The Small House at Allington
would not marry. Of all men in the world he was the least likely to
spite his own face by cutting off his own nose; and, for the rest of
it, Mr. Palliser would take his chance. Therefore he went down to
Hartlebury early in February, having fully determined to be very
particular in his attentions to Lady Dumbello.
Among a houseful of people at Hartlebury, he found Lord Porlock, a
slight, sickly, worn-out looking man, who had something about his eye
of his father's hardness, but nothing in his mouth of his father's
ferocity.
"So your sister is going to be married?" said Mr. Palliser.
"Yes. One has no right to be surprised at anything they do, when one
remembers the life their father leads them."
"I was going to congratulate you."
"Don't do that."
"I met him at Courcy, and rather liked him."
Mr. Palliser had barely spoken to Mr. Crosbie at Courcy, but then in
the usual course of his social life he seldom did more than barely
speak to anybody.
"Did you?" said Lord Porlock. "For the poor girl's sake I hope he's
not a ruffian. How any man should propose to my father to marry a
daughter out of his house, is more than I can understand. How was my
mother looking?"
"I didn't see anything amiss about her."
"I expect that he'll murder her some day." Then that conversation
came to an end.
Mr. Palliser himself perceived--as he looked at her he could not but
perceive--that a certain amount of social energy seemed to enliven
Lady Dumbello when he approached her. She was given to smile when
addressed, but her usual smile was meaningless, almost leaden, and
never in any degree flattering to the person to whom it was accorded.
Very many women smile as they answer the words which are spoken to
them, and most who do so flatter by their smile. The thing is so
common that no one thinks of it. The flattering pleases, but means
nothing. The impression unconsciously taken simply conveys a feeling
that the woman has made herself agreeable, as it was her duty to
do,--agreeable, as far as that smile went, in some very infinitesimal
degree. But she has thereby made her little contribution to society.
She will make the same contribution a hundred times in the same
evening. No one knows that she has flattered anybody; she does not
know it herself; and the world calls her an agreeable woman. But Lady
Dumbello put no flattery into her customary smiles. They were cold,
unmeaning, accompanied by no special glance of the eye, and seldom
addressed to the individual. They were given to the room at large;
and the room at large, acknowledging her great pretensions, accepted
them as sufficient. But when Mr. Palliser came near to her she would
turn herself slightly, ever so slightly, on her seat, and would allow
her eyes to rest for a moment upon his face. Then when he remarked
that it had been rather cold, she would smile actually upon him as
she acknowledged the truth of his observation. All this Mr. Palliser
taught himself to observe, having been instructed by his foolish
uncle in that lesson as to the greasing of the horses' teeth.
But, nevertheless, during the first week of his stay at Hartlebury,
he did not say a word to her more tender than his observation about
the weather. It is true that he was very busy. He had undertaken to
speak upon the address, and as Parliament was now about to be opened,
and as his speech was to be based upon statistics, he was full of
figures and papers. His correspondence was pressing, and the day was
seldom long enough for his purposes. He felt that the intimacy to
which he aspired was hindered by the laborious routine of his life;
but nevertheless he would do something before he left Hartlebury, to
show the special nature of his regard. He would say something to her,
that should open to her view the secret of--shall we say his heart?
Such was his resolve, day after day. And yet day after day went by,
and nothing was said. He fancied that Lord Dumbello was somewhat less
friendly in his manner than he had been, that he put himself in the
way and looked cross; but, as he declared to himself, he cared very
little for Lord Dumbello's looks.
"When do you go to town?" he said to her one evening.
"Probably in April. We certainly shall not leave Hartlebury before
that."
"Ah, yes. You stay for the hunting."
"Yes; Lord Dumbello always remains here through March. He may run up
to town for a day or two."
"How comfortable! I must be in London on Thursday, you know."
"When Parliament meets, I suppose?"
"Exactly. It is such a bore; but one has to do it."
"When a man makes a business of it, I suppose he must."
"Oh, dear, yes; it's quite imperative." Then Mr. Palliser looked
round the room, and thought he saw Lord Dumbello's eye fixed upon
him. It was really very hard work. If the truth must be told, he
did not know how to begin. What was he to say to her? How was he to
commence a conversation that should end by being tender? She was very
handsome certainly, and for him she could look interesting; but for
his very life he did not know how to begin to say anything special
to her. A liaison with such a woman as Lady Dumbello,--platonic,
innocent, but nevertheless very intimate,--would certainly lend
a grace to his life, which, under its present circumstances, was
rather dry. He was told,--told by public rumour which had reached
him through his uncle,--that the lady was willing. She certainly
looked as though she liked him; but how was he to begin? The art of
startling the House of Commons and frightening the British public by
the voluminous accuracy of his statistics he had already learned; but
what was he to say to a pretty woman?
"You'll be sure to be in London in April?"
This was on another occasion.
"Oh, yes; I think so."
"In Carlton Gardens, I suppose."
"Yes; Lord Dumbello has got a lease of the house now."
"Has he, indeed? Ah, it's an excellent house. I hope I shall be
allowed to call there sometimes."
"Certainly,--only I know you must be so busy."
"Not on Saturdays and Sundays."
"I always receive on Sundays," said Lady Dumbello. Mr. Palliser felt
that there was nothing peculiarly gracious in this. A permission to
call when all her other acquaintances would be there, was not much;
but still, perhaps, it was as much as he could expect to obtain on
that occasion. He looked up and saw that Lord Dumbello's eyes were
again upon him, and that Lord Dumbello's brow was black. He began
to doubt whether a country house, where all the people were thrown
together, was the best place in the world for such manoeuvring.
Lady Dumbello was very handsome, and he liked to look at her, but
he could not find any subject on which to interest her in that
drawing-room at Hartlebury. Later in the evening he found himself
saying something to her about the sugar duties, and then he knew that
he had better give it up. He had only one day more, and that was
required imperatively for his speech. The matter would go much
easier in London, and he would postpone it till then. In the crowded
rooms of London private conversation would be much easier, and Lord
Dumbello wouldn't stand over and look at him. Lady Dumbello had
taken his remarks about the sugar very kindly, and had asked for a
definition of an ad valorem duty. It was a nearer approach to a real
conversation than he had ever before made; but the subject had been
unlucky, and could not, in his hands, be brought round to anything
tender; so he resolved to postpone his gallantry till the London
spring should make it easy, and felt as he did so, that he was
relieved for the time from a heavy weight.
"Good-by, Lady Dumbello," he said, on the next evening. "I start
early to-morrow morning."
"Good-by, Mr. Palliser."
As she spoke she smiled ever so sweetly, but she certainly had not
learned to call him Plantagenet as yet. He went up to London and
immediately got himself to work. The accurate and voluminous speech
came off with considerable credit to himself,--credit of that
quiet, enduring kind which is accorded to such men. The speech was
respectable, dull, and correct. Men listened to it, or sat with
their hats over their eyes, asleep, pretending to do so; and the
Daily Jupiter in the morning had a leading article about it, which,
however, left the reader at its close altogether in doubt whether
Mr. Palliser might be supposed to be a great financial pundit or no.
Mr. Palliser might become a shining light to the moneyed world, and
a glory to the banking interests; he might be a future Chancellor
of the Exchequer. But then again, it might turn out that, in these
affairs, he was a mere ignis fatuus, a blind guide,--a man to be laid
aside as very respectable, but of no depth. Who, then, at the present
time, could judiciously risk his credit by declaring whether Mr.
Palliser understood his subject or did not understand it? We are not
content in looking to our newspapers for all the information that
earth and human intellect can afford; but we demand from them what
we might demand if a daily sheet could come to us from the world of
spirits. The result, of course, is this,--that the papers do pretend
that they have come daily from the world of spirits; but the oracles
are very doubtful, as were those of old.
Plantagenet Palliser, though he was contented with this article,
felt, as he sat in his chambers in the Albany, that something else
was wanting to his happiness. This sort of life was all very well.
Ambition was a grand thing, and it became him, as a Palliser and a
future peer, to make politics his profession. But might he not spare
an hour or two for Amaryllis in the shade? Was it not hard, this life
of his? Since he had been told that Lady Dumbello smiled upon him, he
had certainly thought more about her smiles than had been good for
his statistics. It seemed as though a new vein in his body had been
brought into use, and that blood was running where blood had never
run before. If he had seen Lady Dumbello before Dumbello had seen
her, might he not have married her? Ah! in such case as that, had she
been simply Miss Grantly, or Lady Griselda Grantly, as the case might
have been, he thought he might have been able to speak to her with
more ease. As it was, he certainly had found the task difficult, down
in the country, though he had heard of men of his class doing the
same sort of thing all his life. For my own part, I believe that the
reputed sinners are much more numerous than the sinners.
As he sat there, a certain Mr. Fothergill came in upon him. Mr.
Fothergill was a gentleman who managed most of his uncle's ordinary
affairs,--a clever fellow, who knew on which side his bread was
buttered. Mr. Fothergill was naturally anxious to stand well with the
heir; but to stand well with the owner was his business in life, and
with that business he never allowed anything to interfere. On this
occasion Mr. Fothergill was very civil, complimenting his future
possible patron on his very powerful speech, and predicting for him
political power with much more certainty than the newspapers which
had, or had not, come from the world of spirits. Mr. Fothergill had
come in to say a word or two about some matter of business. As all
Mr. Palliser's money passed through Mr. Fothergill's hands, and as
his electioneering interests were managed by Mr. Fothergill, Mr.
Fothergill not unfrequently called to say a necessary word or two.
When this was done he said another word or two, which might be
necessary or not, as the case might be.
"Mr. Palliser," said he, "I wonder you don't think of marrying. I
hope you'll excuse me."
Mr. Palliser was by no means sure that he would excuse him, and sat
himself suddenly upright in his chair in a manner that was intended
to exhibit a first symptom of outraged dignity. But, singularly