Spooner; “I’m expected home to dinner, and I don’t know much whether they’ll like me to stop over Sunday.”
“If you were to tell Lady Chiltern—”
“I was to have gone on Thursday, you know. You won’t tell anybody?”
“Oh dear no.”
“I think I shall propose to that girl. I’ve about made up my mind to do it, only a fellow can’t call her out before half-a-dozen of them. Couldn’t you get Lady C. to trot her out into the garden? You and she are as thick as thieves.”
“I should think Miss Palliser was rather difficult to be managed.”
Phineas declined to interfere, taking upon himself to assure Mr. Spooner that attempts to arrange matters in that way never succeeded. He went in and settled himself to the work of answering correspondents at Tankerville, while Mr. Spooner hung about the drawing-room, hoping that circumstances and time might favour him. It is to be feared that he made himself extremely disagreeable to poor Lady Chiltern, to whom he was intending to open his heart could he only find an opportunity for so much as that. But Lady Chiltern was determined not to have his confidence, and at last withdrew from the scene in order that she might not be entrapped. Before lunch had come all the party knew what was to happen—except
