George Vavasor remained about four days beneath his grandfather's roof; but he was not happy there himself, nor did he contribute to the happiness of any one else. He remained there in great discomfort so long, being unwilling to leave till an answer had been received to the request made to Aunt Greenow, in order that he might insist on Kate's performance of her promise with reference to Alice, if that answer should be unfavourable. During these five days Kate did all in her power to induce her brother to be, at any rate, kind in his manner towards his grandfather, but it was in vain. The Squire would not be the first to be gracious; and George, quite as obstinate as the old man, would take no steps in that direction till encouraged to do so by graciousness from the other side. Poor Kate entreated each of them to begin, but her entreaties were of no avail. "He is an ill-mannered cub," the old man said, "and I was a fool to let him into the house. Don't mention his name to me again." George argued the matter more at length. Kate spoke to him of his own interest in the matter, urging upon him that he might, by such conduct, drive the Squire to exclude him altogether from the property.
"He must do as he likes," George said, sulkily.
"But for Alice's sake!" Kate answered.
"Alice would be the last to expect me to submit to unreasonable ill-usage for the sake of money. As regards myself, I confess that I'm very fond of money and am not particularly squeamish. I would do anything that a man can do to secure it. But this I can't do. I never injured him, and I never asked him to injure himself. I never attempted to borrow money from him. I have never cost him a shilling. When I was in the wine business he might have enabled me to make a large fortune simply by settling on me then the reversion of property which, when he dies, ought to be my own. He was so perversely ignorant that he would make no inquiry, but chose to think that I was ruining myself, at the only time of my life when I was really doing well."
"But he had a right to act as he pleased," urged Kate.
"Certainly he had. But he had no right to resent my asking such a favour at his hands. He was an ignorant old fool not to do it; but I should never have quarrelled with him on that account. Nature made him a fool, and it wasn't his fault. But I can't bring myself to kneel in the dirt before him simply because I asked for what was reasonable."
The two men said very little to each other. They were never alone together except during that half-hour after dinner in which they were supposed to drink their wine. The old Squire always took three glasses of port during this period, and expected that his grandson would take three with him. But George would drink none at all. "I have given up drinking wine after dinner," said he, when his grandfather pushed the bottle over to him. "I suppose you mean that you drink nothing but claret," said the Squire, in a tone of voice that was certainly not conciliatory. "I mean simply what I say," said George--"that I have given up drinking wine after dinner." The old man could not openly quarrel with his heir on such a point as that. Even Mr. Vavasor could not tell his grandson that he was going to the dogs because he had become temperate. But, nevertheless, there was offence in it; and when George sat perfectly silent, looking at the fire, evidently determined to make no attempt at conversation, the offence grew, and became strong. "What the devil's the use of your sitting there if you neither drink nor talk?" said the old man. "No use in the world, that I can see," said George; "if, however, I were to leave you, you would abuse me for it." "I don't care how soon you leave me," said the Squire. From all which it may be seen that George Vavasor's visit to the hall of his ancestors was not satisfactory.
On the fourth day, about noon, came Aunt Greenow's reply. "Dearest Kate," she said, "I am not going to do what you ask me,"--thus rushing instantly into the middle of her subject.
You see, I don't know my nephew, and have no reason for being specially anxious that he should be in Parliament. I don't care two straws about the glory of the Vavasor family. If I had never done anything for myself, the Vavasors would have done very little for me. I don't care much about what you call 'blood.' I like those who like me, and whom I know. I am very fond of you, and because you have been good to me I would give you a thousand pounds if you wanted it for yourself; but I don't see why I am to give my money to those I don't know. If it is necessary to tell my nephew of this, pray tell him that I mean no offence.
Your friend C. is still waiting--waiting--waiting, patiently; but his patience may be exhausted.
Your affectionate aunt,
ARABELLA GREENOW.
"Of course she won't," said George, as he threw back the letter to his sister. "Why should she?"
"I had hoped she would," said Kate.
"Why should she? What did I ever do for her? She is a sensible woman. Who is your friend C., and why is he waiting patiently?"
"He is a man who would be glad to marry her for her money, if she would take him."
"Then what does she mean by his patience being exhausted?"
"It is her folly. She chooses to pretend to think that the man is a lover of mine."
"Has he got any money?"
"Yes; lots of money--or money's worth."
"And what is his name?"
"His name is Cheesacre. But pray don't trouble yourself to talk about him."
"If he wants to marry you, and has plenty of money, why shouldn't you take him?"
"Good heavens, George! In the first place he does not want to marry me. In the next place all his heart is in his farmyard."
"And a very good place to have it," said George.
"Undoubtedly. But, really, you must not trouble yourself to talk about him."
"Only this,--that I should be very glad to see you well married."
"Should you?" said she, thinking of her close attachment to himself.
"And now, about the money," said George. "You must write to Alice at once."--"Oh, George!"
"Of course you must; you have promised. Indeed, it would have been much wiser if you had taken me at my word, and done it at once."--"I cannot do it."
Then the scar on his face opened itself, and his sister stood before him in fear and trembling. "Do you mean to tell me," said he, "that you will go back from your word, and deceive me;--that after having kept me here by this promise, you will not do what you have said you would do?"
"Take my money now, and pay me out of hers as soon as you are married. I will be the first to claim it from her,--and from you."
"That is nonsense."
"Why should it be nonsense? Surely you need have no scruple with me. I should have none with you if I wanted assistance."
"Look here, Kate; I won't have it, and there's an end of it. All that you have in the world would not pull me through this election, and therefore such a loan would be worse than useless."
"And am I to ask her for more than two thousand pounds?"
"You are to ask her simply for one thousand. That is what I want, and must have, at present. And she knows that I want it, and that she is to supply it; only she does not know that my need is so immediate. That you must explain to her."
"I would sooner burn my hand, George!"
"But burning your hand, unfortunately, won't do any good. Look here, Kate; I insist upon your doing this for me. If you do not, I shall do it, of course, myself; but I shall regard your refusal as an unjustifiable falsehood on your part, and shall certainly not see you afterwards. I do not wish, for reasons which you may well understand, to write to Alice myself on any subject at present. I now claim your promise to do so; and if you refuse, I shall know very well what to do."
Of course she did not persist in her refusal. With a sorrowful heart, and with fingers that could hardly form the needful letters, she did write a letter to her cousin, which explained the fact--that George Vavasor immediately wanted a thousand pounds for his electioneering purposes. It was a stiff, uncomfortable letter, unnatural in its phraseology, telling its own tale of grief and shame. Alice understood very plainly all the circumstances under which it was written, but she sent back word to Kate at once, undertaking that the money should be forthcoming; and she wrote again before the end of January, saying that the sum named had been paid to George's credit at his own bankers.
Kate had taken immense pride in the renewal of the match between her brother and her cousin, and had rejoiced in it greatly as being her own work. But all that pride and joy were now over. She could no longer write triumphant notes to Alice, speaking always of George as one who was to be their joint hero, foretelling great things of his career in Parliament, and saying little soft things of his enduring love. It was no longer possible to her now to write of George at all, and it was equally impossible to Alice. Indeed, no letters passed between them, when that monetary correspondence was over, up to the end of the winter. Kate remained down in Westmoreland, wretched and ill at ease, listening to hard words spoken by her grandfather against her brother, and feeling herself unable to take her brother's part as she had been wont to do in other times.
George returned to town at the end of those four days, and found that the thousand pounds was duly placed to his credit before the end of the month. It is hardly necessary to tell the reader that this money had come from the stores of Mr. Tombe, and that Mr. Tombe duly debited Mr. Grey with the amount. Alice, in accordance with her promise, had told her father that the money was needed, and her father, in accordance with his promise, had procured it without a word of remonstrance. "Surely I must sign some paper," Alice had said. But she had been contented when her father told her that the lawyers would manage all that.
It was nearly the end of February when George Vavasor made his first payment to Mr. Scruby on behalf of the coming election; and when he called at Mr. Scruby's office with this object, he received some intelligence which surprised him not a little. "You haven't heard the news," said Scruby. "What news?" said George.
"The Marquis is as nearly off the hooks as a man can be." Mr. Scruby, as he communicated the tidings, showed clearly by his face and voice that they were supposed to be of very great importance; but Vavasor did not at first seem to be as much interested in the fate of "the Marquis" as Scruby had intended.
"I'm very sorry for him," said George. "Who is the Marquis? There'll be sure to come another, so it don't much signify."
"There will come another, and that's just it. It's the Marquis of Bunratty; and if he drops, our young Member will go into the Upper House."
"What, immediately; before the end of the Session?" George, of course, knew well enough that such would be the case, but the effect which this event would have upon himself now struck him suddenly.
"To be sure," said Scruby. "The writ would be out immediately. I should be glad enough of it, only that I know that Travers's people have heard of it before us, and that they are ready to be up with their posters directly the breath is out of the Marquis's body. We must go to work immediately; that's all."
"It will only be for part of a Session," said George.
"Just so," said Mr. Scruby.
"And then there'll be the cost of another election."
"That's true," said Mr. Scruby; "but in such cases we do manage to make it come a little cheaper. If you lick Travers now, it may be that you'll have a walk-over for the next."
"Have you seen Grimes?" asked George.
"Yes, I have; the blackguard! He is going to open his house on Travers's side. He came to me as bold as brass, and told me so, saying that he never liked gentlemen who kept him waiting for his odd money. What angers me is that he ever got it."
"We have not managed it very well, certainly," said Vavasor, looking nastily at the attorney.
"We can't help those little accidents, Mr. Vavasor. There are worse accidents than that turn up almost daily in my business. You may think yourself almost lucky that I haven't gone over to Travers myself. He is a Liberal, you know; and it hasn't been for want of an offer, I can tell you."
Vavasor was inclined to doubt the extent of his luck in this respect, and was almost disposed to repent of his Parliamentary ambition. He would now be called upon to spend certainly not less than three thousand pounds of his cousin's money on the chance of being able to sit in Parliament for a few months. And then, after what a fashion would he be compelled to negotiate that loan! He might, to be sure, allow the remainder of this Session to run, and stand, as he had intended, at the general election; but he knew that if he now allowed a Liberal to win the seat, the holder of the seat would be almost sure of subsequent success. He must either fight now, or give up the fight altogether; and he was a man who did not love to abandon any contest in which he had been engaged.
"Well, Squire," said Scruby, "how is it to be?" And Vavasor felt that he detected in the man's voice some diminution of that respect with which he had hitherto been treated as a paying candidate for a metropolitan borough.
"This lord is not dead yet," said Vavasor.
"No; he's not dead yet, that we have heard; but it won't do for us to wait. We want every minute of time that we can get. There isn't any hope for him, I'm told. It's gout in the stomach, or dropsy at the heart, or some of those things that make a fellow safe to go."
"It won't do to wait for the next election?"
"If you ask me, I should say certainly not. Indeed, I shouldn't wish to have to conduct it under such circumstances. I hate a fight when there's no chance of success. I grudge spending a man's money in such a case; I do indeed, Mr. Vavasor."
"I suppose Grimes's going over won't make much difference?"
"The blackguard! He'll take a hundred and fifty votes, I suppose; perhaps more. But that is not much in such a constituency as the Chelsea districts. You see, Travers played mean at the last election, and that will be against him."
"But the Conservatives will have a candidate."
"There's no knowing; but I don't think they will. They'll try one at the general, no doubt; but if the two sitting Members can pull together, they won't have much of a chance."
Vavasor found himself compelled to say that he would stand; and Scruby undertook to give the initiatory orders at once, not waiting even till the Marquis should be dead. "We should have our houses open as soon as theirs," said he. "There's a deal in that." So George Vavasor gave his orders. "If the worst comes to the worst," he said to himself, "I can always cut my throat."
As he walked from the attorney's office to his club he bethought himself that that might not unprobably be the necessary termination of his career. Everything was going wrong with him. His grandfather, who was eighty years of age, would not die,--appeared to have no symptoms of dying;--whereas this Marquis, who was not yet much over fifty, was rushing headlong out of the world, simply because he was the one man whose continued life at the present moment would be serviceable to George Vavasor. As he thought of his grandfather he almost broke his umbrella by the vehemence with which he struck it against the pavement. What right could an ignorant old fool like that have to live for ever, keeping the possession of a property which he could not use, and ruining those who were to come after him? If now, at this moment, that wretched place down in Westmoreland could become his, he might yet ride triumphantly over his difficulties, and refrain from sullying his hands with more of his cousin's money till she should become his wife.
Even that thousand pounds had not passed through his hands without giving him much bitter suffering. As is always the case in such matters, the thing done was worse than the doing of it. He had taught himself to look at it lightly whilst it was yet unaccomplished; but he could not think of it lightly now. Kate had been right. It would have been better for him to take her money. Any money would have been better than that upon which he had laid his sacrilegious hands. If he could have cut a purse, after the old fashion, the stain of the deed would hardly have been so deep. In these days,--for more than a month, indeed, after his return from Westmoreland,--he did not go near Queen Anne Street, trying to persuade himself that he stayed away because of her coldness to him. But, in truth, he was afraid of seeing her without speaking of her money, and afraid to see her if he were to speak of it.
"You have seen the _Globe_?" someone said to him as he entered the club.
"No, indeed; I have seen nothing."
"Bunratty died in Ireland this morning. I suppose you'll be up for the Chelsea districts?"

George Vavasor remained about four days beneath his grandfather's roof; but he was not happy there, nor did he add to anyone else's happiness. However, he was unwilling to leave till an answer came from Aunt Greenow about Kate's request for money. Kate did everything in her power to induce her brother to be kind to his grandfather, but it was in vain. Both men were as obstinate as each other, and neither would take the first step towards graciousness. Poor Kate entreated each of them to no avail.
"He is an ill-mannered cub," the old man said, "and I was a fool to let him into the house."
So Kate told George that his conduct might drive the Squire to disinherit him completely.
"He must do as he likes," George said sulkily.
"But for Alice's sake!"
"Alice would be the last to expect me to submit to ill-usage for the sake of money. I confess that I'm very fond of money and would do anything that a man can do to secure it. But this I can't do. I have never cost him a shilling. When I was in the wine business he might have enabled me to make a large fortune simply by giving me my property in advance. He perversely chose to think that I was ruining myself, at the only time of my life when I was really doing well."
"But he had a right to act as he pleased," urged Kate.
"Certainly he had. But he had no right to resent my asking such a favour. Nature made him a fool, and that's not his fault. But I can't bring myself to kneel in the dirt before him simply because I asked for what was reasonable."
The two men said very little to each other. They were never alone together except during that half-hour after dinner in which they were supposed to drink their wine. The old Squire always took three glasses of port, but George would drink none at all.
"I have given up drinking wine after dinner," said he, when his grandfather pushed the bottle over to him. The old man could not openly quarrel with his heir on such a point. But, nevertheless, there was offence in it; and when George sat perfectly silent, looking at the fire, with no attempt at conversation, the offence grew, and became strong.
"What the devil's the use of your sitting there if you neither drink nor talk?" said the old man.
"No use in the world, that I can see," said George; "if, however, I were to leave you, you would abuse me for it."
"I don't care how soon you leave me," said the Squire. From all which it may be seen that George Vavasor's visit to his ancestral hall was not satisfactory.
On the fourth day Aunt Greenow's reply came. It said:
Dearest Kate,
I am not going to do what you ask me. You see, I don't know my nephew, and have no reason for being specially anxious that he should be in Parliament. I don't care two straws about the glory of the Vavasor family, who have never done much for me. I am very fond of you, and because you have been good to me I would give you a thousand pounds if you wanted it for yourself; but I don't see why I should give my money to those I don't know. Pray tell my nephew that I mean no offence.
Your friend C. is still waiting - waiting, patiently; but his patience may be exhausted.
Your affectionate aunt,
Arabella Greenow.
"Of course she won't," said George, as he threw back the letter to his sister. "Why should she? She is a sensible woman. Who is your friend C., and why is he waiting patiently?"
"He is a man who would be glad to marry her for her money, if she would take him. But she pretends to think that he is a lover of mine."
"Has he got any money?"
"Yes; lots."
"And what is his name?"
"His name is Cheesacre. But don't talk about him."
"If he wants to marry you, and has plenty of money, why shouldn't you take him?"
"Good heavens, George! In the first place he does not want to marry me. In the next place all his heart is in his farmyard."
"And a very good place to have it," said George.
"Undoubtedly. But, really, do not talk about him."
"I should be very glad to see you well married."
"Should you?" said she, thinking of her close attachment to him.
"And now," said George, "you must write to Alice at once. You promised."
"I cannot do it."
Then the scar on his face opened itself, making her tremble.
"Do you mean to tell me," said he, "that you will go back from your word?"
"Take my money now, and pay me out of hers as soon as you are married."
"That is nonsense. All that you have in the world would not pull me through this election, and such a loan would be worse than useless."
"Am I to ask her for more than two thousand pounds?"
"You are to ask her simply for one thousand. That is what I need at present. She knows that I want it, and that she is to supply it; only she does not know that my need is immediate. That you must explain to her."
"I would sooner burn my hand, George!"
"Look here, Kate; I insist. If you do not write, I shall; but I certainly shall not see you afterwards. I do not wish to write to Alice myself on any subject at present. If you refuse, I shall know very well what to do."
With a sorrowful heart, she did write to her cousin, explaining that George Vavasor immediately wanted a thousand pounds for his electioneering. It was a stiff, uncomfortable letter, telling its own tale of grief and shame. Alice understood very plainly the circumstances under which it was written, but she sent back word to Kate at once, promising that the money should be forthcoming; and before the end of January she wrote to say that the sum named had been paid to George's credit at his bankers.
Kate had felt immense joy and pride in the renewal of the match between Alice and her brother. But all that pride and joy were now over. She could no longer write triumphant notes to Alice, speaking of George as their joint hero, and saying little soft things of his enduring love. It was no longer possible for her to write of George at all, and it was equally impossible to Alice.
Indeed, no letters passed between them after that, until the end of winter. Kate remained in Westmorland, wretched and ill at ease, listening to her grandfather's hard words about her brother, and feeling unable to take her brother's part as she used to do.
George returned to town, and found the thousand pounds duly placed to his credit before the end of the month. It is hardly necessary to tell the reader that this money had come from Mr. Tombe, and that Mr. Tombe duly debited Mr. Grey with the amount. Alice, as she had promised to do, had told her father that the money was needed, and her father had procured it without a word of remonstrance.
"Surely I must sign some paper," Alice had said. But she had been content when her father told her that the lawyers would manage all that.
It was nearly the end of February when George Vavasor made his first payment to Mr. Scruby for the coming election; and when he called at Mr. Scruby's office, he received some news.
"The Marquis is as nearly dead as a man can be," said Mr. Scruby, as if the matter were of very great importance.
"I'm very sorry for him," said George. "Who is the Marquis?"
"It's the Marquis of Bunratty; and if he drops, our young Member will go into the House of Lords."
"What, immediately?" George now realised that there would be a by-election, sooner than expected.
"To be sure," said Scruby. "Unfortunately Travers's people heard of it before us, and are ready to be up with their posters directly the breath is out of the Marquis's body. We must go to work immediately; that's all."
"It will only be for part of a Session," said George.
"Just so," said Mr. Scruby.
"And then there'll be the cost of another election."
"That's true," said Mr. Scruby; "but in such cases we do manage to make it a little cheaper. If you beat Travers now, maybe you'll have a walk-over for the next."
"Have you seen Grimes?" asked George.
"Yes, I have; the blackguard! He is going to open his public house on Travers's side. He came to me as bold as brass, saying that he never liked gentlemen who kept him waiting for money."
"We have not managed it very well, certainly," said Vavasor, looking nastily at the attorney.
"We can't help those little accidents, Mr. Vavasor. You may think yourself lucky that I haven't gone over to Travers myself. He is a Liberal, you know; and it hasn't been for want of an offer, I can tell you."
Vavasor almost repented of his Parliamentary ambition. He would now have to spend at least three thousand pounds of his cousin's money on the chance of being able to sit in Parliament for a few months. He might, to be sure, wait for the general election; but if he allowed a Liberal to win the seat now, that holder of the seat would be almost sure to win it again. He must either fight now, or give up the fight altogether.
"Well, Squire," said Scruby, "how is it to be?" And Vavasor felt that he detected in the man's voice some lessening of respect.
"This lord is not dead yet," said Vavasor.
"No; but we can't wait. We need every minute we can get. There isn't any hope for him, I'm told."
"Will Grimes's going over make much difference?"
"He'll take a hundred and fifty votes, I suppose. But that is not much in Chelsea."
"But the Conservatives will have a candidate."
"I don't think they will, not until the general election."
Vavasor found himself compelled to say that he would stand; and Scruby undertook to give orders at once, not waiting even till the Marquis should be dead.
George Vavasor, as he left the attorney's office, said to himself, "If the worst comes to the worst, I can always cut my throat."
Everything was going wrong with him. His grandfather, who was eighty, would not die; whereas this Marquis, who was not much over fifty, was rushing headlong out of the world, simply to inconvenience George Vavasor. As he thought of his grandfather he almost broke his umbrella by vehemently striking it against the pavement. What right could an ignorant old fool like that have to live for ever? If that wretched place in Westmorland could become his now, he might yet ride triumphantly over his difficulties, and refrain from sullying his hands with more of his cousin's money till she should become his wife.
Even that thousand pounds had given him much bitter suffering. He had taught himself to look at it lightly before it was done; but he could not think of it lightly now. Kate had been right. It would have been better for him to take her money. In these days, he did not go near Queen Anne Street, trying to persuade himself that he stayed away because of Alice's coldness to him. But, in truth, he was afraid of seeing her without speaking of her money, and afraid to see her if he were to speak of it.
"Have you seen the papers?" someone said to him as he entered the club. "Bunratty died in Ireland this morning. I suppose you'll be up for election in the Chelsea districts?"


It was not till they had been for a day or two together at Lucerne that Mr. Grey told Mr. Palliser the story of George Vavasor's visit to him in Suffolk Street. Having begun the history of his connection with Alice, he found himself obliged to go with it to the end, and as he described the way in which the man had vanished from the sight of all who had known him,--that he had in truth gone, so as no longer to be a cause of dread, he could not without dissimulation, keep back the story of that last scene. "And he tried to murder you!" said Mr. Palliser. "He should be caught and,--and--" Mr. Palliser hesitated, not liking to say boldly that the first cousin of the lady who was now living with him ought to be hung.
"It is better as it is," said Grey.
"He actually walked into your rooms in the day time, and fired a pistol at you as you were sitting at your breakfast! He did that in London, and then walked off and went abroad, as though he had nothing to fear!"
"That was just it," said Grey.
Mr. Palliser began to think that something ought to be done to make life more secure in the metropolis of the world. Had he not known Mr. Grey, or been accustomed to see the other man in Parliament, he would not have thought so much about it. But it was almost too much for him when he reflected that one man whom he now called his friend, had been nearly murdered in daylight, in the heart of his own part of London, by another man whom he had reckoned among his Parliamentary supporters. "And he has got your money too!" said Palliser, putting all the circumstances of the case together. In answer to this Mr. Grey said that he hoped the loss might eventually be his own; but that he was bound to regard the money which had been taken as part of Miss Vavasor's fortune. "He is simply the greatest miscreant of whom I ever heard in my life," said Mr. Palliser. "The wonder is that Miss Vavasor should ever have brought herself to--to like him." Then Mr. Grey apologized for Alice, explaining that her love for her cousin had come from her early years; that the man himself was clever and capable of assuming pleasant ways, and that he had not been wholly bad till ruin had come upon him. "He attempted public life and made himself miserable by failing, as most men do who make that attempt," said Grey. This was a statement which Mr. Palliser could not allow to pass without notice. Whereupon the two men got away from George Vavasor and their own individual interests, and went on seriously discussing the merits and demerits of public life. "The end of it all is," said Grey at last, "that public men in England should be rich like you, and not poor like that miserable wretch, who has now lost everything that the Fates had given him."
They continued to live at Lucerne in this way for a fortnight. Mr. Grey, though he was not unfrequently alone with Alice, did not plead his suit in direct words; but continued to live with her on terms of close and easy friendship. He had told her that her cousin had left England,--that he had gone to America immediately after his disappointment in regard to the seat in Parliament, and that he would probably not return. "Poor George!" Alice had said; "he is a man very much to be pitied." "He is a man very much to be pitied," Grey had replied. After that, nothing more was said between them about George Vavasor. From Lady Glencora Alice did hear something; but Lady Glencora herself had not heard the whole story. "I believe he misbehaved himself, my dear," Lady Glencora said; "but then, you know, he always does that. I believe that he saw Mr. Grey and insulted him. Perhaps you had better not ask anything about it till by-and-by. You'll be able to get anything out of him then." In answer to this Alice made her usual protest, and Lady Glencora, as was customary, told her that she was a fool.
I am inclined to think that Mr. Grey knew what he was about. Lady Glencora once scolded him very vehemently for not bringing the affair to an end. "We shall be going on to Italy before it's settled," she said; "and I don't suppose you can go with us, unless it is settled." Mr. Grey protested that he had no intention of going to Italy in either case.
"Then it will be put off for another year or two, and you are both of you as old as Adam and Eve already."
"We ancient people are never impatient," said Grey, laughing.
"If I were you I would go to her and tell her, roundly, that she should marry me, and then I would shake her. If you were to scold her, till she did not know whether she stood on her head or her heels, she would come to reason."
"Suppose you try that, Lady Glencora!"
"I can't. It's she that always scolds me,--as you will her, when she's your wife. You and Mr. Palliser are very much alike. You're both of you so very virtuous that no woman would have a chance of picking a hole in your coats."
But Lady Glencora was wrong. Alice would, no doubt, have submitted herself patiently to her lover's rebukes, and would have confessed her own sins towards him with any amount of self-accusation that he might have required; but she would not, on that account, have been more willing to obey him in that one point, as to which he now required present obedience. He understood that she must be taught to forgive herself for the evil she had done,--to forgive herself, at any rate in part,--before she could be induced to return to her old allegiance to him. Thus they went on together at Lucerne, passing quiet, idle days,--with some pretence of reading, with a considerable amount of letter-writing, with boat excursions and pony excursions,--till the pony excursions came to a sudden end by means of a violent edict, as to which, and the cause of it, a word or two must be said just now. During these days of the boats and the ponies, the carriage which Lady Glencora hated so vehemently was shut up in limbo, and things went very pleasantly with her. Mr. Palliser received political letters from England, which made his mouth water sadly, and was often very fidgety. Parliament was not now sitting, and the Government would, of course, remain intact till next February. Might it not be possible that when the rent came in the Cabinet, he might yet be present at the darning? He was a constant man, and had once declared his intention of being absent for a year. He continued to speak to Grey of his coming travels, as though it was impossible that they should be over until after the next Easter. But he was sighing for Westminster, and regretting the blue books which were accumulating themselves at Matching;--till on a sudden, there came to him tidings which upset all his plans, which routed the ponies, which made everything impossible, which made the Alps impassable and the railways dangerous, which drove Burgo Fitzgerald out of Mr. Palliser's head, and so confused him that he could no longer calculate the blunders of the present Chancellor of the Exchequer. All the Palliser world was about to be moved from its lowest depths, to the summits of its highest mountains. Lady Glencora had whispered into her husband's ear that she thought it probable--; she wasn't sure;--she didn't know. And then she burst out into tears on his bosom as he sat by her on her bedside.
He was beside himself when he left her, which he did with the primary intention of telegraphing to London for half a dozen leading physicians. He went out by the lake side, and walked there alone for ten minutes in a state of almost unconscious exaltation. He did not quite remember where he was, or what he was doing. The one thing in the world which he had lacked; the one joy which he had wanted so much, and which is so common among men, was coming to him also. In a few minutes it was to him as though each hand already rested on the fair head of a little male Palliser, of whom one should rule in the halls at Gatherum, and the other be eloquent among the Commons of England. Hitherto,--for the last eight or nine months, since his first hopes had begun to fade,--he had been a man degraded in his own sight amidst all his honours. What good was all the world to him if he had nothing of his own to come after him? We must give him his due, too, when we speak of this. He had not had wit enough to hide his grief from his wife; his knowledge of women and of men in social life had not been sufficient to teach him how this should be done; but he had wished to do it. He had never willingly rebuked her for his disappointment, either by a glance of his eye, or a tone of his voice; and now he had already forgiven everything. Burgo Fitzgerald was a myth. Mrs. Marsham should never again come near her. Mr. Bott was, of course, a thing abolished;--he had not even had the sense to keep his seat in Parliament. Dandy and Flirt should feed on gilded corn, and there should be an artificial moon always ready in the ruins. If only those d----able saddle-ponies of Lucerne had not come across his wife's path! He went at once into the yard and ordered that the ponies should be abolished;--sent away, one and all, to the furthest confines of the canton; and then he himself inspected the cushions of the carriage. Were they dry? As it was August in those days, and August in Lucerne is a warm month, it may be presumed that they were dry.
He then remembered that he had promised to send Alice up to his wife, and he hurried back into the house. She was alone in the breakfast-room, waiting for him and for his wife. In these days, Mr. Grey would usually join them at dinner; but he seldom saw them before eleven or twelve o'clock in the day. Then he would saunter in and join Mr. Palliser, and they would all be together till the evening. When the expectant father of embryo dukes entered the room, Alice perceived at once that some matter was astir. His manner was altogether changed, and he showed by his eye that he was eager and moved beyond his wont. "Alice," he said, "would you mind going up to Glencora's room? She wishes to speak to you." He had never called her Alice before, and as soon as the word was spoken, he remembered himself and blushed.
"She isn't ill, I hope?" said Alice.
"No;--she isn't ill. At least I think she had better not get up quite yet. Don't let her excite herself, if you can help it."
"I'll go to her at once," said Alice rising.
"I'm so much obliged to you;--but, Miss Vavasor--"
"You called me Alice just now, Mr. Palliser, and I took it as a great compliment."
He blushed again. "Did I? Very well. Then I'll do it again--if you'll let me. But, if you please, do be as calm with her as you can. She is so easily excited, you know. Of course, if there's anything she fancies, we'll take care to get it for her; but she must be kept quiet." Upon this Alice left him, having had no moment of time to guess what had happened, or was about to happen; and he was again alone, contemplating the future glories of his house. Had he a thought for his poor cousin Jeffrey, whose nose was now so terribly out of joint? No, indeed. His thoughts were all of himself, and the good things that were coming to him,--of the new world of interest that was being opened for him. It would be better to him, this, than being Chancellor of the Exchequer. He would rather have it in store for him to be father of the next Duke of Omnium, than make half a dozen consecutive annual speeches in Parliament as to the ways and means, and expenditure of the British nation! Could it be possible that this foreign tour had produced for him this good fortune? If so, how luckily had things turned out! He would remember even that ball at Lady Monk's with gratitude. Perhaps a residence abroad would be best for Lady Glencora at this particular period of her life. If so, abroad she should certainly live. Before resolving, however, on anything permanently on this head, he thought that he might judiciously consult those six first-rate London physicians, whom, in the first moment of his excitement, he had been desirous of summoning to Lucerne.
In the meantime Alice had gone up to the bedroom of the lady who was now to be the subject of so much anxious thought. When she entered the room, her friend was up and in her dressing-gown, lying on a sofa which stood at the foot of the bed. "Oh, Alice, I'm so glad you've come," said Lady Glencora. "I do so want to hear your voice." Then Alice knelt beside her, and asked her if she were ill.
"He hasn't told you? But of course he wouldn't. How could he? But, Alice, how did he look? Did you observe anything about him? Was he pleased?"
"I did observe something, and I think he was pleased. But what is it? He called me Alice. And seemed to be quite unlike himself. But what is it? He told me that I was to come to you instantly."
"Oh, Alice, can't you guess?" Then suddenly Alice did guess the secret, and whispered her guess into Lady Glencora's ear. "I suppose it is so," said Lady Glencora. "I know what they'll do. They'll kill me by fussing over me. If I could go about my work like a washerwoman, I should be all right."
"I am so happy," she said, some two or three hours afterwards. "I won't deny that I am very happy. It seemed as though I were destined to bring nothing but misery to everybody, and I used to wish myself dead so often. I shan't wish myself dead now."
"We shall all have to go home, I suppose?" said Alice.
"He says so;--but he seems to think that I oughtn't to travel above a mile and a half a day. When I talked of going down the Rhine in one of the steamers, I thought he would have gone into a fit. When I asked him why, he gave me such a look. I know he'll make a goose of himself;--and he'll make geese of us, too; which is worse."
On that afternoon, as they were walking together, Mr. Palliser told the important secret to his new friend, Mr. Grey. He could not deny himself the pleasure of talking about this great event. "It is a matter, you see, of such immense importance to me," Mr. Palliser said.
"Indeed, it is," said Grey. "Every man feels that when a child is about to be born to him." But this did not at all satisfy Mr. Palliser.
"Yes," said he. "That's of course. It is an important thing to everybody;--very important, no doubt. But, when a man--. You see, Grey, I don't think a man is a bit better because he is rich, or because he has a title; nor do I think he is likely to be in any degree the happier. I am quite sure that he has no right to be in the slightest degree proud of that which he has had no hand in doing for himself."
"Men usually are very proud of such advantages," said Grey.
"I don't think that I am; I don't, indeed. I am proud of some things. Whenever I can manage to carry a point in the House, I feel very proud of it. I don't think I ever knocked under to any one, and I am proud of that." Perhaps, Mr. Palliser was thinking of a certain time when his uncle the Duke had threatened him, and he had not given way to the Duke's threats. "But I don't think I'm proud because chance has made me my uncle's heir."
"Not in the least, I should say."
"But I do feel that a son to me is of more importance than it is to most men. A strong anxiety on the subject, is, I think, more excusable in me than it might be in another. I don't know whether I quite make myself understood?"
"Oh, yes! When there's a dukedom and heaven knows how many thousands a year to be disposed of, the question of their future ownership does become important."
"This property is so much more interesting to one, if one feels that all one does to it is done for one's own son."
"And yet," said Grey, "of all the great plunderers of property throughout Europe, the Popes have been the most greedy."
"Perhaps it's different, when a man can't have a wife," said Mr. Palliser.
From all this it may be seen that Mr. Palliser and Mr. Grey had become very intimate. Had chance brought them together in London they might have met a score of times before Mr. Palliser would have thought of doing more than bowing to such an acquaintance. Mr. Grey might have spent weeks at Matching, without having achieved anything like intimacy with its noble owner. But things of that kind progress more quickly abroad than they do at home. The deck of an ocean steamer is perhaps the most prolific hotbed of the growth of sudden friendships; but an hotel by the side of a Swiss lake does almost as well.
For some time after this Lady Glencora's conduct was frequently so indiscreet as to drive her husband almost to frenzy. On the very day after the news had been communicated to him, she proposed a picnic, and made the proposition not only in the presence of Alice, but in that of Mr. Grey also! Mr. Palliser, on such an occasion, could not express all that he thought; but he looked it.
"What is the matter, now, Plantagenet?" said his wife.
"Nothing," said he;--"nothing. Never mind."
"And shall we make this party up to the chapel?"
The chapel in question was Tell's chapel--ever so far up the lake. A journey in a steam-boat would have been necessary.
"No!" said he, shouting out his refusal at her. "We will not."
"You needn't be angry about it," said she;--as though he could have failed to be stirred by such a proposition at such a time. On another occasion she returned from an evening walk, showing on her face some sign of the exercise she had taken.
"Good G----! Glencora," said he, "do you mean to kill yourself?"
He wanted her to eat six or seven times a day; and always told her that she was eating too much, remembering some ancient proverb about little and often. He watched her now as closely as Mrs. Marsham and Mr. Bott had watched her before; and she always knew that he was doing so. She made the matter worse by continually proposing to do things which she knew he would not permit, in order that she might enjoy the fun of seeing his agony and amazement. But this, though it was fun to her at the moment, produced anything but fun, as its general result.
"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 some one 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.
Your affectionate uncle,
OMNIUM.
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."

It was not till they had been together for a day or two at Lucerne that Mr. Grey told Mr. Palliser the story of George Vavasor's visit to him. Having begun the history of his connection with Alice, he found himself obliged to go on with it to the end.
"And he tried to murder you!" said Mr. Palliser. "He should be caught and - and-"
"It is better as it is," said Grey.
"He actually walked into your rooms and fired a pistol as you were sitting at your breakfast!"
"Just so," said Grey.
Mr. Palliser began to think that something ought to be done to make life safer in the metropolis of the world. "And he has got your money too!" he said. "He is simply the greatest criminal I ever heard of. The wonder is that Miss Vavasor should ever have brought herself to - to like him."
Then Mr. Grey apologized for Alice, explaining that her love for her cousin had come from her early years; that the man himself was clever and could assume pleasant ways, and had not been wholly bad till ruin had come upon him. "He attempted public life and made himself miserable by failing, as most men do who make the attempt," he said.
Mr. Palliser could not allow that statement to pass without comment. Whereupon the two men got away from George Vavasor, and went on seriously discussing the merits of public life as a parliamentarian.
"The end of it all is," said Grey at last, "that public men in England should be rich like you, and not poor like that miserable wretch, who has now lost everything."
They continued to live at Lucerne in this way for a fortnight. Mr. Grey, though he was often alone with Alice, did not plead his suit, but continued to live with her on terms of close and easy friendship. He had told her that her cousin had gone to America immediately after his disappointment over the seat in Parliament, and that he would probably not return.
"Poor George!" Alice had said; "he is very much to be pitied."
"He is," Grey had replied. And nothing more was said between them about George Vavasor.
From Lady Glencora Alice did hear something; but Lady Glencora herself had not heard the whole story.
"I believe he misbehaved himself, my dear," Lady Glencora said; "I believe that he saw Mr. Grey and insulted him. Perhaps you had better not ask anything about it till by-and-by. You'll be able to get anything out of him then." In answer to this Alice made her usual protest, and Lady Glencora told her that she was a fool.
I am inclined to think that Mr. Grey knew what he was doing, although Lady Glencora once scolded him for not bringing the affair to a conclusion.
"We shall be going to Italy before it's settled," she said to him; "and if you don't settle it, it will be put off for another year or two, and you are both as old as Adam and Eve already."
"We ancient people are never impatient," said Grey, laughing.
"If you were to scold her, she would come to reason."
"Suppose you try that, Lady Glencora!"
"I can't. It's she that always scolds me, as you will scold her when she's your wife."
But Lady Glencora was wrong. Alice would, no doubt, have submitted patiently to her lover's rebukes, and would have confessed her own sins towards him; but she would not, on that account, have been more willing to obey him in that one point of marriage. He understood that she must be taught to forgive herself before she could be induced to return to her old allegiance to him.
Thus they passed quiet, idle days at Lucerne, with some pretence of reading, a considerable amount of letter-writing, and with boat and pony excursions, till the pony excursions came to a sudden end because of a violent edict.
During these days of the boats and the ponies, Mr. Palliser received political letters from England which made him very fidgety. Parliament was not sitting, and the Government would remain intact till next February. Might it not be possible that when a gap came in the Cabinet, he might yet be present at its filling?
Although he continued to plan travelling till Easter, he was sighing for Westminster - till suddenly there came tidings which upset all his plans, which made the Alps impassable and the railways dangerous, which drove Burgo Fitzgerald out of Mr. Palliser's head, and so confused him that he could no longer calculate the blunders of the present Chancellor of the Exchequer. All the Palliser world was about to be moved from its lowest depths, to the summits of its highest mountains. Lady Glencora had whispered into her husband's ear that she thought it probable; - she wasn't sure; - she didn't know. And then she burst into tears.
He was beside himself when he left her, meaning to telegraph to London for half a dozen leading physicians. He went out by the lake side, and walked there alone for ten minutes in a state of almost unconscious exaltation. He did not quite remember where he was, or what he was doing. The one thing in the world which he had lacked - the one joy which he had wanted so much, and which is so common among men - was coming to him also. In a few minutes it was to him as though each hand already rested on the fair head of a little male Palliser, of whom one should rule in the halls at Gatherum, and the other be eloquent among the Commons of England.
He had not had wit enough to hide his grief from his wife; but he had wished to do it. He had never rebuked her for his disappointment; and now he had already forgiven everything. Burgo Fitzgerald was a myth. Mrs. Marsham should never again come near her. If only those saddle-ponies of Lucerne had not come across his wife's path! He went at once into the yard and ordered that the ponies should be abolished.
He then remembered that he had promised to send Alice up to his wife, and he hurried back into the house. She was alone in the breakfast-room, for Mr. Grey seldom saw them before eleven or twelve o'clock. When the expectant father of embryo dukes entered the room, Alice perceived at once that something was astir. His manner was altogether changed, and he was unusually eager.
"Alice," he said, "would you mind going up to Glencora's room? She wishes to speak to you." He had never called her Alice before, and as soon as he said it, he blushed.
"She isn't ill, I hope?" said Alice.
"No; she isn't ill. At least I think she had better not get up quite yet. Don't let her excite herself, if you can help it."
"I'll go to her at once," said Alice rising.
"I'm so much obliged to you;- but, Miss Vavasor-"
"You called me Alice just now, Mr. Palliser, and I took it as a great compliment."
He blushed again. "Did I? Very well. But, if you please, do be as calm with her as you can. She is so easily excited, you know. Of course, if there's anything she fancies, we'll take care to get it for her; but she must be kept quiet."
Alice left him with his thoughts, which were all of himself, and the good things that were coming to him - of the new world of interest that was being opened for him. Could it be possible that this foreign tour had produced this good fortune? If so, how luckily had things turned out! He would remember even that ball at Lady Monk's with gratitude. Perhaps residence abroad would be best for Lady Glencora at this particular period of her life. Before resolving, however, on anything, he thought that he might consult those six first-rate London physicians.
In the meantime Alice had gone up to Glencora's bedroom.
"Oh, Alice, I'm so glad you've come," said Lady Glencora. "I do so want to hear your voice." Then Alice knelt beside her, and asked her if she were ill.
"He hasn't told you? But of course he wouldn't. How could he? But, Alice, how did he look? Was he pleased?"
"I think he was pleased. But what is it? He called me Alice. And seemed to be quite unlike himself. What is it? He told me that I was to come to you instantly."
"Oh, Alice, can't you guess?" Then suddenly Alice did guess the secret, and whispered into Lady Glencora's ear.
"I suppose so," said Lady Glencora. "I know what they'll do. They'll fuss over me so. If I could go about my work like a washerwoman, I should be all right."
"I am so happy," she said, some two or three hours afterwards. "I won't deny that I am very happy. I used to wish myself dead so often. I shan't wish myself dead now."
"We shall all have to go home, I suppose?" said Alice.
"He says so; but he seems to think that I oughtn't to travel more than a mile and a half a day. When I talked of going down the Rhine in one of the steamers, I thought he would have gone into a fit."
On that afternoon, as they were walking together, Mr. Palliser told the important secret to his new friend, Mr. Grey. He could not deny himself the pleasure of talking about it.
"It is a matter, you see, of such immense importance to me," Mr. Palliser said.
"Indeed, it is," said Grey. "Every man feels that when a child is to be born to him." But this did not satisfy Mr. Palliser.
"Yes," said he. "Naturally. It is an important thing to everybody, no doubt. But, when a man has a title - he's no better or happier than other men, of course - but a son is of more importance than it is to most men. One feels that all one does is done for one's own son."
It may be seen that Mr. Palliser and Mr. Grey had become good friends. Had chance brought them together in London they might have met a score of times before Mr. Palliser would have thought of doing more than bowing. But things of that kind progress more quickly abroad than they do at home.
For some time after this Lady Glencora's conduct was frequently so indiscreet as to drive her husband almost to frenzy. On the very day after he learnt the news, she proposed a picnic!
"What is the matter, now, Plantagenet?" said she.
"Nothing," said he; "nothing. Never mind."
"And shall we go up to the chapel?"
The chapel was far up the lake; a journey in a steam-boat would have been necessary.
"No!" said he, shouting his refusal. "We will not."
"You needn't be angry about it," said she.
On another occasion she returned from an evening walk, appearing a little tired.
"Good G---! Glencora," said he, "do you mean to kill yourself?"
He wanted her to eat six or seven times a day; and always told her that she was eating too much, remembering some ancient proverb about little and often. He watched her closely; and she knew that he was doing so. She continually proposed to do things which she knew he would not permit, in order to enjoy the fun of seeing his agony and amazement. But though this was fun to her at the moment, it produced anything but fun as its general result.
"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. 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. I shall take that matter into my own hands. He can do what he pleases with me; but I shan't let him or anybody else 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. Mr. Grey wouldn't make himself so troublesome, I'm quite sure."
Alice held her tongue.
About a fortnight after the first consternation of the news, arrangements were made for their return to England. Mr. Palliser had written to the Duke of Omnium, and had this short reply:
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.
Your affectionate uncle,
Omnium.
Short as it was, it was probably the longest letter 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 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."
Mr. Palliser did at last consent to take the joint opinion of a Swiss doctor and an English one at Berne. They suggested the railway; and it was agreed, at last, that thus they should return, but stopping at various halting-places for a day. The first was 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."

Chapter 73: In Which Come Tidings of Great Moment to All Pallisers


Burgo Fitzgerald, of whose hunting experiences something has been told in the last chapter, was a young man born in the purple of the English aristocracy. He was related to half the dukes in the kingdom, and had three countesses for his aunts. When he came of age he was master of a sufficient fortune to make it quite out of the question that he should be asked to earn his bread; and though that, and other windfalls that had come to him, had long since been spent, no one had ever made to him so ridiculous a proposition as that. He was now thirty, and for some years past had been known to be much worse than penniless; but still he lived on in the same circles, still slept softly and drank of the best, and went about with his valet and his groom and his horses, and fared sumptuously every day. Some people said the countesses did it for him, and some said that it was the dukes;--while others, again, declared that the Jews were his most generous friends. At any rate he still seemed to live as he had always lived, setting tradesmen at defiance, and laughing to scorn all the rules which regulate the lives of other men.
About eighteen months before the time of which I am now speaking, a great chance had come in this young man's way, and he had almost succeeded in making himself one of the richest men in England. There had been then a great heiress in the land, on whom the properties of half-a-dozen ancient families had concentrated; and Burgo, who in spite of his iniquities still kept his position in the drawing-rooms of the great, had almost succeeded in obtaining the hand and the wealth,--as people still said that he had obtained the heart,--of the Lady Glencora M'Cluskie. But sundry mighty magnates, driven almost to despair at the prospect of such a sacrifice, had sagaciously put their heads together, and the result had been that the Lady Glencora had heard reason. She had listened,--with many haughty tossings indeed of her proud little head, with many throbbings of her passionate young heart; but in the end she listened and heard reason. She saw Burgo, for the last time, and told him that she was the promised bride of Plantagenet Palliser, nephew and heir of the Duke of Omnium.
He had borne it like a man,--never having groaned openly, or quivered once before any comrade at the name of the Lady Glencora. She had married Mr. Palliser at St. George's Square, and on the morning of the marriage he had hung about his club door in Pall Mall, listening to the bells, and saying a word or two about the wedding, with admirable courage. It had been for him a great chance,--and he had lost it. Who can say, too, that his only regret was for the money? He had spoken once of it to a married sister of his, in whose house he had first met Lady Glencora. "I shall never marry now,--that is all," he said--and then he went about, living his old reckless life, with the same recklessness as ever. He was one of those young men with dark hair and blue eyes,--who wear no beard, and are certainly among the handsomest of all God's creatures. No more handsome man than Burgo Fitzgerald lived in his days; and this merit at any rate was his,--that he thought nothing of his own beauty. But he lived ever without conscience, without purpose,--with no idea that it behoved him as a man to do anything but eat and drink,--or ride well to hounds till some poor brute, much nobler than himself, perished beneath him.
He chiefly concerns our story at this present time because the Lady Glencora who had loved him,--and would have married him had not those sagacious heads prevented it,--was a cousin of Alice Vavasor's. She was among those very great relations with whom Alice was connected by her mother's side,--being indeed so near to Lady Macleod, that she was first cousin to that lady, only once removed. Lady Midlothian was aunt to the Lady Glencora, and our Alice might have called cousins, and not been forbidden, with the old Lord of the Isles, Lady Glencora's father,--who was dead, however, some time previous to that affair with Burgo,--and with the Marquis of Auld Reekie, who was Lady Glencora's uncle, and had been her guardian. But Alice had kept herself aloof from her grand relations on her mother's side, choosing rather to hold herself as belonging to those who were her father's kindred. With Lady Glencora, however, she had for a short time--for some week or ten days,--been on terms of almost affectionate intimacy. It had been then, when the wayward heiress with the bright waving locks had been most strongly minded to give herself and her wealth to Burgo Fitzgerald. Burgo had had money dealings with George Vavasor, and knew him,--knew him intimately, and had learned the fact of his cousinship between the heiress and his friend's cousin. Whereupon in the agony of those weeks in which the sagacious heads were resisting her love, Lady Glencora came to her cousin in Queen Anne Street, and told Alice all that tale. "Was Alice," she asked, "afraid of the marquises and the countesses, or of all the rank and all the money which they boasted?" Alice answered that she was not at all afraid of them. "Then would she permit Lady Glencora and Burgo to see each other in the drawing-room at Queen Anne Street, just once!" Just once,--so that they might arrange that little plan of an elopement. But Alice could not do that for her newly found cousin. She endeavoured to explain that it was not the dignity of the sagacious heads which stood in her way, but her woman's feeling of what was right and wrong in such a matter.
"Why should I not marry him?" said Lady Glencora, with her eyes flashing. "He is my equal."
Alice explained that she had no word to say against such a marriage. She counselled her cousin to be true to her love if her love was in itself true. But she, an unmarried woman, who had hitherto not known her cousin, might not give such help as that! "If you will not help me, I am helpless!" said the Lady Glencora, and then she kneeled at Alice's knees and threw her wavy locks abroad on Alice's lap. "How shall I bribe you?" said Lady Glencora. "Next to him I will love you better than all the world." But Alice, though she kissed the fair forehead and owned that such reward would be worth much to her, could not take any bribe for such a cause. Then Lady Glencora had been angry with her, calling her heartless, and threatening her that she too might have sorrow of her own and want assistance. Alice told nothing of her own tale,--how she had loved her cousin and had been forced to give him up, but said what kind words she could, and she of the waving hair and light blue eyes had been pacified. Then she had come again,--had come daily while the sagacious heads were at work,--and Alice in her trouble had been a comfort to her.
But the sagacious heads were victorious, as we know, and Lady Glencora M'Cluskie became Lady Glencora Palliser with all the propriety in the world, instead of becoming wife to poor Burgo, with all imaginable impropriety. And then she wrote a letter to Alice, very short and rather sad; but still with a certain sweetness in it. "She had been counselled that it was not fitting for her to love as she had thought to love, and she had resolved to give up her dream. Her cousin Alice, she knew, would respect her secret. She was going to become the wife of the best man, she thought, in all the world; and it should be the one care of her life to make him happy." She said not a word in all her letter of loving this newly found lord. "She was to be married at once. Would Alice be one among the bevy of bridesmaids who were to grace the ceremony?"
Alice wished her joy heartily,--"heartily," she said, but had declined that office of bridesmaid. She did not wish to undergo the cold looks of the Lady Julias and Lady Janes who all would know each other, but none of whom would know her. So she sent her cousin a little ring, and asked her to keep it amidst all the wealthy tribute of marriage gifts which would be poured forth at her feet.
From that time to this present Alice had heard no more of Lady Glencora. She had been married late in the preceding season and had gone away with Mr. Palliser, spending her honeymoon amidst the softnesses of some Italian lake. They had not returned to England till the time had come for them to encounter the magnificent Christmas festivities of Mr. Palliser's uncle, the Duke. On this occasion Gatherum Castle, the vast palace which the Duke had built at a cost of nearly a quarter of a million, was opened, as it had never been opened before;--for the Duke's heir had married to the Duke's liking, and the Duke was a man who could do such things handsomely when he was well pleased. Then there had been a throng of bridal guests, and a succession of bridal gaieties which had continued themselves even past the time at which Mr. Palliser was due at Westminster;--and Mr. Palliser was a legislator who served his country with the utmost assiduity. So the London season commenced, progressed, and was consumed; and still Alice heard nothing more of her friend and cousin Lady Glencora.
But this had troubled her not at all. A chance circumstance, the story of which she had told to no one, had given her a short intimacy with this fair child of the gold mines, but she had felt that they two could not live together in habits of much intimacy. She had, when thinking of the young bride, only thought of that wild love episode in the girl's life. It had been strange to her that she should in one week have listened to the most passionate protestations from her friend of love for one man, and then have been told in the next that another man was to be her friend's husband! But she reflected that her own career was much the same,--only with the interval of some longer time.
But her own career was not the same. Glencora had married Mr. Palliser,--had married him without pausing to doubt;--but Alice had gone on doubting till at last she had resolved that she would not marry Mr. Grey. She thought of this much in those days at Cheltenham, and wondered often whether Glencora lived with her husband in the full happiness of conjugal love.
One morning, about three days after Mr. Grey's visit, there came to her two letters, as to neither of which did she know the writer by the handwriting. Lady Macleod had told her,--with some hesitation, indeed, for Lady Macleod was afraid of her,--but had told her, nevertheless, more than once, that those noble relatives had heard of the treatment to which Mr. Grey was being subjected, and had expressed their great sorrow,--if not dismay or almost anger. Lady Macleod, indeed, had gone as far as she dared, and might have gone further without any sacrifice of truth. Lady Midlothian had said that it would be disgraceful to the family, and Lady Glencora's aunt, the Marchioness of Auld Reekie, had demanded to be told what it was the girl wanted.
When the letters came Lady Macleod was not present, and I am disposed to think that one of them had been written by concerted arrangement with her. But if so she had not dared to watch the immediate effect of her own projectile. This one was from Lady Midlothian. Of the other Lady Macleod certainly knew nothing, though it also had sprung out of the discussions which had taken place as to Alice's sins in the Auld Reekie-Midlothian set. This other letter was from Lady Glencora. Alice opened the two, one without reading the other, very slowly. Lady Midlothian's was the first opened, and then came a spot of anger on Alice's cheeks as she saw the signature, and caught a word or two as she allowed her eye to glance down the page. Then she opened the other, which was shorter, and when she saw her cousin's signature, "Glencora Palliser," she read that letter first,--read it twice before she went back to the disagreeable task of perusing Lady Midlothian's lecture. The reader shall have both the letters, but that from the Countess shall have precedence.
Castle Reekie, N.B. -- Oct. 186--.
MY DEAR MISS VAVASOR,
I have not the pleasure of knowing you personally, though I have heard of you very often from our dear mutual friend and relative Lady Macleod, with whom I understand that you are at present on a visit. Your grandmother,--by the mother's side,--Lady Flora Macleod, and my mother the Countess of Leith, were half-sisters; and though circumstances since that have prevented our seeing so much of each other as is desirable, I have always remembered the connection, and have ever regarded you as one in whose welfare I am bound by ties of blood to take a warm interest.
"'Since that!'--what does she mean by 'since that'?" said Alice to herself. "She has never set eyes on me at all. Why does she talk of not having seen as much of me as is desirable?"
I had learned with great gratification that you were going to be married to a most worthy gentleman, Mr. John Grey of Nethercoats, in Cambridgeshire. When I first heard this I made it my business to institute some inquiries, and I was heartily glad to find that your choice had done you so much credit. [If the reader has read Alice's character as I have meant it should be read, it will thoroughly be understood that this was wormwood to her.] I was informed that Mr. Grey is in every respect a gentleman,--that he is a man of most excellent habits, and one to whom any young woman could commit her future happiness with security, that his means are very good for his position, and that there was no possible objection to such a marriage. All this gave great satisfaction to me, in which I was joined by the Marchioness of Auld Reekie, who is connected with you almost as nearly as I am, and who, I can assure you, feels a considerable interest in your welfare. I am staying with her now, and in all that I say, she agrees with me.
You may feel then how dreadfully we were dismayed when we were told by dear Lady Macleod that you had told Mr. Grey that you intended to change your mind! My dear Miss Vavasor, can this be true? There are things in which a young lady has no right to change her mind after it has been once made up; and certainly when a young lady has accepted a gentleman, that is one of them. He cannot legally make you become his wife, but he has a right to claim you before God and man. Have you considered that he has probably furnished his house in consequence of his intended marriage,--and perhaps in compliance with your own especial wishes? [I think that Lady Macleod must have told the Countess something that she had heard about the garden.] Have you reflected that he has of course told all his friends? Have you any reason to give? I am told, none! Nothing should ever be done without a reason; much less such a thing as this in which your own interests and, I may say, respectability are involved. I hope you will think of this before you persist in destroying your own happiness and perhaps that of a very worthy man.
I had heard, some years ago, when you were much younger, that you had become imprudently attached in another direction--with a gentleman with none of those qualities to recommend him which speak so highly for Mr. Grey. It would grieve me very much, as it would also the Marchioness, who in this matter thinks exactly as I do, if I were led to suppose that your rejection of Mr. Grey had been caused by _any renewal of that project_. Nothing, my dear Miss Vavasor, could be more unfortunate,--and I might almost add a stronger word.
I have been advised that a line from me as representing your poor mother's family, especially as I have at the present moment the opportunity of expressing Lady Auld Reekie's sentiments as well as my own, might be of service. I implore you, my dear Miss Vavasor, to remember what you owe to God and man, and to carry out an engagement made by yourself, that is in all respects comme il faut, and which will give entire satisfaction to your friends and relatives.
MARGARET M. MIDLOTHIAN.
I think that Lady Macleod had been wrong in supposing that this could do any good. She should have known Alice better; and should also have known the world better. But her own reverence for her own noble relatives was so great that she could not understand, even yet, that all such feeling was wanting to her niece. It was to her impossible that the expressed opinion of such an one as the Countess of Midlothian, owning her relationship and solicitude, and condescending at the same time to express friendship,--she could not, I say, understand that the voice of such an one, so speaking, should have no weight whatever. But I think that she had been quite right in keeping out of Alice's way at the moment of the arrival of the letter. Alice read it, slowly, and then replacing it in its envelope, leaned back quietly in her chair,--with her eyes fixed upon the teapot on the table. She had, however, the other letter on which to occupy her mind, and thus relieve her from the effects of too deep an animosity against the Countess.
The Lady Glencora's letter was as follows:
Matching Priory, Thursday.
DEAR COUSIN,
I have just come home from Scotland, where they have been telling me something of your little troubles. I had little troubles once too, and you were so good to me! Will you come to us here for a few weeks? We shall be here till Christmas-time, when we go somewhere else. I have told my husband that you are a great friend of mine as well as a cousin, and that he must be good to you. He is very quiet, and works very hard at politics; but I think you will like him. Do come! There will be a good many people here, so that you will not find it dull. If you will name the day we will send the carriage for you at Matching Station, and I dare say I can manage to come myself.
Yours affectionately,
G. PALLISER.
P.S. I know what will be in your mind. You will say, why did not she come to me in London? She knew the way to Queen Anne Street well enough. Dear Alice, don't say that. Believe me, I had much to do and think of in London. And if I was wrong, yet you will forgive me. Mr. Palliser says I am to give you his love,--as being a cousin,--and say that you must come!
This letter was certainly better than the other, but Alice, on reading it, came to a resolve that she would not accept the invitation. In the first place, even that allusion to her little troubles jarred upon her feelings; and then she thought that her rejection of Mr. Grey could be no special reason why she should go to Matching Priory. Was it not very possible that she had been invited that she might meet Lady Midlothian there, and encounter all the strength of a personal battery from the Countess? Lady Glencora's letter she would of course answer, but to Lady Midlothian she would not condescend to make any reply whatever.
About eleven o'clock Lady Macleod came down to her. For half-an-hour or so Alice said nothing; nor did Lady Macleod ask any question. She looked inquisitively at Alice, eyeing the letter which was lying by the side of her niece's workbasket, but she said no word about Mr. Grey or the Countess. At last Alice spoke.
"Aunt," she said, "I have had a letter this morning from your friend, Lady Midlothian."
"She is my cousin, Alice; and yours as much as mine."
"Your cousin then, aunt. But it is of more moment that she is your friend. She certainly is not mine, nor can her cousinship afford any justification for her interfering in my affairs."
"Alice,--from her position--"
"Her position can be nothing to me, aunt. I will not submit to it. There is her letter, which you can read if you please. After that you may burn it. I need hardly say that I shall not answer it."
"And what am I to say to her, Alice?"
"Nothing from me, aunt;--from yourself, whatever you please, of course." Then there was silence between them for a few minutes. "And I have had another letter, from Lady Glencora, who married Mr. Palliser, and whom I knew in London last spring."
"And has that offended you, too?"
"No, there is no offence in that. She asks me to go and see her at Matching Priory, her husband's house; but I shall not go."
But at last Alice agreed to pay this visit, and it may be as well to explain here how she was brought to do so. She wrote to Lady Glencora, declining, and explaining frankly that she did decline, because she thought it probable that she might there meet Lady Midlothian. Lady Midlothian, she said, had interfered very unwarrantably in her affairs, and she did not wish to make her acquaintance. To this Lady Glencora replied, post haste, that she had intended no such horrid treachery as that for Alice; that neither would Lady Midlothian be there, nor any of that set; by which Alice knew that Lady Glencora referred specially to her aunt the Marchioness; that no one would be at Matching who could torment Alice, either with right or without it, "except so far as I myself may do so," Lady Glencora said; and then she named an early day in November, at which she would herself undertake to meet Alice at the Matching Station. On receipt of this letter, Alice, after two days' doubt, accepted the invitation.

Burgo Fitzgerald, of whom something has been told in the last chapter, was a young man born into the English aristocracy. He was related to half the dukes in the kingdom, and had three countesses for aunts. When he came of age he had a large enough fortune to make it out of the question that he should be asked to earn his bread; and though the fortune had long since been spent, no one had ever made to him so ridiculous a suggestion as that.
He was now thirty, and worse than penniless; but still he lived in the same circles, drank of the best, went about with his valet and his groom and his horses, and dined sumptuously every day. Some people said the countesses did it for him, and some said the dukes; while others declared that the money-lenders were his most generous friends. At any rate he still seemed to live as he had always lived.
About eighteen months before the time of which I am writing, a great opportunity had come in this young man's way, and he had almost succeeded in making himself one of the richest men in England. There had been a great heiress, on whom the properties of half-a-dozen ancient families had concentrated; and Burgo had almost succeeded in obtaining the hand and the wealth - and people still said the heart - of the Lady Glencora M'Cluskie.
But various mighty magnates, aghast at the prospect of such a marriage, had put their heads together to make Lady Glencora hear reason. She had listened with many haughty tossings of her proud little head, with many throbbings of her passionate young heart; but she listened and heard reason. She saw Burgo for the last time, and told him that she was the promised bride of Plantagenet Palliser, nephew and heir of the Duke of Omnium.
Burgo had borne it like a man. Lady Glencora had married Mr. Palliser at St. George's Square, and on the morning of the marriage Burgo had hung about his club door in Pall Mall, listening to the bells, and speaking about the wedding with admirable courage. He spoke once of it to a married sister, in whose house he had first met Lady Glencora.
"I shall never marry now," he said - and then he went on living his old life, as recklessly as ever. No more handsome man than Burgo Fitzgerald lived; and he had the merit of thinking nothing of his own beauty. But he lived without conscience and without purpose - feeling no need to do anything but eat and drink - or ride to hounds till some poor brute, much nobler than himself, perished beneath him.
He concerns our story because the Lady Glencora who had loved him was a cousin of Alice Vavasor's. She was among those very great relations with whom Alice was connected through her mother - being indeed first cousin, once removed, to Lady Macleod. Lady Midlothian was aunt to Lady Glencora, and the Marquis of Auld Reekie was her uncle.
Alice had kept herself aloof from these grand relations. With Lady Glencora, however, she had for a short time - a week or ten days - been on terms of almost affectionate intimacy. It had been when the wayward heiress had been most strongly minded to give herself to Burgo Fitzgerald. She came to her cousin in Queen Anne Street, and told Alice all the tale.
"Would Alice," she asked, "permit Lady Glencora and Burgo to see each other in the drawing-room at Queen Anne Street, just once?" Just once - so that they might arrange a little plan of an elopement. But Alice could not do that for her cousin. She tried to explain that she felt it was wrong.
"Why should I not marry him?" said Lady Glencora, with her eyes flashing. "He is my equal."
Alice explained that she had no word to say against such a marriage. But she could not help in that way.
"If you will not help me, I am helpless!" said the Lady Glencora, and she kneeled at Alice's chair with her wavy hair on Alice's lap. "Next to him I will love you better than all the world." But Alice, though she kissed the fair forehead, could not take any bribe for such a cause.
Then Lady Glencora had been angry with her, calling her heartless, and threatening her that she too might have sorrow and want help. Alice told nothing of her own tale - how she had loved her cousin and had been forced to give him up, but said what kind words she could, and Lady Glencora had been pacified. Then she had come again, had come daily - and Alice had been a comfort to her.
So Lady Glencora M'Cluskie became Lady Glencora Palliser, instead of becoming wife to poor Burgo. She wrote a letter to Alice, very short but with a certain sweetness in it.
"She had been counselled that it was not fitting for her to love as she had thought to love, and she had resolved to give up her dream. She knew Alice would respect her secret. She was going to become the wife of the best man in the world; and it should be the care of her life to make him happy." Glencora said not a word in her letter of loving her husband. "Would Alice be one of her bridesmaids?"
Alice wished her joy heartily, and sent her cousin a little ring, but declined the office of bridesmaid. From that time to the present she had heard no more of Lady Glencora, who had gone away with Mr. Palliser to spend her honeymoon by some Italian lake. They had not returned to England till it was time to attend the magnificent Christmas festivities of Mr. Palliser's uncle, the Duke of Omnium.
Gatherum Castle, the vast palace which the Duke had built at huge cost, was opened as it had never been opened before; for the Duke's heir had married to the Duke's liking, and the Duke was well pleased. There had been a throng of bridal guests, and a succession of bridal gaieties had continued past the time at which Mr. Palliser was due at Westminster, although Mr. Palliser served his country with the utmost assiduity. So the London season passed, and Alice heard nothing of her friend and cousin.
But this had not troubled her. She had told no-one of her short intimacy with this fair child of the gold mines, but she had felt that such intimacy could not be sustained. It seemed strange that she should have listened to Glencora's passionate protestations of love for one man, only to be told the next week she was to marry another man! Alice reflected that her own career was much the same - only over a longer time.
But her own career was not the same. Glencora had married Mr. Palliser without pausing to doubt; but Alice had gone on doubting till at last she had resolved not to marry Mr. Grey. She often thought of Glencora, and wondered whether she was happy in her marriage.
One morning, about three days after Mr. Grey's visit, two letters came to Alice at Cheltenham. She recognised the writing of neither. Lady Macleod was not present when these letters arrived, but she knew one of them was coming: a letter from Lady Midlothian, who was shocked by Alice's treatment of Mr. Grey. Of the other Lady Macleod knew nothing. This other letter was from Lady Glencora.
Alice opened them both very slowly. Lady Midlothian's was the first, and Alice flushed with anger as she saw the signature, and caught a word or two on the page. Then she opened the other, which was shorter, and when she saw her cousin's signature, "Glencora Palliser," she read that letter first, before she went back to the disagreeable task of perusing Lady Midlothian's lecture.
The reader shall see both the letters, but that from the Countess of Midlothian shall have precedence.
Castle Reekie
My dear Miss Vavasor,
I have not the pleasure of knowing you personally, though I have heard of you often from our dear mutual friend and relative Lady Macleod. Your grandmother Lady Flora Macleod, and my mother the Countess of Leith, were half-sisters; and though circumstances have prevented our seeing each other, I have always regarded you as one in whose welfare I am bound by ties of blood to take a warm interest.
I had learned with great gratification that you were going to be married to a most worthy gentleman, Mr. John Grey of Nethercoats. When I made inquiries, I was heartily glad to find that your choice had done you so much credit. I was informed that Mr. Grey is in every respect a gentleman of excellent habits and very good means, and that there was no possible objection to such a marriage. All this gave me great satisfaction, in which I was joined by the Marchioness of Auld Reekie, who feels a considerable interest in your welfare. I am staying with her now, and in all that I say, she agrees with me.
You may imagine then how dreadfully dismayed we were when informed by dear Lady Macleod that you intend to change your mind! My dear Miss Vavasor, can this be true? There are things in which a young lady has no right to change her mind; and when a young lady has accepted a gentleman, that is one of them. Have you considered that he has probably furnished his house - perhaps in compliance with your own special wishes? Have you any reason to give? I am told, none! Nothing should ever be done without a reason; much less such a thing as this in which your own interests and respectability are involved. I hope you will think of this before you persist in destroying your own happiness and perhaps that of a very worthy man.
I had heard, some years ago, when you were much younger, that you had become imprudently attached in another direction -with a gentleman with none of excellent qualities possessed by Mr. Grey. It would grieve us very much if your rejection of Mr. Grey had been caused by any renewal of that project. Nothing, my dear Miss Vavasor, could be more unfortunate.
I have been advised that a line from me, expressing Lady Auld Reekie's sentiments as well as my own, might be of service. I implore you, my dear Miss Vavasor, to remember what you owe to God and man, and to carry out an engagement made by yourself, which will give entire satisfaction to your friends and relatives.
Margaret M. Midlothian.
Lady Macleod had been wrong when she supposed that this could do any good. She should have known Alice better. But her own reverence for her own noble relatives was so great that she could not understand that the voice of a countess should have no weight whatever. Alice read it, slowly, and then replacing it in its envelope, leaned back quietly in her chair, with her eyes fixed upon the teapot. She had, however, the other letter to distract her.
Lady Glencora's letter was as follows:
Dear Cousin,
I have just come home from Scotland, where they have been telling me something of your little troubles. I had little troubles once too, and you were so good to me! Will you come to us here for a few weeks? We shall be here till Christmas-time, when we go somewhere else. I have told my husband that you are a great friend of mine as well as a cousin, and that he must be good to you. He is very quiet, and works very hard at politics; but I think you will like him. Do come! There will be a good many people here, so that you will not find it dull. If you will name the day we will send the carriage for you at Matching Station, and I dare say I can manage to come myself.
Yours affectionately,
G. Palliser.
P.S. I know you will say to yourself, why did not she come to me in London? Dear Alice, believe me, I had much to do and think of in London. And if I was wrong, forgive me. Mr. Palliser says I am to give you his love, as a cousin, and say that you must come!
This letter was certainly better than the other, but Alice, on reading it, resolved that she would not accept the invitation. In the first place, even that allusion to her little troubles jarred upon her feelings; and then she thought it very possible that she might have been invited in order to meet Lady Midlothian there. She would answer Lady Glencora's letter, but to Lady Midlothian she would not make any reply whatever.
When Lady Macleod came down to her, Alice said nothing; nor did Lady Macleod ask any question. She looked inquisitively at Alice, eyeing the letter lying by her niece's workbasket, but she said no word until at last Alice spoke.
"Aunt," she said, "I have had a letter this morning from your friend, Lady Midlothian."
"She is my cousin, Alice; and yours."
"Your cousin then, aunt. But it matters more that she is your friend. She certainly is not mine, nor is cousinship any justification for her interfering in my affairs. There is her letter, which you can read if you please. After that you may burn it. I need hardly say that I shall not answer it."
"What am I to say to her, Alice?"
"Nothing from me, aunt; from yourself, whatever you please, of course." Then there was silence for a few minutes. "And I have had another letter, from Lady Glencora, who married Mr. Palliser, and whom I knew in London last spring."
"And has that offended you, too?"
"No, there is no offence in that. She asks me to go and see her at Matching Priory, her husband's house; but I shall not go."
But at last Alice agreed to pay this visit. It happened this way. She wrote to Lady Glencora, declining, and explaining frankly that she thought she might meet Lady Midlothian there; and that Lady Midlothian had interfered unnecessarily in her affairs. To this Lady Glencora replied that she had intended no such horrid treachery, for Lady Midlothian would not be there; and then she named an early day in November, at which she would herself meet Alice at Matching Station. On receiving this letter, Alice accepted the invitation.

Chapter 18: Alice Vavasor's Great Relations