Lord Fawn had certainly not spent a happy winter. Between Mrs. Hittaway on one side and Frank Greystock on the other, his life had been a burden to him. It had been suggested to him by various people that he was behaving badly to the lady—who was represented as having been cruelly misused by fortune and by himself. On the other hand it had been hinted to him, that nothing was too bad to believe of Lizzie Eustace, and that no calamity could be so great as that by which he would be overwhelmed were he still to allow himself to be forced into that marriage. “It would be better,” Mrs. Hittaway had said, “to retire to Ireland at once, and cultivate your demesne in Tipperary.” This was a grievous sentence, and one which had greatly excited the brother’s wrath;—but it had shown how very strong was his sister’s opinion against the lady to whom he had unfortunately offered his hand. Then there came to him a letter from Mr. Greystock, in which he was asked for his “written explanation.” If there be a proceeding which an official man dislikes worse than another, it is a demand for a written explanation. “It is impossible,” Frank had said, “that your conduct to my cousin should be allowed to drop without further notice. Hers has been without reproach. Your engagement with her has been made public—chiefly by you, and it is out of the question that she should be treated as you are treating her, and that your lordship should escape without punishment.” What the punishment was to be he did not say; but there did come a punishment on Lord Fawn from the eyes of every man whose eyes met his own, and in the tones of every voice that addressed him. The looks of the very clerks in the India Office accused him of behaving badly to a young woman, and the doorkeeper at the House of Lords seemed to glance askance at him. And now Lady Glencora, who was the social leader of his own party, the feminine polestar of the Liberal heavens, the most popular and the most daring woman in London, had attacked him personally, and told him that he ought to call on Lady Eustace!
Let it not for a moment be supposed that Lord Fawn was without conscience in the matter, or indifferent to moral obligations. There was not a man in London less willing to behave badly to a young woman than Lord Fawn; or one who would more diligently struggle to get back to the right path, if convinced that he was astray. But he was one who detested interference in his private matters, and who was nearly driven mad between his sister and Frank Greystock. When he left Lady Glencora’s house he walked towards his own abode with a dark cloud upon his brow. He was at first very angry with Lady Glencora. Even her position gave her no right to meddle with his most private affairs as she had done. He would resent it, and would quarrel with Lady Glencora. What right could she have to advise him to call upon any woman? But by degrees this wrath died away, and gave place to fears, and qualms, and inward questions. He, too, had found a change in general opinion about the diamonds. When he had taken upon himself with a high hand to dissolve his own engagement, everybody had, as he thought, acknowledged that Lizzie Eustace was keeping property which did not belong to her. Now people talked of her losses as though the diamonds had been undoubtedly her own. On the next morning Lord Fawn took an opportunity of seeing Mr. Camperdown.
“My dear lord,” said Mr. Camperdown, “I shall wash my hands of the matter altogether. The diamonds are gone, and the questions now are, who stole them, and where are they? In our business we can’t meddle with such questions as those.”
“You will drop the bill in Chancery then?”
“What good can the bill do us when the diamonds are gone? If Lady Eustace had anything to do with the robbery—”
“You suspect her, then?”
“No, my lord; no. I cannot say that. I have no right to say that. Indeed it is not Lady Eustace that I suspect. She has got into bad hands, perhaps; but I do not think that she is a thief.”
“You were suggesting that—if she had anything to do with the robbery—”
“Well;—yes;—if she had, it would not be for us to take steps against her in the matter. In fact, the trustees have decided that they will do nothing more, and my hands are tied. If the minor, when he comes of age, claims the property from them, they will prefer to replace it. It isn’t very likely; but that’s what they say.”
“But if it was an heirloom—” suggested Lord Fawn, going back to the old claim.
“That’s exploded,” said Mr. Camperdown. “Mr. Dove was quite clear about that.”
This was the end of the filing of that bill in Chancery
