Alice rose and accepted Mrs. Marsham’s salutation quite as coldly as it had been given, and from that time forward those two ladies were enemies. Mrs. Marsham, groping quite in the dark, partly guessed that Alice had in some way interfered to prevent Lady Glencora’s visit to Monkshade, and, though such prevention was, no doubt, good in that lady’s eyes, she resented the interference. She had made up her mind that Alice was not the sort of friend that Lady Glencora should have about her. Alice recognized and accepted the feud.
“I thought I might find you at home,” said Mrs. Marsham, “as I know you are lazy about going out in the cold—unless it be for a foolish midnight ramble,” and Mrs. Marsham shook her head. She was a little woman, with sharp small eyes, with a permanent colour in her face, and two short, crisp, grey curls at each side of her face; always well dressed, always in good health, and, as Lady Glencora believed, altogether incapable of fatigue.
“The ramble you speak of was very wise, I think,” said Lady Glencora; “but I never could see the use of driving about in London in the middle of winter.”
“One ought to go out of the house every day,” said Mrs. Marsham.
“I hate all those rules. Don’t you, Alice?” Alice did not hate them, therefore she said nothing.
“My dear Glencora, one must live by rules in this life. You might as well say that you hated sitting down to dinner.”
“So I do, very often; almost always when there’s company.”
“You’ll get over that feeling after another season in town,” said Mrs. Marsham, pretending to suppose that Lady Glencora alluded to some remaining timidity in receiving her own guests.
“Upon my word I don’t think I shall. It’s a thing that seems always to be getting more grievous, instead of less so. Mr. Bott is coming to dine here tonight.”
There was no mistaking the meaning of this. There was no pretending even to mistake it. Now, Mrs. Marsham had accepted the right hand of fellowship from Mr. Bott—not because she especially liked him, but in compliance with the apparent necessities of Mr. Palliser’s position. Mr. Bott had made good his ground about Mr. Palliser; and Mrs. Marsham, as she was not strong enough to turn him off from it, had given him the right hand of fellowship.
“Mr. Bott is a Member of Parliament, and a very serviceable friend of Mr. Palliser’s,” said Mrs. Marsham.
“All the same; we do not like Mr. Bott—do we, Alice? He is Doctor Fell to us; only I think we could tell why.”
“I certainly do not like him,” said Alice.
“It can be but of small matter to you, Miss Vavasor,” said Mrs. Marsham, “as you will not probably have to see much of him.”
“Of the very smallest moment,” said Alice. “He did annoy me once, but will never, I dare say, have an opportunity of doing so again.”
“I don’t know what the annoyance may have been.”
“Of course you don’t, Mrs. Marsham.”
“But I shouldn’t have thought it likely that a person so fully employed as Mr. Bott, and employed, too, on matters of such vast importance, would have gone out of his way to annoy a young lady whom he chanced to meet for a day or two in a country-house.”
“I don’t think that Alice means that he attempted to flirt with her,” said Lady Glencora, laughing. “Fancy Mr. Bott’s flirtation!”
“Perhaps he did not attempt,” said Mrs. Marsham; and the words, the tone, and the innuendo together were more than Alice was able to bear with equanimity.
“Glencora,” said she, rising from her chair, “I think I’ll leave you alone with Mrs. Marsham. I’m not disposed to discuss Mr. Bott’s character, and certainly not to hear his name mentioned in disagreeable connection with my own.”
But Lady Glencora would not let her go. “Nonsense, Alice,” she said. “If you and I can’t fight our little battles against Mr. Bott and Mrs. Marsham without running away, it is odd. There is a warfare in which they who run away never live to fight another day.”
“I hope, Glencora, you do not count me as your enemy?” said Mrs. Marsham, drawing herself up.
“But I shall—certainly, if you attack Alice. Love me, love my dog. I beg your pardon, Alice; but what I meant was this, Mrs. Marsham; Love me, love the best friend I have in the world.”
“I did not mean to offend Miss Vavasor,” said Mrs. Marsham, looking at her very grimly. Alice merely bowed her head. She had been offended, and she would not deny it. After that, Mrs. Marsham took herself off, saying that she would be back to dinner. She was angry, but not unhappy. She thought that she could put down Miss Vavasor, and she was prepared to bear a good deal from Lady Glencora—for Mr. Palliser’s sake, as she said to herself, with some attempt at a sentimental remembrance of her old friend.
“She’s a nasty old cat,” said Lady Glencora, as soon as the door was closed; and she said these words with so droll a voice, with such a
