“I want to take you from the dragon.”
“Yes;—and to hand me over to a griffin.”
“The truth is, Violet, that you do not know Oswald. He is not a griffin.”
“I did not mean to be uncomplimentary. Take any of the dangerous wild beasts you please. I merely intend to point out that he is a dangerous wild beast. I daresay he is noble-minded, and I will call him a lion if you like it better. But even with a lion there is risk.”
“Of course there will be risk. There is risk with every man—unless you will be contented with the prig you described. Of course there would be risk with my brother. He has been a gambler.”
“They say he is one still.”
“He has given it up in part, and would entirely at your instance.”
“And they say other things of him, Laura.”
“It is true. He has had paroxysms of evil life which have well-nigh ruined him.”
“And these paroxysms are so dangerous! Is he not in debt?”
“He is—but not deeply. Every shilling that he owes would be paid;—every shilling. Mind, I know all his circumstances, and I give you my word that every shilling should be paid. He has never lied—and he has told me everything. His father could not leave an acre away from him if he would, and would not if he could.”
“I did not ask as fearing that. I spoke only of a dangerous habit. A paroxysm of spending money is apt to make one so uncomfortable. And then—”
“Well.”
“I don’t know why I should make a catalogue of your brother’s weaknesses.”
“You mean to say that he drinks too much?”
“I do not say so. People say so. The dragon says so. And as I always find her sayings to be untrue, I suppose this is like the rest of them.”
“It is untrue if it be said of him as a habit.”
“It is another paroxysm—just now and then.”
“Do not laugh at me, Violet, when I am taking his part, or I shall be offended.”
“But you see, if I am to be his wife, it is—rather important.”
“Still you need not ridicule me.”
“Dear Laura, you know I do not ridicule you. You know I love you for what you are doing. Would not I do the same, and fight for him down to my nails if I had a brother?”
“And therefore I want you to be Oswald’s wife;—because I know that you would fight for him. It is not true that he is a—drunkard. Look at his hand, which is as steady as yours. Look at his eye. Is there a sign of it? He has been drunk, once or twice, perhaps—and has done fearful things.”
“It might be that he would do fearful things to me.”
“You never knew a man with a softer heart or with a finer spirit. I believe as I sit here that if he were married tomorrow, his vices would fall from him like old clothes.”
“You will admit, Laura, that there will be some risk for the wife.”
“Of course there will be a risk. Is there not always a risk?”
“The men in the city would call this double-dangerous, I think,” said Violet. Then the door was opened, and the man of whom they were speaking entered the room.
XI
Lord Chiltern
The reader has been told that Lord Chiltern was a red man, and that peculiarity of his personal appearance was certainly the first to strike a stranger. It imparted a certain look of ferocity to him, which was apt to make men afraid of him at first sight. Women are not actuated in the same way, and are accustomed to look deeper into men at the first sight than other men will trouble themselves to do. His beard was red, and was clipped, so as to have none of the softness of waving hair. The hair on his head also was kept short, and was very red—and the colour of his face was red. Nevertheless he was a handsome man, with well-cut features, not tall, but very strongly built, and with a certain curl in the corner of his eyelids which gave to him a look of resolution—which perhaps he did not possess. He was known to be a clever man, and when very young had had the reputation of being a scholar. When he was three-and-twenty grey-haired votaries of the turf declared that he would make his fortune on the racecourse—so clearheaded was he as to odds, so excellent a judge of a horse’s performances, and so gifted with a memory of events. When he was five-and-twenty he had lost every shilling of a fortune of his own, had squeezed from his father more than his father ever chose to name in speaking of his affairs to anyone, and was known to be in debt. But he had sacrificed himself on one or two memorable occasions in conformity with turf laws of honour, and men said of him, either that he was very honest or very chivalric—in accordance with the special views on the subject of the man who was speaking. It was reported now that he no longer owned horses on the turf;—but this was doubted by some who could name the animals which they said that he owned, and which he ran in the name of Mr. Macnab—said some; of Mr. Pardoe—said others; of Mr. Chickerwick—said a third set of informants. The fact was that Lord Chiltern at this moment had no interest of his own in any horse upon the
