“After what you have said, I have no alternative.”
“Exactly. There is no alternative. Either for his sake or for hers, there is none.”
Thereupon Miss Palliser got up, and wishing her companion good night, took her departure. Throughout the interview there had been no cordiality of feeling between them. There was no pretence of friendship, even as they were parting. They acknowledged that their objects were different. That of Alice was to save Lady Glencora from ruin. That of Miss Palliser was to save her cousin from disgrace—with perhaps some further honest desire to prevent sorrow and sin. One loved Lady Glencora, and the other clearly did not love her. But, nevertheless, Alice felt that Miss Palliser, in coming to her, had acted well, and that to herself this coming had afforded immense relief. Some step would now be taken to prevent that meeting which she had so deprecated, and it would be taken without any great violation of confidence on her part. She had said nothing as to which Lady Glencora could feel herself aggrieved.
On the next morning she was down in the breakfast-room soon after nine, and had not been in the room many minutes before Mr. Palliser entered. “The carriage is ordered for you at a quarter before ten,” he said, “and I have come down to give you your breakfast.” There was a smile on his face as he spoke, and Alice could see that he intended to make himself pleasant.
“Will you allow me to give you yours instead?” said she. But as it happened, no giving on either side was needed, as Alice’s breakfast was brought to her separately.
“Glencora bids me say that she will be down immediately,” said Mr. Palliser.
Alice then made some inquiry with reference to the effects of last night’s imprudence, which received only a half-pronounced reply. Mr. Palliser was willing to be gracious, but did not intend to be understood as having forgiven the offence. The Miss Pallisers then came in together, and after them Mr. Bott, closely followed by Mrs. Marsham, and all of them made inquiries after Lady Glencora, as though it was to be supposed that she might probably be in a perilous state after what she had undergone on the previous evening. Mr. Bott was particularly anxious. “The frost was so uncommonly severe,” said he, “that any delicate person like Lady Glencora must have suffered in remaining out so long.”
The insinuation that Alice was not a delicate person and that, as regarded her, the severity of the frost was of no moment, was very open, and was duly appreciated. Mr. Bott was aware that his great patron had in some sort changed his opinion about Miss Vavasor, and he was of course disposed to change his own. A fortnight since Alice might have been as delicate as she pleased in Mr. Bott’s estimation.
“I hope you do not consider Lady Glencora delicate,” said Alice to Mr. Palliser.
“She is not robust,” said the husband.
“By no means,” said Mrs. Marsham.
“Indeed, no,” said Mr. Bott.
Alice knew that she was being accused of being robust herself; but she bore it in silence. Ploughboys and milkmaids are robust, and the accusation was a heavy one. Alice, however, thought that she would not have minded it, if she could have allowed herself to reply; but this at the moment of her going away she could not do.
“I think she is as strong as the rest of us,” said Iphigenia Palliser, who felt that after last night she owed something to Miss Vavasor.
“As some of us,” said Mr. Bott, determined to persevere in his accusation.
At this moment Lady Glencora entered, and encountered the eager inquiries of her two duennas. These, however, she quickly put aside, and made her way up to Alice. “The last morning has come, then,” she said.
“Yes, indeed,” said Alice. “Mr. Palliser must have thought that I was never going.”
“On the other hand,” said he, “I have felt much obliged to you for staying.” But he said it coldly; and Alice began to wish that she had never seen Matching Priory.
“Obliged!” exclaimed Lady Glencora. “I can’t tell you how much obliged I am. Oh, Alice, I wish you were going to stay with us!”
“We are leaving this in a week’s time,” said Mr. Palliser.
“Of course we are,” said Lady Glencora. “With all my heart I wish we were not. Dear Alice! I suppose we shall not meet till we are all in town.”
“You will let me know when you come up,” said Alice.
“I will send to you instantly; and, Alice, I will write to you from Gatherum—or from Monkshade.”
Alice could not help looking around and catching Miss Palliser’s eye. Miss Palliser was standing with her foot on the fender, but was so placed that she could see Alice. She made a slight sign with her head, as much as to say that Lady Glencora must have no opportunity of writing from the latter place; but she said nothing.
Then the carriage was announced, and Mr. Palliser took Alice out on his arm. “Don’t come to the door, Glencora,” he said. “I especially wish you not to do so.” The two cousins then kissed each other, and Alice went away to the carriage.
“Goodbye, Miss Vavasor,” said Mr. Palliser; but he expressed no wish that he might see her again as his guest at Matching Priory.
Alice, as she was driven in solitary grandeur to the railway station, could not but wish that she had never gone there.
XXIX
Burgo Fitzgerald
On the night before Christmas Eve two men were sitting together in George Vavasor’s rooms in Cecil Street. It was past twelve o’clock, and they were both smoking; there were square bottles on the table containing spirits, with hot water and cold water in jugs, and one of the two men was using, and had been using, these materials for enjoyment. Vavasor had not
