Alice insisted on being left up in the churchyard, urging that she wanted to "think about it all," but, in truth, fearing that she might not be able to carry herself well, if she were to walk down with her lover to the hotel. To this he made no objection, and, on reaching the inn, met Mr. Palliser in the hall. Mr. Palliser was already inspecting the arrangement of certain large trunks which had been brought down-stairs, and was preparing for their departure. He was going about the house, with a nervous solicitude to do something, and was flattering himself that he was of use. As he could not be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and as, by the nature of his disposition, some employment was necessary to him, he was looking to the cording of the boxes. "Good morning! good morning!" he said to Grey, hardly looking at him, as though time were too precious with him to allow of his turning his eyes upon his friend. "I am going up to the station to see after a carriage for to-morrow. Perhaps you'll come with me." To this proposition Mr. Grey assented. "Sometimes, you know," continued Mr. Palliser, "the springs of the carriages are so very rough." Then, in a very few words, Mr. Grey told him what had been his own morning's work. He hated secrets and secrecy, and as the Pallisers knew well what had brought him upon their track, it was, he thought, well that they should know that he had been successful. Mr. Palliser congratulated him very cordially, and then, running up-stairs for his gloves or his stick, or, more probably, that he might give his wife one other caution as to her care of herself, he told her also that Alice had yielded at last. "Of course she has," said Lady Glencora.
"I really didn't think she would," said he.
"That's because you don't understand things of that sort," said his wife. Then the caution was repeated, the mother of the future duke was kissed, and Mr. Palliser went off on his mission about the carriage, its cushions, and its springs. In the course of their walk Mr. Palliser suggested that, as things were settled so pleasantly, Mr. Grey might as well return with them to England, and to this suggestion Mr. Grey assented.
Alice remained alone for nearly an hour, looking out upon the rough sides and gloomy top of Mount Pilate. No one disturbed her in the churchyard,--no steps were heard along the tombstones,--no voice sounded through the cloisters. She was left in perfect solitude to think of the past, and form her plans of the future. Was she happy, now that the manner of her life to come was thus settled for her; that all further question as to the disposal of herself was taken out of her hands, and that her marriage with a man she loved was so firmly arranged that no further folly of her own could disarrange it? She was happy, though she was slow to confess her happiness to herself. She was happy, and she was resolute in this,--that she would now do all she could to make him happy also. And there must now, she acknowledged, be an end to her pride,--to that pride which had hitherto taught her to think that she could more wisely follow her own guidance than that of any other who might claim to guide her. She knew now that she must follow his guidance. She had found her master, as we sometimes say, and laughed to herself with a little inward laughter as she confessed that it was so. She was from henceforth altogether in his hands. If he chose to tell her that they were to be married at Michaelmas, or at Christmas, or on Lady Day, they would, of course, be married accordingly. She had taken her fling at having her own will, and she and all her friends had seen what had come of it. She had assumed the command of the ship, and had thrown it upon the rocks, and she felt that she never ought to take the captain's place again. It was well for her that he who was to be captain was one whom she respected as thoroughly as she loved him.
She would write to her father at once,--to her father and Lady Macleod,--and would confess everything. She felt that she owed it to them that they should be told by herself that they had been right and that she had been wrong. Hitherto she had not mentioned to either of them the fact that Mr. Grey was with them in Switzerland. And, then, what must she do as to Lady Midlothian? As to Lady Midlothian, she would do nothing. Lady Midlothian, of course, would triumph;--would jump upon her, as Lady Glencora had once expressed it, with very triumphant heels,--would try to patronize her, or, which would be almost worse, would make a parade of her forgiveness. But she would have nothing to do with Lady Midlothian, unless, indeed, Mr. Grey should order it. Then she laughed at herself again with that inward laughter, and, rising from her seat, proceeded to walk down the hill to the hotel.
"Vanquished at last!" said Lady Glencora, as Alice entered the room.
"Yes, vanquished; if you like to call it so," said Alice.
"It is not what I call it, but what you feel it," said the other. "Do you think that I don't know you well enough to be sure that you regard yourself now as an unfortunate prisoner,--as a captive taken in war, to be led away in triumph, without any hope of a ransom? I know that it is quite a misery to you that you should be made a happy woman of at last. I understand it all, my dear, and my heart bleeds for you."
"Of course; I knew that was the way you would treat me."
"In what way would you have me treat you? If I were to hug you with joy, and tell you how good he is, and how fortunate you are,--if I were to praise him, and bid you triumph in your success, as might be expected on such an occasion,--you would put on a long face at once, and tell me that though the thing is to be, it would be much better that the thing shouldn't be. Don't I know you, Alice?"
"I shouldn't have said that;--not now."
"I believe in my heart you would;--that, or something like it. But I do wish you joy all the same, and you may say what you please. He has got you in his power now, and I don't think even you can go back."
"No; I shall not go back again."
"I would join with Lady Midlothian in putting you into a madhouse, if you did. But I am so glad; I am, indeed. I was afraid to the last,--terribly afraid; you are so hard and so proud. I don't mean hard to me, dear. You have never been half hard enough to me. But you are hard to yourself, and, upon my word, you have been hard to him. What a deal you will have to make up to him!"
"I feel that I ought to stand before him always as a penitent,--in a white sheet."
"He will like it better, I dare say, if you will sit upon his knee. Some penitents do, you know. And how happy you will be! He'll never explain the sugar-duties to you, and there'll be no Mr. Bott at Nethercoats." They sat together the whole morning,--while Mr. Palliser was seeing to the springs and cushions,--and by degrees Alice began to enjoy her happiness. As she did so her friend enjoyed it with her, and at last they had something of the comfort and excitement which such an occasion should give. "I'll tell you what, Alice; you shall come and be married at Matching, in August, or perhaps September. That's the only way in which I can be present; and if we can bespeak some sun, we'll have the breakfast out in the ruins."
On the following morning they all started together, a first-class compartment having been taken for the Palliser family, and a second-class compartment close to them for the Palliser servants. Mr. Palliser, as he slowly handed his wife in, was a triumphant man; as was also Mr. Grey, as he handed in his lady-love, though, in a manner, much less manifest. We may say that both the gentlemen had been very fortunate while at Lucerne. Mr. Palliser had come abroad with a feeling that all the world had been cut from under his feet. A great change was needed for his wife, and he had acknowledged at once that everything must be made to yield to that necessity. He certainly had his reward,--now in his triumphant return. Terrible troubles had afflicted him as he went, which seemed now to have dissipated themselves altogether. When he thought of Burgo Fitzgerald he remembered him only as a poor, unfortunate fellow, for whom he should be glad to do something, if the doing of anything were only in his power; and he had in his pocket a letter which he had that morning received from the Duke of St. Bungay, marked private and confidential, which was in its nature very private and confidential, and in which he was told that Lord Brock and Mr. Finespun were totally at variance about French wines. Mr. Finespun wanted to do something, now in the recess,--to send some political agent over to France,--to which Lord Brock would not agree; and no one knew what would be the consequence of this disagreement. Here might be another chance,--if only Mr. Palliser could give up his winter in Italy! Mr. Palliser, as he took his place opposite his wife, was very triumphant.
And Mr. Grey was triumphant, as he placed himself gently in his seat opposite to Alice. He seemed to assume no right, as he took that position apparently because it was the one which came naturally to his lot. No one would have been made aware that Alice was his own simply by seeing his arrangements for her comfort. He made no loud assertion as to his property and his rights, as some men do. He was quiet and subdued in his joy, but not the less was he triumphant. From the day on which Alice had accepted his first offer,--nay, from an earlier day than that; from the day on which he had first resolved to make it, down to the present hour, he had never been stirred from his purpose. By every word that he had said, and by every act that he had done, he had shown himself to be unmoved by that episode in their joint lives, which Alice's other friends had regarded as so fatal. When she first rejected him, he would not take his rejection. When she told him that she intended to marry her cousin, he silently declined to believe that such marriage would ever take place. He had never given her up for a day, and now the event proved that he had been right. Alice was happy, very happy; but she was still disposed to regard her lover as Fate, and her happiness as an enforced necessity.
They stopped a night at Basle, and again she stood upon the balcony. He was close to her as she stood there,--so close that, putting out her hand for his, she was able to take it and press it closely. "You are thinking of something, Alice," he said. "What is it?"
"It was here," she said--"here, on this very balcony, that I first rebelled against you, and now you have brought me here that I should confess and submit on the same spot. I do confess. How am I to thank you for forgiving me?"
[Illustration: "How am I to thank you for forgiving me?"]
On the following morning they went on to Baden-Baden, and there they stopped for a couple of days. Lady Glencora had positively refused to stop a day at Basle, making so many objections to the place that her husband had at last yielded. "I could go from Vienna to London without feeling it," she said, with indignation; "and to tell me that I can't do two easy days' journey running!" Mr. Palliser had been afraid to be imperious, and therefore, immediately on his arrival at one of the stations in Basle, he had posted across the town, in the heat and the dust, to look after the cushions and the springs at the other.
"I've a particular favour to ask of you," Lady Glencora said to her husband, as soon as they were alone together in their rooms at Baden. Mr. Palliser declared that he would grant her any particular favour,--only premising that he was not to be supposed to have thereby committed himself to any engagement under which his wife should have authority to take any exertion upon herself. "I wish I were a milkmaid," said Lady Glencora.
"But you are not a milkmaid, my dear. You haven't been brought up like a milkmaid."
But what was the favour? If she would only ask for jewels,--though they were the Grand Duchess's diamond eardrops, he would endeavour to get them for her. If she would have quaffed molten pearls, like Cleopatra, he would have procured the beverage,--having first fortified himself with a medical opinion as to the fitness of the drink for a lady in her condition. There was no expenditure that he would not willingly incur for her, nothing costly that he would grudge. But when she asked for a favour, he was always afraid of an imprudence. Very possibly she might want to drink beer in an open garden.
And her request was, at last, of this nature: "I want you to take me up to the gambling-rooms!" said she.
"The gambling-rooms!" said Mr. Palliser in dismay.
"Yes, Plantagenet; the gambling-rooms. If you had been with me before, I should not have made a fool of myself by putting my piece of money on the table. I want to see the place; but then I saw nothing, because I was so frightened when I found that I was winning."
Mr. Palliser was aware that all the world of Baden,--or rather the world of the strangers at Baden,--assembles itself in those salons. It may be also that he himself was curious to see how men looked when they lost their own money, or won that of others. He knew how a Minister looked when he lost or gained a tax. He was familiar with millions and tens of millions in a committee of the whole House. He knew the excitement of a near division upon the estimates. But he had never yet seen a poor man stake his last napoleon, and rake back from off the table a small hatful of gold. A little exercise after an early dinner was, he had been told, good for his wife; and he agreed therefore that, on their second evening at Baden, they would all walk up and see the play.
"Perhaps I shall get back my napoleon," said Glencora to Alice.
"And perhaps I shall be forgiven when somebody sees how difficult it is to manage you," said Alice, looking at Mr. Palliser.
"She isn't in earnest," said Mr. Palliser, almost fearing the result of the experiment.
"I don't know that," said Lady Glencora.
They started together, Mr. Palliser with his wife, and Mr. Grey with Alice on his arm, and found all the tables at work. They at first walked through the different rooms, whispering to each other their comments on the people that they saw, and listening to the quick, low, monotonous words of the croupiers as they arranged and presided over the games. Each table was closely surrounded by its own crowd, made up of players, embryo players, and simple lookers-on, so that they could not see much as they walked. But this was not enough for Lady Glencora. She was anxious to know what these men and women were doing,--to see whether the croupiers wore horns on their heads and were devils indeed,--to behold the faces of those who were wretched and of those who were triumphant,--to know how the thing was done, and to learn something of that lesson in life. "Let us stand here a moment," she said to her husband, arresting him at one corner of the table which had the greatest crowd. "We shall be able to see in a few minutes." So he stood with her there, giving way to Alice, who went in front with his wife; and in a minute or two an aperture was made, so that they could all see the marked cloth, and the money lying about, and the rakes on the table, and the croupier skilfully dealing his cards, and,--more interesting than all the rest, the faces of those who were playing. Grey looked on, over Alice's shoulder, very attentively,--as did Palliser also,--but both of them kept their eyes upon the ministers of the work. Alice and Glencora did the same at first, but as they gained courage they glanced round upon the gamblers.
It was a long table, having, of course, four corners, and at the corner appropriated by them they were partly opposite to the man who dealt the cards. The corner answering to theirs at the other end was the part of the table most removed from their sight, and that on which their eyes fell last. As Lady Glencora stood she could hardly see,--indeed, at first she could not see,--one or two who were congregated at this spot. Mr. Palliser, who was behind her, could not see them at all. But to Alice,--and to Mr. Grey, had he cared about it,--every face at the table was visible except the faces of those who were immediately close to them. Before long Alice's attention was riveted on the action and countenance of one young man who sat at that other corner. He was leaning, at first listlessly, over the table, dressed in a velveteen jacket, and with his round-topped hat brought far over his eyes, so that she could not fully see his face. But she had hardly begun to observe him before he threw back his hat, and taking some pieces of gold from under his left hand, which lay upon the table, pushed three or four of them on to one of the divisions marked on the cloth. He seemed to show no care, as others did, as to the special spot which they should occupy. Many were very particular in this respect, placing their ventures on the lines, so as to share the fortunes of two compartments, or sometimes of four; or they divided their coins, taking three or four numbers, selecting the numbers with almost grotesque attention to some imagined rule of their own. But this man let his gold go all together, and left it where his half-stretched rake deposited it by chance. Alice could not but look at his face. His eyes she could see were bloodshot, and his hair, when he pushed back his hat, was rough and dishevelled; but still there was that in his face which no woman could see and not regard. It was a face which at once prepossessed her in his favour,--as it had always prepossessed all others. On this occasion he had won his money, and Alice saw him drag it in as lazily as he had pushed it out.
"Do you see that little Frenchman?" said Lady Glencora. "He has just made half a napoleon, and has walked off with it. Isn't it interesting? I could stay here all the night." Then she turned round to whisper something to her husband, and Alice's eyes again fell on the face of the man at the other end of the table. After he had won his money, he had allowed the game to go on for a turn without any action on his part. The gold again went under his hand, and he lounged forward with his hat over his eyes. One of the croupiers had said a word, as though calling his attention to the game, but he had merely shaken his head. But when the fate of the next turn had been decided, he again roused himself, and on this occasion, as far as Alice could see, pushed his whole stock forward with the rake. There was a little mass of gold, and, from his manner of placing it, all might see that he left its position to chance. One piece had got beyond its boundary, and the croupier pushed it back with some half-expressed inquiry as to his correctness. "All right," said a voice in English. Then Lady Glencora started and clutched Alice's arm with her hand. Mr. Palliser was explaining to Mr. Grey, behind them, something about German finance as connected with gambling-tables, and did not hear the voice, or see his wife's motion. I need hardly tell the reader that the gambler was Burgo Fitzgerald.
But Lady Glencora said not a word,--not as yet. She looked forward very gently, but still with eager eyes, till she could just see the face she knew so well. His hat was now pushed back, and his countenance had lost its listlessness. He watched narrowly the face of the man as he told out the amount of the cards as they were dealt. He did not try to hide his anxiety, and when, after the telling of some six or seven cards, he heard a certain number named, and a certain colour called, he made some exclamation which even Glencora could not hear. And then another croupier put down, close to Burgo's money, certain rolls of gold done up in paper, and also certain loose napoleons.
"Why doesn't he take it?" said Lady Glencora.
"He is taking it," said Alice, not at all knowing the cause of her cousin's anxiety.
Burgo had paused a moment, and then prepared to rake the money to him; but as he did so, he changed his mind, and pushed it all back again,--now, on this occasion, being very careful to place it on its former spot. Both Alice and Glencora could see that a man at his elbow was dissuading him,--had even attempted to stop the arm which held the rake. But Burgo shook him off, speaking to him some word roughly, and then again he steadied the rolls upon their appointed place. The croupier who had paused for a moment now went on quickly with his cards, and in two minutes the fate of Burgo's wealth was decided. It was all drawn back by the croupier's unimpassioned rake, and the rolls of gold were restored to the tray from whence they had been taken.
Burgo looked up and smiled at them all round the table. By this time most of those who stood around were looking at him. He was a man who gathered eyes upon him wherever he might be, or whatever he was doing; and it had been clear that he was very intent upon his fortune, and on the last occasion the amount staked had been considerable. He knew that men and women were looking at him, and therefore he smiled faintly as he turned his eyes round the table. Then he got up, and, putting his hands in his trousers pockets, whistled as he walked away. His companion followed him, and laid a hand upon his shoulder; but Burgo shook him off, and would not turn round. He shook him off, and walked on whistling, the length of the whole salon.
"Alice," said Lady Glencora, "it is Burgo Fitzgerald." Mr. Palliser had gone so deep into that question of German finance that he had not at all noticed the gambler. "Alice, what can we do for him? It is Burgo," said Lady Glencora.
Many eyes were now watching him. Used as he was to the world and to misfortune, he was not successful in his attempt to bear his loss with a show of indifference. The motion of his head, the position of his hands, the tone of his whistling, all told the tale. Even the unimpassioned croupiers furtively cast an eye after him, and a very big Guard, in a cocked hat, and uniform, and sword, who hitherto had hardly been awake, seemed evidently to be interested by his movements. If there is to be a tragedy at these places,--and tragedies will sometimes occur,--it is always as well that the tragic scene should be as far removed as possible from the salons, in order that the public eye should not suffer.
Lady Glencora and Alice had left their places, and had shrunk back, almost behind a pillar. "Is it he, in truth?" Alice asked.
"In very truth," said Glencora. "What can I do? Can I do anything? Look at him, Alice. If he were to destroy himself, what should I do then?"
Burgo, conscious that he was the regarded of all eyes, turned round upon his heel and again walked the length of the salon. He knew well that he had not a franc left in his possession, but still he laughed and still he whistled. His companion, whoever he might be, had slunk away from him, not caring to share the notoriety which now attended him.
"What shall I do, Alice?" said Lady Glencora, with her eyes still fixed on him who had been her lover.
"Tell Mr. Palliser," whispered Alice.
Lady Glencora immediately ran up to her husband, and took him away from Mr. Grey. Rapidly she told her story,--with such rapidity that Mr. Palliser could hardly get in a word. "Do something for him;--do, do. Unless I know that something is done, I shall die. You needn't be afraid."
"I'm not afraid," said Mr. Palliser.
Lady Glencora, as she went on quickly, got hold of her husband's hand, and caressed it. "You are so good," said she. "Don't let him out of your sight. There; he is going. I will go home with Mr. Grey. I will be ever so good; I will, indeed. You know what he'll want, and for my sake you'll let him have it. But don't let him gamble. If you could only get him home to England, and then do something. You owe him something, Plantagenet; do you not?"
"If money can do anything, he shall have it."
"God bless you, dearest! I shall never see him again; but if you could save him! There;--he is going now. Go;--go." She pushed him forward, and then retreating, put her arm within Mr. Grey's, still keeping her eye upon her husband.
Burgo, when he first got to the door leading out of the salon, had paused a moment, and, turning round, had encountered the big gendarme close to him. "Well, old Buffer, what do you want?" said he, accosting the man in English. The big gendarme simply walked on through the door, and said nothing. Then Burgo also passed out, and Mr. Palliser quickly went after him. They were now in the large front salon, from whence the chief door of the building opened out upon the steps. Through this door Burgo went without pausing, and Mr. Palliser went after him. They both walked to the end of the row of buildings, and then Burgo, leaving the broad way, turned into a little path which led up through the trees to the hills. That hillside among the trees is a popular resort at Baden, during the day; but now, at nine in the evening, it was deserted. Palliser did not press on the other man, but followed him, and did not accost Burgo till he had thrown himself on the grass beneath a tree.
"You are in trouble, I fear, Mr. Fitzgerald," said Mr. Palliser, as soon as he was close at Burgo's feet.
"We will go home. Mr. Palliser has something to do," said Lady Glencora to Mr. Grey, as soon as the two men had disappeared from her sight.
"Is that a friend of Mr. Palliser?" said Mr. Grey.
"Yes;--that is, he knows him, and is interested about him. Alice, shall we go home? Oh! Mr. Grey, you must not ask any questions. He,--Mr. Palliser, will tell you everything when he sees you,--that is, if there is anything to be told." Then they all went home, and soon separated for the night. "Of course I shall sit up for him," said Lady Glencora to Alice, "but I will do it in my own room. You can tell Mr. Grey, if you like." But Alice told nothing to Mr. Grey, nor did Mr. Grey ask any questions.

Alice insisted on being left up in the churchyard, urging that she wanted to "think about it all," but, in truth, fearing that she might not be able to carry herself well, if she were to walk with her lover to the hotel.
To this he made no objection. On reaching the inn, he met Mr. Palliser in the hall, inspecting some large trunks which had been brought downstairs. Mr. Palliser had a nervous need to be busy, so he was checking the cording of the trunks.
"Good morning! good morning!" he said to Grey. "I am going up to the station to see about a carriage for tomorrow. Perhaps you'll come with me."
Mr. Grey agreed to this. Then, in a few words, he told him about his own morning's work. He hated secrets, and as the Pallisers knew well what had brought him here, he thought they should know that he had been successful. Mr. Palliser congratulated him very cordially, and then, running upstairs for his gloves, he told his wife that Alice had yielded at last.
"Of course she has," said Lady Glencora.
"I really didn't think she would," said he.
"That's because you don't understand things of that sort," said his wife. Then Mr. Palliser cautioned her to be careful, kissed her, and went off on his mission about the carriage. In the course of their walk Mr. Palliser suggested that, as things were settled so pleasantly, Mr. Grey might as well return with them to England, and Mr. Grey agreed.
Alice remained alone for nearly an hour, looking out upon Mount Pilate. No one disturbed her in the churchyard. She was left in perfect solitude to think of the past, and form her plans of the future. She was happy, though she was slow to confess her happiness to herself. She was resolute that she would now do all she could to make him happy also.
And there must now, she acknowledged, be an end to her pride: to that pride which had made her think that she could more wisely follow her own guidance than that of any others. Now she must follow his guidance. She had found her master, and she laughed to herself a little as she confessed that it was so. She had taken her fling at having her own will, and see what had come of it! She had assumed the command of the ship, and had thrown it upon the rocks, and she felt that she never ought to take the captain's place again. It was well for her that her captain was one whom she respected as thoroughly as she loved him.
She would write to her father at once, and to Lady Macleod, and would confess everything. As to Lady Midlothian, she would do nothing - unless, indeed, Mr. Grey should order it. Then she again laughed at herself inwardly, and rising from her seat, walked down the hill to the hotel.
"Vanquished at last!" said Lady Glencora, as Alice entered the room.
"Yes, vanquished; if you like to call it so," said Alice.
"It is not what I call it, but what you feel it," said the other. "I know you well enough to be sure that you regard yourself now as an unfortunate prisoner - a captive taken in war. I know that it is quite a misery to you that you should be made a happy woman of at last. I understand it all, my dear, and my heart bleeds for you."
"Of course; I knew that was the way you would treat me."
"In what way would you have me treat you? If I were to hug you with joy, and tell you how good he is, and how fortunate you are, you would put on a long face, and tell me that it would be much better that the thing shouldn't be. But I do wish you joy all the same, and you may say what you please. He has got you in his power now, and I don't think even you can go back."
"No; I shall not go back again."
"I am so glad. I was afraid to the last - you are so hard and so proud. I don't mean hard to me, dear. But you are hard to yourself, and, upon my word, you have been hard to him. What a deal you will have to make up to him!"
"I feel that I ought to stand before him as a penitent, in a white sheet."
"He will like it better, I dare say, if you sit upon his knee. And how happy you will be!"
They sat together the whole morning, and by degrees Alice began to enjoy her happiness.
"I'll tell you what, Alice," said her friend; "you shall come and be married at Matching, in August, or perhaps September. That's the only way in which I can be present; and if we can arrange some sun, we'll have the wedding breakfast out in the ruins."
On the following morning they all started together, a first-class compartment having been taken for the Palliser family, and a second-class compartment for the servants. Mr. Palliser, as he handed his wife in, was a triumphant man; as was also Mr. Grey, as he handed in his lady-love.
We may say that both the gentlemen had been very fortunate while at Lucerne. Mr. Palliser had come abroad feeling that all the world had been cut from under his feet. A change was needed for his wife, and he had yielded everything to that necessity. He certainly had his reward now.
The terrible troubles which had afflicted him seemed to have disappeared. When he thought of Burgo Fitzgerald he remembered him only as a poor, unfortunate fellow; and he had in his pocket a letter which he had that morning received from the Duke of St. Bungay, marked private and confidential, in which he was told that Lord Brock and Mr. Finespun were totally at variance, and that no one knew what the consequence would be. Here might be another chance! Mr. Palliser, as he took his place opposite his wife, was very triumphant.
And Mr. Grey was triumphant, as he placed himself opposite Alice. He was quiet and subdued in his joy, but not the less triumphant. From the day on which he had first resolved to make his offer to Alice, he had never been stirred from his purpose. When she told him that she intended to marry her cousin, he silently declined to believe that the marriage would ever take place. He had never given her up for a day, and he had been proved right.
They stopped a night at Basle, and again Alice stood upon the balcony. Mr. Grey was close to her - so close that she was able to take his hand and press it.
"You are thinking of something, Alice," he said. "What is it?"
"It was here," she said, "on this very balcony, that I first rebelled against you, and now that you have brought me here I confess and submit. How am I to thank you for forgiving me?"
On the following morning they went on to Baden-Baden, and there they stopped for a couple of days.
"I've a particular favour to ask of you," Lady Glencora said to her husband, as soon as they were alone together in their rooms at Baden. Mr. Palliser declared that he would grant her any favour, provided that it did not involve his wife exerting herself.
"I wish I were a milkmaid," said Lady Glencora.
"But you are not a milkmaid, my dear."
But what was the favour? If she would only ask for jewels, he would get them for her. There was no expenditure that he would not willingly incur for her. But when she asked for a favour, he was always afraid of an imprudence. Very possibly she might want to drink beer in an open garden.
And her request was, at last, this: "I want you to take me up to the gambling-rooms!" said she.
"The gambling-rooms!" said Mr. Palliser in dismay.
"Yes, Plantagenet; the gambling-rooms. If you had been with me before, I should not have made a fool of myself by putting my money on the table. I want to see the place; but then I saw nothing, because I was so frightened when I found that I was winning."
Mr. Palliser was aware that all the world of Baden assembles itself in those salons. Maybe he himself was curious to see how men looked when they lost their own money, or won that of others. He knew how a Minister looked when he lost or gained a tax. He was familiar with tens of millions in a committee of the House. But he had never seen a poor man stake his last napoleon, and rake from off the table a small hatful of gold. He agreed therefore that, on their second evening at Baden, they would all walk up and see the play.
"Perhaps I shall get back my napoleon," said Glencora to Alice.
"And perhaps I shall be forgiven when somebody sees how difficult it is to manage you," said Alice.
"She doesn't mean it," said Mr. Palliser.
"I don't know that," said Lady Glencora.
They went in together, Mr. Palliser with his wife, and Mr. Grey with Alice on his arm, and walked through the different rooms, whispering to each other their comments on the people that they saw, and listening to the quick, low words of the croupiers as they presided over the games. Each table was closely surrounded by its own crowd.
"Let us stand here a moment," said Lady Glencora to her husband, halting at a corner of the table which had the greatest crowd. "We shall be able to see in a few minutes."
So they stood there, and in a minute or two an opening was made in the crowd, so that they could all see money lying about, and the rakes on the table, and the croupier skilfully dealing his cards, and - more interesting than all the rest - the faces of those who were playing. Grey and Palliser watched the croupiers; but Alice and Glencora glanced round upon the gamblers.
It was a long table, and at the opposite and furthest corner to them sat a young man who riveted Alice's attention. He was leaning, at first listlessly, over the table, with his hat far over his eyes, so that she could not fully see his face. But then he threw back his hat, and taking some pieces of gold which lay upon the table, pushed three or four of them on to one of the divisions marked on the cloth. He seemed not to care which spot they should occupy. Alice could see that his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was rough and dishevelled; but his face was still one which no woman could see and not admire. On this occasion he won, and Alice saw him drag his money in as lazily as he had pushed it out.
"Do you see that little Frenchman?" said Lady Glencora. "He has just made half a napoleon, and walked off with it. Isn't it interesting?" Then she turned round to whisper something to her husband, and Alice's eyes again fell on the face of the man at the other end of the table. After he had won his money, he had allowed the game to go on for a turn without taking part. But then he roused himself, and as far as Alice could see, pushed his whole stock forward with the rake - again leaving its position to chance. One piece had got beyond its boundary, and the croupier made some inquiry about it.
"All right," said a voice in English. Then Lady Glencora started and clutched Alice's arm. Mr. Palliser was explaining something about German finance to Mr. Grey, behind them, and did not hear the voice, or see his wife's reaction. I need hardly tell the reader that the gambler was Burgo Fitzgerald.
But Lady Glencora said not a word. She looked forward very gently, but eagerly, till she could just see his face. He was watching the croupier anxiously as he dealt the cards. After a certain number and a certain colour was called, he made an exclamation. And then another croupier put down by him rolls of gold done up in paper, and also some loose napoleons.
"Why doesn't he take it?" said Lady Glencora.
"He is taking it," said Alice, not knowing the cause of her cousin's anxiety.
Burgo had paused a moment, and then prepared to rake the money to him; but he changed his mind, and pushed it all back again, this time being very careful to place it on its former spot. Both Alice and Glencora could see that a man at his elbow was trying to dissuade him. But Burgo shook him off roughly. The croupier went on quickly with his cards, and in two minutes the fate of Burgo's wealth was decided. It was all drawn back by the croupier's unimpassioned rake.
Burgo looked up and smiled round the table. By this time most of those who stood around were looking at him, and he knew it. Therefore he smiled faintly before getting up, and, putting his hands in his trouser pockets, whistled as he walked away. His companion followed him, and laid a hand upon his shoulder; but Burgo shook him off, and walked on, whistling, the whole length of the salon.
"Alice," said Lady Glencora, "it is Burgo Fitzgerald." Mr. Palliser had noticed nothing. "Alice, what can we do for him? It is Burgo."
Many eyes were now watching him. He was not successful in his attempt to show indifference to his loss. His gait and his whistling told the tale. Even the unemotional croupiers furtively cast an eye after him, and a very big Guard seemed to be interested by his movements. If there is to be a tragedy at these places, it is always as well that the tragic scene should be as far removed as possible from the salons, away from the public eye.
Lady Glencora and Alice had shrunk back behind a pillar.
"What can I do?" said Glencora. "Look at him, Alice. If he were to destroy himself, what should I do then?"
Burgo, conscious of all eyes, turned round upon his heel and again walked the length of the salon, still whistling. His companion had slunk away from him.
"What shall I do, Alice?" said Lady Glencora, her eyes still fixed on him.
"Tell Mr. Palliser," whispered Alice.
Lady Glencora ran up to her husband, and took him away from Mr. Grey. She told her story so rapidly that Mr. Palliser could hardly get in a word. "Do something for him; do, do. Unless I know that something is done, I shall die. You needn't be afraid."
"I'm not afraid," said Mr. Palliser.
Lady Glencora took her husband's hand, and caressed it. "You are so good," said she. "Don't let him out of your sight. There; he is going. I will go home with Mr. Grey. I will be ever so good; I will, indeed. You know what he'll want, and for my sake you'll let him have it. But don't let him gamble. If you could only get him home to England. You owe him something, Plantagenet; do you not?"
"If money can do anything, he shall have it."
"God bless you, dearest! I shall never see him again; but if you could save him! There - he is going now." She pushed him forward, and then retreating, put her arm within Mr. Grey's.
Burgo, at the door leading out of the salon, had paused a moment, and had encountered the big Guard close to him.
"Well, old Buffer, what do you want?" said he. The Guard simply walked on through the door, and said nothing. Then Burgo also walked out, and Mr. Palliser quickly went after him.
They were now in the large front salon, from where the main door of the building opened
out upon the steps. Through this door Burgo went, and Mr. Palliser followed. They both walked to the end of the street, and then Burgo turned into a little path which led up through the trees to the hills. That hillside among the trees is a popular resort at Baden, but now, at nine in the evening, it was deserted. Palliser followed Burgo till he threw himself on the grass beneath a tree.
"You are in trouble, I fear, Mr. Fitzgerald," said Mr. Palliser, as soon as he drew close.
"We will go home. Mr. Palliser has something to do," said Lady Glencora to Mr. Grey, after the two men had disappeared from her sight.
"Is that a friend of Mr. Palliser?" said Mr. Grey.
"Yes; that is, he knows him. Alice, shall we go home? Oh! Mr. Grey, you must not ask any questions. Mr. Palliser will tell you everything when he sees you - if there is anything to tell."
Then they all went home, and soon separated for the night.
"Of course I shall sit up for him," said Lady Glencora to Alice, "but in my own room. You can tell Mr. Grey, if you like."
But Alice told nothing to Mr. Grey, nor did Mr. Grey ask any questions.


Alice found herself seated near to Lady Glencora's end of the table, and, in spite of her resolution to like Mr. Palliser, she was not sorry that such an arrangement had been made. Mr. Palliser had taken the Duchess out to dinner, and Alice wished to be as far removed as possible from her Grace. She found herself seated between her bespoken friend Jeffrey Palliser and the Duke, and as soon as she was seated Lady Glencora introduced her to her second neighbour. "My cousin, Duke," Lady Glencora said, "and a terrible Radical."
"Oh, indeed; I'm glad of that. We're sadly in want of a few leading Radicals, and perhaps I may be able to gain one now."
Alice thought of her cousin George, and wished that he, instead of herself, was sitting next to the Duke of St. Bungay. "But I'm afraid I never shall be a leading Radical," she said.
"You shall lead me at any rate, if you will," said he.
"As the little dogs lead the blind men," said Lady Glencora.
"No, Lady Glencora, not so. But as the pretty women lead the men who have eyes in their head. There is nothing I want so much, Miss Vavasor, as to become a Radical;--if I only knew how."
"I think it's very easy to know how," said Alice.
"Do you? I don't. I've voted for every liberal measure that has come seriously before Parliament since I had a seat in either House, and I've not been able to get beyond Whiggery yet."
"Have you voted for the ballot?" asked Alice, almost trembling at her own audacity as she put the question.
"Well; no, I've not. And I suppose that is the crux. But the ballot has never been seriously brought before any House in which I have sat. I hate it with so keen a private hatred, that I doubt whether I could vote for it."
"But the Radicals love it," said Alice.
"Palliser," said the Duke, speaking loudly from his end of the table, "I'm told you can never be entitled to call yourself a Radical till you've voted for the ballot."
"I don't want to be called a Radical," said Mr. Palliser,--"or to be called anything at all."
"Except Chancellor of the Exchequer," said Lady Glencora in a low voice.
"And that's about the finest ambition by which a man can be moved," said the Duke. "The man who can manage the purse-strings of this country can manage anything." Then that conversation dropped and the Duke ate his dinner.
"I was especially commissioned to amuse you," said Mr. Jeffrey Palliser to Alice. "But when I undertook the task I had no conception that you would be calling Cabinet Ministers over the coals about their politics."
"I did nothing of the kind, surely, Mr. Palliser. I suppose all Radicals do vote for the ballot, and that's why I said it."
"Your definition was perfectly just, I dare say, only--"
"Only what?"
"Lady Glencora need not have been so anxious to provide specially for your amusement. Not but what I'm very much obliged to her,--of course. But Miss Vavasor, unfortunately I'm not a politician. I haven't a chance of a seat in the House, and so I despise politics."
"Women are not allowed to be politicians in this country."
"Thank God, they can't do much in that way;--not directly, I mean. Only think where we should be if we had a feminine House of Commons, with feminine debates, carried on, of course, with feminine courtesy. My cousins Iphy and Phemy there would of course be members. You don't know them yet?"
"No; not yet. Are they politicians?"
"Not especially. They have their tendencies, which are decidedly liberal. There has never been a Tory Palliser known, you know. But they are too clever to give themselves up to anything in which they can do nothing. Being women they live a depressed life, devoting themselves to literature, fine arts, social economy, and the abstract sciences. They write wonderful letters; but I believe their correspondence lists are quite full, so that you have no chance at present of getting on either of them."
"I haven't the slightest pretension to ask for such an honour."
"Oh! if you mean because you don't know them, that has nothing to do with it."
"But I have no claim either private or public."
"That has nothing to do with it either. They don't at all seek people of note as their correspondents. Free communication with all the world is their motto, and Rowland Hill is the god they worship. Only they have been forced to guard themselves against too great an accession of paper and ink. Are you fond of writing letters, Miss Vavasor?"
"Yes, to my friends; but I like getting them better."
"I shrewdly suspect they don't read half what they get. Is it possible any one should go through two sheets of paper filled by our friend the Duchess there? No; their delight is in writing. They sit each at her desk after breakfast, and go on till lunch. There is a little rivalry between them, not expressed to each other, but visible to their friends. Iphy certainly does get off the greater number, and I'm told crosses quite as often as Phemy, but then she has the advantage of a bolder and larger hand."
"Do they write to you?"
"Oh, dear no. I don't think they ever write to any relative. They don't discuss family affairs and such topics as that. Architecture goes a long way with them, and whether women ought to be clerks in public offices. Iphy has certain American correspondents that take up much of her time, but she acknowledges she does not read their letters."
"Then I certainly shall not write to her."
"But you are not American, I hope. I do hate the Americans. It's the only strong political feeling I have. I went there once, and found I couldn't live with them on any terms."
"But they please themselves. I don't see they are to be hated because they don't live after our fashion."
"Oh; it's jealousy of course. I know that. I didn't come across a cab-driver who wasn't a much better educated man than I am. And as for their women, they know everything. But I hated them, and I intend to hate them. You haven't been there?"
"Oh no."
"Then I will make bold to say that any English lady who spent a month with them and didn't hate them would have very singular tastes. I begin to think they'll eat each other up, and then there'll come an entirely new set of people of a different sort. I always regarded the States as a Sodom and Gomorrah, prospering in wickedness, on which fire and brimstone were sure to fall sooner or later."
"I think that's wicked."
"I am wicked, as Topsy used to say. Do you hunt?"
"No."
"Do you shoot?"
"Shoot! What; with a gun?"
"Yes. I was staying in a house last week with a lady who shot a good deal."
"No; I don't shoot."
"Do you ride?"
"No; I wish I did. I have never ridden because I've no one to ride with me."
"Do you drive?"
"No; I don't drive either."
"Then what do you do?"
"I sit at home, and--"
"Mend your stockings?"
"No; I don't do that, because it's disagreeable; but I do work a good deal. Sometimes I have amused myself by reading."
"Ah; they never do that here. I have heard that there is a library, but the clue to it has been lost, and nobody now knows the way. I don't believe in libraries. Nobody ever goes into a library to read, any more than you would into a larder to eat. But there is this difference;--the food you consume does come out of the larders, but the books you read never come out of the libraries."
"Except Mudie's," said Alice.
"Ah, yes; he is the great librarian. And you mean to read all the time you are here, Miss Vavasor?"
"I mean to walk about the priory ruins sometimes."
"Then you must go by moonlight, and I'll go with you. Only isn't it rather late in the year for that?"
"I should think it is,--for you, Mr. Palliser."
Then the Duke spoke to her again, and she found that she got on very well during dinner. But she could not but feel angry with herself in that she had any fear on the subject;--and yet she could not divest herself of that fear. She acknowledged to herself that she was conscious of a certain inferiority to Lady Glencora and to Mr. Jeffrey Palliser, which almost made her unhappy. As regarded the Duke on the other side of her, she had no such feeling. He was old enough to be her father, and was a Cabinet Minister; therefore he was entitled to her reverence. But how was it that she could not help accepting the other people round her as being indeed superior to herself? Was she really learning to believe that she could grow upwards by their sunlight?
"Jeffrey is a pleasant fellow, is he not?" said Lady Glencora to her as they passed back through the billiard-room to the drawing-room.
"Very pleasant;--a little sarcastic, perhaps."
"I should think you would soon find yourself able to get the better of that if he tries it upon you," said Lady Glencora; and then the ladies were all in the drawing-room together.
"It is quite deliciously warm, coming from one room to another," said the Duchess, putting her emphasis on the "one" and the "other."
"Then we had better keep continually moving," said a certain Mrs. Conway Sparkes, a literary lady, who had been very handsome, who was still very clever, who was not perhaps very good-natured, and of whom the Duchess of St. Bungay was rather afraid.
"I hope we may be warm here too," said Lady Glencora.
"But not deliciously warm," said Mrs. Conway Sparkes.
"It makes me tremble in every limb when Mrs. Sparkes attacks her," Lady Glencora said to Alice in Alice's own room that night, "for I know she'll tell the Duke; and he'll tell that tall man with red hair whom you see standing about, and the tall man with red hair will tell Mr. Palliser, and then I shall catch it."
"And who is the tall man with red hair?"
"He's a political link between the Duke and Mr. Palliser. His name is Bott, and he's a Member of Parliament."
"But why should he interfere?"
"I suppose it's his business. I don't quite understand all the ins and outs of it. I believe he's to be one of Mr. Palliser's private secretaries if he becomes Chancellor of the Exchequer. Perhaps he doesn't tell;--only I think he does all the same. He always calls me Lady Glen-cowrer. He comes out of Lancashire, and made calico as long as he could get any cotton." But this happened in the bedroom, and we must go back for a while to the drawing-room.
The Duchess had made no answer to Mrs. Sparkes, and so nothing further was said about the warmth. Nor, indeed, was there any conversation that was comfortably general. The number of ladies in the room was too great for that, and ladies do not divide themselves nicely into small parties, as men and women do when they are mixed. Lady Glencora behaved pretty by telling the Duchess all about her pet pheasants; Mrs. Conway Sparkes told ill-natured tales of some one to Miss Euphemia Palliser; one of the Duchess's daughters walked off to a distant piano with an admiring friend and touched a few notes; while Iphigenia Palliser boldly took up a book, and placed herself at a table. Alice, who was sitting opposite to Lady Glencora, began to speculate whether she might do the same; but her courage failed her, and she sat on, telling herself that she was out of her element. "Alice Vavasor," said Lady Glencora after a while, suddenly, and in a somewhat loud voice, "can you play billiards?"
"No," said Alice, rather startled.
"Then you shall learn to-night, and if nobody else will teach you, you shall be my pupil." Whereupon Lady Glencora rang the bell and ordered that the billiard-table might be got ready. "You'll play, Duchess, of course," said Lady Glencora.
"It is so nice and warm, that I think I will," said the Duchess; but as she spoke she looked suspiciously to that part of the room where Mrs. Conway Sparkes was sitting.
"Let us all play," said Mrs. Conway Sparkes, "and then it will be nicer,--and perhaps warmer, too."
The gentlemen joined them just as they were settling themselves round the table, and as many of them stayed there, the billiard-room became full. Alice had first a cue put into her hand, and making nothing of that was permitted to play with a mace. The duty of instructing her devolved on Jeffrey Palliser, and the next hour passed pleasantly;--not so pleasantly, she thought afterwards, as did some of those hours in Switzerland when her cousins were with her. After all, she could get more out of her life with such associates as them, than she could with any of these people at Matching. She felt quite sure of that;--though Jeffrey Palliser did take great trouble to teach her the game, and once or twice made her laugh heartily by quizzing the Duchess's attitude as she stood up to make her stroke.
"I wish I could play billiards," said Mrs. Sparkes, on one of these occasions; "I do indeed."
"I thought you said you were coming to play," said the Duchess, almost majestically, and with a tone of triumph evidently produced by her own successes.
"Only to see your Grace," said Mrs. Sparkes.
"I don't know that there is anything more to see in me than in anybody else," said the Duchess. "Mr. Palliser, that was a cannon. Will you mark that for our side?"
[Illustration: "Mr. Palliser, that was a cannon."]
"Oh no, Duchess, you hit the same ball twice."
"Very well;--then I suppose Miss Vavasor plays now. That was a miss. Will you mark that, if you please?" This latter demand was made with great stress, as though she had been defrauded in the matter of the cannon, and was obeyed. Before long, the Duchess, with her partner, Lady Glencora, won the game,--which fact, however, was, I think, owing rather to Alice's ignorance than to her Grace's skill. The Duchess, however, was very triumphant, and made her way back into the drawing-room with a step which seemed to declare loudly that she had trumped Mrs. Sparkes at last.
Not long after this the ladies went up-stairs on their way to bed. Many of them, perhaps, did not go to their pillows at once, as it was as yet not eleven o'clock, and it was past ten when they all came down to breakfast. At any rate, Alice, who had been up at seven, did not go to bed then, nor for the next two hours. "I'll come into your room just for one minute," Lady Glencora said as she passed on from the door to her own room; and in about five minutes she was back with her cousin. "Would you mind going into my room--it's just there, and sitting with Ellen for a minute?" This Lady Glencora said in the sweetest possible tone to the girl who was waiting on Alice; and then, when they were alone together, she got into a little chair by the fireside and prepared herself for conversation.
"I must keep you up for a quarter of an hour while I tell you something. But first of all, how do you like the people? Will you be able to be comfortable with them?" Alice of course said that she thought she would; and then there came that little discussion in which the duties of Mr. Bott, the man with the red hair, were described.
"But I've got something to tell you," said Lady Glencora, when they had already been there some twenty minutes. "Sit down opposite to me, and look at the fire while I look at you."
"Is it anything terrible?"
"It's nothing wrong."
"Oh, Lady Glencora, if it's--"
"I won't have you call me Lady Glencora. Don't I call you Alice? Why are you so unkind to me? I have not come to you now asking you to do for me anything that you ought not to do."
"But you are going to tell me something." Alice felt sure that the thing to be told would have some reference to Mr. Fitzgerald, and she did not wish to hear Mr. Fitzgerald's name from her cousin's lips.
"Tell you something;--of course I am. I'm going to tell you that,--that in writing to you the other day I wrote a fib. But it wasn't that I wished to deceive you;--only I couldn't say it all in a letter."
"Say all what?"
"You know I confessed that I had been very bad in not coming to you in London last year."
"I never thought of it for a moment."
"You did not care whether I came or not: was that it? But never mind. Why should you have cared? But I cared. I told you in my letter that I didn't come because I had so many things on hand. Of course that was a fib."
"Everybody makes excuses of that kind," said Alice.
"But they don't make them to the very people of all others whom they want to know and love. I was longing to come to you every day. But I feared I could not come without speaking of him;--and I had determined never to speak of him again." This she said in that peculiar low voice which she assumed at times.
"Then why do it now, Lady Glencora?"
"I won't be called Lady Glencora. Call me Cora. I had a sister once, older than I, and she used to call me Cora. If she had lived--. But never mind that now. She didn't live. I'll tell you why I do it now. Because I cannot help it. Besides, I've met him. I've been in the same room with him, and have spoken to him. What's the good of any such resolution now?"
"And you have met him?"
"Yes; he--Mr. Palliser--knew all about it. When he talked of taking me to the house, I whispered to him that I thought Burgo would be there."
"Do not call him by his Christian name," said Alice, almost with a shudder.
"Why not?--why not his Christian name? I did when I told my husband. Or perhaps I said Burgo Fitzgerald."
"Well."
"And he bade me go. He said it didn't signify, and that I had better learn to bear it. Bear it, indeed! If I am to meet him, and speak to him, and look at him, surely I may mention his name." And then she paused for an answer. "May I not?"
"What am I to say?" exclaimed Alice.
"Anything you please, that's not a falsehood. But I've got you here because I don't think you will tell a falsehood. Oh, Alice, I do so want to go right, and it is so hard!"
Hard, indeed, poor creature, for one so weighted as she had been, and sent out into the world with so small advantages of previous training or of present friendship! Alice began to feel now that she had been enticed to Matching Priory because her cousin wanted a friend, and of course she could not refuse to give the friendship that was asked from her. She got up from her chair, and kneeling down at the other's feet put up her face and kissed her.
"I knew you would be good to me," said Lady Glencora. "I knew you would. And you may say whatever you like. But I could not bear that you should not know the real reason why I neither came to you nor sent for you after we went to London. You'll come to me now; won't you, dear?"
"Yes;--and you'll come to me," said Alice, making in her mind a sort of bargain that she was not to be received into Mr. Palliser's house after the fashion in which Lady Midlothian had proposed to receive her. But it struck her at once that this was unworthy of her, and ungenerous. "But I'll come to you," she added, "whether you come to me or not."
"I will go to you," said Lady Glencora, "of course,--why shouldn't I? But you know what I mean. We shall have dinners and parties and lots of people."
"And we shall have none," said Alice, smiling.
"And therefore there is so much more excuse for your coming to me;--or rather I mean so much more reason, for I don't want excuses. Well, dear, I'm so glad I've told you. I was afraid to see you in London. I should hardly have known how to look at you then. But I've got over that now." Then she smiled and returned the kiss which Alice had given her. It was singular to see her standing on the bedroom rug with all her magnificence of dress, but with her hair pushed back behind her ears, and her eyes red with tears,--as though the burden of the magnificence remained to her after its purpose was over.
"I declare it's ever so much past twelve. Good night, now, dear. I wonder whether he's come up. But I should have heard his step if he had. He never treads lightly. He seldom gives over work till after one, and sometimes goes on till three. It's the only thing he likes, I believe. God bless you! good night. I've such a deal more to say to you; and Alice, you must tell me something about yourself, too; won't you, dear?" Then without waiting for an answer Lady Glencora went, leaving Alice in a maze of bewilderment. She could hardly believe that all she had heard, and all she had done, had happened since she left Queen Anne Street that morning.

Alice found herself seated near Lady Glencora's end of the table, between Jeffrey Palliser and the Duke of St. Bungay, to whom Lady Glencora introduced her.
"My cousin, Duke," Lady Glencora said, "and a terrible Radical."
"Oh, indeed; I'm glad of that. We're sadly in want of a few leading Radicals."
Alice thought of her cousin George, and wished that he was sitting in her place. "But I'm afraid I never shall be a leading Radical," she said.
"You may lead me at any rate," said he.
"As little dogs lead blind men," said Lady Glencora.
"No, Lady Glencora, as the pretty women lead the men who have eyes in their head. There is nothing I want so much, Miss Vavasor, as to become a Radical; if I only knew how."
"I think it's very easy to know how," said Alice.
"Do you? I don't. I've voted for every serious liberal measure that has come before Parliament since I had a seat in either House, and I've not been able to get beyond Whiggery yet."
"Have you voted for the secret ballot?" asked Alice, almost trembling at her own audacity.
"Well; no, I've not. And I suppose that is the crux. But I hate it with so keen a private hatred, that I doubt whether I could vote for it."
"But the Radicals love it," said Alice.
"Palliser," said the Duke, speaking loudly down the table, "I'm told you can never call yourself a Radical till you've voted for the ballot."
"I don't want to be called a Radical," said Mr. Palliser, "or to be called anything at all."
"Except Chancellor of the Exchequer," said Lady Glencora in a low voice.
"And that's about the finest ambition a man can have," said the Duke. "The man who can manage the purse-strings of this country can manage anything." Then the Duke ate his dinner.
"When I undertook to amuse you," said Mr. Jeffrey Palliser to Alice, "I had no idea that you would be hauling Cabinet Ministers over the coals about their politics."
"I did nothing of the kind, surely, Mr. Palliser. I suppose all Radicals do vote for the ballot, and that's why I said it."
"You are quite right. But unfortunately I'm not a politician. I haven't a chance of a seat in the House, and so I despise politics."
"Women are not allowed to be politicians in this country."
"Thank God; only think where we should be if we had a feminine House of Commons, with feminine debates, carried on with feminine courtesy. My cousins Iphy and Phemy there would of course be members. You don't know them yet?"
"No; not yet."
"They have decidedly liberal tendencies. There has never been a Tory Palliser, you know. But they are too clever to give themselves up to anything in which they can do nothing. Being women they live a depressed life, devoting themselves to literature, fine arts, social economy, and the abstract sciences. They write wonderful letters; but I believe their correspondence lists are quite full, so that you have no chance of getting on either of them."
"I haven't the slightest pretension to ask for such an honour."
"Oh! You don't need to know them. Free communication with all the world is their motto. Are you fond of writing letters, Miss Vavasor?"
"Yes, to my friends; but I like getting letters better."
"I suspect they don't read half what they get. Could anyone get through two sheets of paper filled by our friend the Duchess there? No; their delight is in writing, every morning. There is a little rivalry between them. Iphy certainly does send off more."
"Do they write to you?"
"Oh, dear no. I don't think they ever write to any relative. They don't discuss family affairs and such topics as that. Iphy has certain American correspondents, but she acknowledges she does not read their letters."
"Then I certainly shall not write to her."
"But you are not American, I hope. I do hate the Americans. It's the only strong political feeling I have. I went there once, and found I couldn't live with them."
"I don't see they are to be hated because they don't live after our fashion."
"Oh; it's jealousy of course. I know that. I didn't come across a cab-driver there who wasn't better educated than I am. And as for their women, they know everything. But I intend to hate them. You haven't been there?"
"Oh no."
"Then I will make bold to say that any English lady who spent a month with them and didn't hate them would have very singular tastes. Do you hunt?"
"No."
"Do you shoot?"
"Shoot! No; I don't shoot."
"Do you ride?"
"No; I wish I did."
"Do you drive?"
"No; I don't drive either."
"Then what do you do?"
"I sit at home, and-"
"Mend your stockings?"
"No; I don't do that, but I do needlework a good deal. Sometimes I have amused myself by reading."
"Ah; they never do that here. I have heard that there is a library, but the clue to it has been lost, and nobody now knows the way. I don't believe in libraries. Do you mean to read all the time you are here, Miss Vavasor?"
"I mean to walk about the priory ruins sometimes."
"Then you must go by moonlight, and I'll go with you. Only isn't it rather late in the year for that?"
"I should think it is for you, Mr. Palliser."
Then the Duke spoke to her again, and she found that she got on very well during dinner. She could not help feel angry with herself for having any fear about it; and yet she could not dismiss that fear. She was conscious of a certain inferiority to Lady Glencora and Mr. Jeffrey Palliser, which almost made her unhappy. As regarded the Duke, she had no such feeling. He was old enough to be her father, and was a Cabinet Minister; therefore he was entitled to her reverence. But why did she accept that the people round her were indeed superior to herself? Was she really learning to believe that she could grow upwards by their sunlight?
"Jeffrey is a pleasant fellow, is he not?" said Lady Glencora to her as they went to the drawing-room.
"Very pleasant; a little sarcastic, perhaps."
"I think you would be able to get the better of that if he tries it on you," said Lady Glencora; and then the ladies were in the drawing-room.
"It is quite deliciously warm in the corridor," said the Duchess.
"Then we had better keep moving," said a certain Mrs. Conway Sparkes, a very clever literary lady, of whom the Duchess of St. Bungay was rather afraid.
"I hope we may be warm here too," said Lady Glencora.
"But not deliciously warm," said Mrs. Conway Sparkes.
"It makes me tremble in every limb when Mrs. Sparkes attacks the Duchess," Lady Glencora said to Alice in Alice's room that night, "for I know she'll tell the Duke; and he'll tell that tall man with red hair whom you see standing about, and he will tell Mr. Palliser, and then I shall catch it."
"And who is the tall man with red hair?"
"He's a political link between the Duke and Mr. Palliser. His name is Bott, and he's a Member of Parliament."
"But why should he interfere?"
"I suppose it's his business. I believe he's to be one of Mr. Palliser's private secretaries if he becomes Chancellor of the Exchequer. Perhaps he doesn't tell; only I think he does. He always calls me Lady Glen-cowrer. He comes from Lancashire, and used to make calico." But this happened in the bedroom, and we must go back for a while to the drawing-room.
There was no general conversation. The number of ladies in the room was too great for that. Lady Glencora behaved prettily, telling the Duchess all about her pet pheasants; Mrs. Conway Sparkes told ill-natured tales of someone to Miss Euphemia Palliser; one of the Duchess's daughters walked off to a distant piano with a friend and touched a few notes; while Iphigenia Palliser boldly took up a book, and placed herself at a table.
Alice speculated whether she might do the same, but her courage failed her, and she sat on, feeling out of her element.
"Alice Vavasor," said Lady Glencora after a while, suddenly and loudly, "can you play billiards?"
"No," said Alice, rather startled.
"Then you shall learn tonight." Whereupon Lady Glencora rang the bell and ordered that the billiard-table might be got ready. "You'll play, Duchess, of course," she said.
"It is so nice and warm, that I think I will," said the Duchess; but as she spoke she looked suspiciously at Mrs. Conway Sparkes.
"Let us all play," said Mrs. Conway Sparkes, "and then it will be nicer - and perhaps warmer, too."
The gentlemen joined them as they were settling themselves round the table, and as many of them stayed, the billiard-room became full. The duty of instructing Alice fell to Jeffrey Palliser, and the next hour passed pleasantly; though not so pleasantly as some of those hours in Switzerland with her cousins. However, Jeffrey Palliser took great trouble to teach her, and once or twice made her laugh by quizzing the Duchess's attitude as she stood up to make her stroke.
"I wish I could play billiards," said Mrs. Sparkes.
"I thought you said you were coming to play," said the Duchess, with a tone of triumph at her own successes.
"Only to see your Grace," said Mrs. Sparkes.
"I don't know that there is anything to see," said the Duchess. "Mr. Palliser, that was a cannon. Will you mark that for our side?"
"Oh no, Duchess, you hit the same ball twice."
"Very well; then I suppose Miss Vavasor plays now. Will you mark a miss, if you please?" Before long, the Duchess, with her partner, Lady Glencora, won the game, and made her way back into the drawing-room with a step which seemed to declare that she had trumped Mrs. Sparkes at last.
Not long after this the ladies went upstairs to bed.
"I'll come into your room just for one minute," Lady Glencora said to Alice; and having dismissed the maid, she sat down by the fireside.
"I must keep you up for a quarter of an hour while I tell you something," she said. "But first of all, how do you like the people? Will you be comfortable with them?"
Alice of course said that she thought she would; and then there came that little discussion about Mr. Bott, the man with the red hair.
"But I've got something to tell you," said Lady Glencora. "Look at the fire while I say it."
"Is it anything terrible?"
"It's nothing wrong."
"Oh, Lady Glencora, if it's-"
"Don't call me Lady Glencora. Don't I call you Alice? Why are you so unkind? I am not asking you to do anything that you ought not to do."
"But you are going to tell me something." Alice felt sure that it would be about Mr. Fitzgerald.
"Of course I am. I'm going to tell you that in writing to you the other day I wrote a fib. It wasn't that I wished to deceive you; only I couldn't say it all in a letter."
"Say all what?"
"I confessed that I had been very bad in not coming to you in London last year."
"I never thought of it for a moment."
"You did not care whether I came or not? But never mind. Why should you have cared? But I cared. I was longing to come to you every day. But I feared I could not come without speaking of him; - and I had determined never to speak of him again." This she said in a peculiar low voice.
"Then why do it now, Lady Glencora?"
"Call me Cora. I had an older sister once, and she used to call me Cora. If she had lived- But never mind. She didn't live. I'll tell you why I do it now. Because I cannot help it. Besides, I've met him. I've been in the same room with him, and have spoken to him."
"You have met him?"
"Yes; Mr. Palliser knew all about it. When he talked of taking me to the house, I whispered to him that I thought Burgo would be there."
"Do not call him by his Christian name," said Alice, almost with a shudder.
"Why not? I did when I told my husband. Or perhaps I said Burgo Fitzgerald."
"Well."
"And he bade me go. He said it didn't signify, and that I had better learn to bear it. Bear it, indeed! If I am to meet him, and speak to him, and look at him, surely I may mention his name?"
"What am I to say?" exclaimed Alice.
"Anything you please, that's not a falsehood. But I don't think you will tell a falsehood. Oh, Alice, I do so want to go right, and it is so hard!"
Hard, indeed, poor creature, for one so weighted as she had been, and sent out into the world with so little in the way of training or friendship! Alice began to feel now that she had been enticed to Matching Priory because her cousin wanted a friend. She got up from her chair, and kneeling down at the other's feet she kissed her.
"I knew you would be good to me," said Lady Glencora. "And you may say whatever you like. But I could not bear that you should not know the real reason why I did not visit you or send for you in London. You'll come to me now; won't you, dear?"
"Yes; and you'll come to me," said Alice.
"I will," said Lady Glencora. "We shall have dinners and parties and lots of people."
"And we shall have none," said Alice, smiling.
"And therefore there is so much more reason for your coming to me. Well, dear, I'm so glad I've told you." Then she smiled and returned Alice's kiss. It was singular to see her standing on the bedroom rug in her magnificent dress, but with her hair pushed back behind her ears and her eyes red with tears, as though the burden of the magnificence remained to her after its purpose was over.
"I declare it's long past twelve. Good night, dear. I wonder whether he's come up. But I would have heard his step. He seldom finishes work till after one, and sometimes goes on till three. It's the only thing he likes, I believe. God bless you! good night. I've such a lot more to say to you; and Alice, you must tell me something about yourself, too; won't you, dear?"
Then without waiting for an answer Lady Glencora went, leaving Alice in a maze of bewilderment. She could hardly believe all she had heard and done since she left Queen Anne Street that morning.