“Are the people all out?” his wife asked him.
“The men have not come in from shooting;—at least I think not;—and some of the ladies are driving, I suppose. But I haven’t seen anybody since you went.”
“Of course you haven’t. He never has time, Alice, to see anyone. But we’ll go upstairs, dear. I told them to let us have tea in my dressing-room, as I thought you’d like that better than going into the drawing-room before you had taken off your things. You must be famished, I know. Then you can come down, or if you want to avoid two dressings you can sit over the fire upstairs till dinnertime.” So saying she skipped upstairs and Alice followed her. “Here’s my dressing-room, and here’s your room all but opposite. You look out into the park. It’s pretty, isn’t it? But come into my dressing-room, and see the ruins out of the window.”
Alice followed Lady Glencora across the passage into what she called her dressing-room, and there found herself surrounded by an infinitude of feminine luxuries. The prettiest of tables were there;—the easiest of chairs;—the most costly of cabinets;—the quaintest of old china ornaments. It was bright with the gayest colours—made pleasant to the eye with the binding of many books, having nymphs painted on the ceiling and little Cupids on the doors. “Isn’t it pretty?” she said, turning quickly on Alice. “I call it my dressing-room because in that way I can keep people out of it, but I have my brushes and soap in a little closet there, and my clothes—my clothes are everywhere I suppose, only there are none of them here. Isn’t it pretty?”
“Very pretty.”
“The Duke did it all. He understands such things thoroughly. Now to Mr. Palliser a dressing-room is a dressing-room, and a bedroom a bedroom. He cares for nothing being pretty; not even his wife, or he wouldn’t have married me.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you meant it.”
“Well, I don’t know. Sometimes when I look at myself, when I simply am myself, with no making up or grimacing, you know, I think I’m the ugliest young woman the sun ever shone on. And in ten years’ time I shall be the ugliest old woman. Only think—my hair is beginning to get grey, and I’m not twenty-one yet. Look at it;” and she lifted up the wavy locks just above her ear. “But there’s one comfort; he doesn’t care about beauty. How old are you?”
“Over five-and-twenty,” said Alice.
“Nonsense;—then I oughtn’t to have asked you. I am so sorry.”
“That’s nonsense at any rate. Why should you think I should be ashamed of my age?”
“I don’t know why, only somehow, people are; and I didn’t think you were so old. Five-and-twenty seems so old to me. It would be nothing if you were married; only, you see, you won’t get married.”
“Perhaps I may yet; some day.”
“Of course you will. You’ll have to give way. You’ll find that they’ll get the better of you. Your father will storm at you, and Lady Macleod will preach at you, and Lady Midlothian will jump upon you.”
“I’m not a bit afraid of Lady Midlothian.”
“I know what it is, my dear, to be jumped upon. We talked with such horror of the French people giving their daughters in marriage, just as they might sell a house or a field, but we do exactly the same thing ourselves. When they all come upon you in earnest how are you to stand against them? How can any girl do it?”
“I think I shall be able.”
“To be sure you’re older—and you are not so heavily weighted. But never mind; I didn’t mean to talk about that;—not yet at any rate. Well, now, my dear, I must go down. The Duchess of St. Bungay is here, and Mr. Palliser will be angry if I don’t do pretty to her. The Duke is to be the new President of the Council, or rather, I believe he is President now. I try to remember it all, but it is so hard when one doesn’t really care two pence how it goes. Not but what I’m very anxious that Mr. Palliser should be Chancellor of the Exchequer. And now, will you remain here, or will you come down with me, or will you go to your own room, and I’ll call for you when I go down to dinner? We dine at eight.”
Alice decided that she would stay in her own room till dinner time, and was taken there by Lady Glencora. She found her maid unpacking her clothes, and for a while employed herself in assisting at the work; but that was soon done, and then she was left alone. “I shall feel so strange, ma’am, among all those people downstairs,” said the girl. “They all seem to look at me as though they didn’t know who I was.”
“You’ll get over that soon, Jane.”
“I suppose I shall; but you see, they’re all like knowing each other, miss.”
Alice, when she sat down alone, felt herself to be very much in the same condition as her maid. What would the Duchess of St. Bungay or Mr. Jeffrey Palliser—who himself might live to be a duke if things went well for him—care for her? As to Mr. Palliser, the master of the house, it was already evident to her that he would not put himself out of his way for her. Had she not done wrong to come there?
