“Nothing at all.”
“One’s first desire would be to beat him to a jelly.”
“Of all courses that would be the worst, and would most certainly conduce to his triumph.”
“Just so;—I only allude to the pleasure one would have, but which one has to deny oneself. I don’t know whether he has laid himself open for libel.”
“I should think not. I have only just glanced at it, and therefore can’t give an opinion; but I should think you would not dream of such a thing. Your object is to screen Lady Laura’s name.”
“I have to think of that first.”
“It may be necessary that steps should be taken to defend her character. If an accusation be made with such publicity as to enforce belief if not denied, the denial must be made, and may probably be best made by an action for libel. But that must be done by her or her friends—but certainly not by you.”
“He has laughed at the Vice-Chancellor’s injunction.”
“I don’t think that you can interfere. If, as you believe, Mr. Kennedy be insane, that fact will probably soon be proved, and will have the effect of clearing Lady Laura’s character. A wife may be excused for leaving a mad husband.”
“And you think I should do nothing?”
“I don’t see what you can do. You have encountered a chimney sweeper, and of course you get some of the soot. What you do do, and what you do not do, must depend at any rate on the wishes of Lady Laura Kennedy and her father. It is a matter in which you must make yourself subordinate to them.”
Fuming and fretting, and yet recognising the truth of Mr. Low’s words, Phineas left the chambers, and went down to his club. It was a Wednesday, and the House was to sit in the morning; but before he went to the House he put himself in the way of certain of his associates in order that he might hear what would be said, and learn if possible what was thought. Nobody seemed to treat the accusations in the newspaper as very serious, though all around him congratulated him on his escape from Mr. Kennedy’s pistol. “I suppose the poor man really is mad,” said Lord Cantrip, whom he met on the steps of one of the clubs.
“No doubt, I should say.”
“I can’t understand why you didn’t go to the police.”
“I had hoped the thing would not become public,” said Phineas.
“Everything becomes public;—everything of that kind. It is very hard upon poor Lady Laura.”
“That is the worst of it, Lord Cantrip.”
“If I were her father I should bring her to England, and demand a separation in a regular and legal way. That is what he should do now in her behalf. She would then have an opportunity of clearing her character from imputations which, to a certain extent, will affect it, even though they come from a madman, and from the very scum of the press.”
“You have read that article?”
“Yes;—I saw it but a minute ago.”
“I need not tell you that there is not the faintest ground in the world for the imputation made against Lady Laura there.”
“I am sure that there is none;—and therefore it is that I tell you my opinion so plainly. I think that Lord Brentford should be advised to bring Lady Laura to England, and to put down the charges openly in Court. It might be done either by an application to the Divorce Court for a separation, or by an action against the newspaper for libel. I do not know Lord Brentford quite well enough to intrude upon him with a letter, but I have no objection whatever to having my name mentioned to him. He and I and you and poor Mr. Kennedy sat together in the same Government, and I think that Lord Brentford would trust my friendship so far.” Phineas thanked him, and assured him that what he had said should be conveyed to Lord Brentford.
XXIX
The Spooner Correspondence
It will be remembered that Adelaide Palliser had accepted the hand of Mr. Maule, junior, and that she and Lady Chiltern between them had despatched him up to London on an embassy to his father, in which he failed very signally. It had been originally Lady Chiltern’s idea that the proper home for the young couple would be the ancestral hall, which must be theirs some day, and in which, with exceeding prudence, they might be able to live as Maules of Maule Abbey upon the very limited income which would belong to them. How slight were the grounds for imputing such stern prudence to Gerard Maule both the ladies felt;—but it had become essential to do something; the young people were engaged to each other, and a manner of life must be suggested, discussed, and as far as possible arranged. Lady Chiltern was useful at such work, having a practical turn of mind, and understanding well the condition of life for which it was necessary that her friend should prepare herself. The lover was not vicious, he neither drank nor gambled, nor ran himself hopelessly in debt. He was good-humoured and tractable, and docile enough when nothing disagreeable was asked from him. He would have, he said, no objection to live at Maule Abbey if Adelaide liked it. He didn’t believe much in farming, but would consent at Adelaide’s request to be the owner of bullocks. He was quite ready to give up hunting, having already taught himself to think that the very few good runs in a season were hardly worth the trouble of getting up before daylight all the winter. He went
