“Upon my word, Alice, I think this will kill me,” she said. “I am not to stir out of the house now, unless I go in the carriage, or he is with me.”
“It won’t last long.”
“I don’t know what you call long. As for walking with him, it’s out of the question. He goes about a mile an hour. And then he makes me look so much like a fool. I had no idea that he would be such an old coddle.”
“The coddling will all be given to someone else, very soon.”
“No baby could possibly live through it, if you mean that. If there is a baby—”
“I suppose there will be one, by-and-by,” said Alice.
“Don’t be a fool! But, if there is, I shall take that matter into my own hands. He can do what he pleases with me, and I can’t help myself; but I shan’t let him or anybody do what they please with my baby. I know what I’m about in such matters a great deal better than he does. I’ve no doubt he’s a very clever man in Parliament; but he doesn’t seem to me to understand anything else.”
Alice was making some very wise speech in answer to this, when Lady Glencora interrupted her.
“Mr. Grey wouldn’t make himself so troublesome, I’m quite sure.” Then Alice held her tongue.
When the first consternation arising from the news had somewhat subsided—say in a fortnight from the day in which Mr. Palliser was made so triumphant—and when tidings had been duly sent to the Duke, and an answer from his Grace had come, arrangements were made for the return of the party to England. The Duke’s reply was very short:—
My dear Plantagenet—Give my kind love to Glencora. If it’s a boy, of course I will be one of the godfathers. The Prince, who is very kind, will perhaps oblige me by being the other. I should advise you to return as soon as convenient.
That was the letter; and short as it was, it was probably the longest that Mr. Palliser had ever received from the Duke.
There was great trouble about the mode of their return.
“Oh, what nonsense,” said Glencora. “Let us get into an express train, and go right through to London.” Mr. Palliser looked at her with a countenance full of rebuke and sorrow. He was always so looking at her now. “If you mean, Plantagenet, that we are to be dragged all across the Continent in that horrible carriage, and be a thousand days on the road, I for one won’t submit to it.” “I wish I had never told him a word about it,” she said afterwards to Alice. “He would never have found it out himself, till this thing was all over.”
Mr. Palliser did at last consent to take the joint opinion of a Swiss doctor and an English one who was settled at Berne; and who, on the occasion, was summoned to Lucerne. They suggested the railway; and as letters arrived for Mr. Palliser—medical letters—in which the same opinion was broached, it was agreed, at last, that they should return by railway; but they were to make various halts on the road, stopping at each halting-place for a day. The first was, of course, Basle, and from Basle they were to go on to Baden.
“I particularly want to see Baden again,” Lady Glencora said; “and perhaps I may be able to get back my napoleon.”
LXXIV
Showing What Happened in the Churchyard
These arrangements as to the return of Mr. Palliser’s party to London did not, of course, include Mr. Grey. They were generally discussed in Mr. Grey’s absence, and communicated to him by Mr. Palliser. “I suppose we shall see you in England before long?” said Mr. Palliser. “I shall be able to tell you that before you go,” said Grey. “Not but that in any event I shall return to England before the winter.”
“Then come to us at Matching,” said Mr. Palliser. “We shall be most happy to have you. Say that you’ll come for the first fortnight in December. After that we always go to the Duke, in Barsetshire. Though, by the by, I don’t suppose we shall go anywhere this year,” Mr. Palliser added, interrupting the warmth of his invitation, and reflecting that, under the present circumstances, perhaps, it might be improper to have any guests at Matching in December. But he had become very fond of Mr. Grey, and on this occasion, as he had done on some others, pressed him warmly to make an attempt at Parliament. “It isn’t nearly so difficult as you think,” said he, when Grey declared that he would not know where to look for a seat. “See the men that get in. There was Mr. Vavasor. Even he got a seat.”
“But he had to pay for it very dearly.”
“You might easily find some quiet little borough.”
“Quiet little boroughs have usually got their own quiet little Members,” said Grey.
“They’re fond of change; and if you like to spend a thousand pounds, the thing isn’t difficult. I’ll put you in the way of it.” But Mr. Grey still declined. He was not a man prone to be talked out of his own way of life, and the very fact that George Vavasor had been in Parliament would of itself have gone far towards preventing any attempt on his part in that direction. Alice had also wanted him to go into public life, but he had put aside her request as though the thing were quite out of the question—never giving a moment to its consideration. Had she asked him to settle himself and her in Central Africa, his manner and mode of refusal would
