"It's all my own, Mrs. Greenow, and the half of it shall be yours if you'll please to take it;" then he stretched out his hand to her, not as though he intended to grasp hers in a grasp of love, but as if he expected some hand-pledge from her as a token that she accepted the bargain.

"It's all my own, Mrs. Greenow, and the half of it shall be yours if you'll please to take it." He stretched out his hand to her, as if he expected her to shake it in acceptance of the bargain.


"If you'd known Greenow, Mr. Cheesacre--"


"I've no doubt he was a very good sort of man."


"If you'd known him, you would not have addressed me in this way."


My idea is that care killed a cat, as I said before.


I never knew what was the good of being unhappy.


If I find early mangels don't do on a bit of land, then I sow late turnips; and never cry after spilt milk.


Greenow was the early mangels; I'll be the late turnips.


There ain't a bedroom in my house,--not one of the front ones,--that isn't mahogany furnished!"

There ain't a bedroom in my house - the front ones - that isn't mahogany furnished!"


said Mrs. Greenow, with her handkerchief to her eyes.


Just at this moment Maria's mother stepped in under the canvas.


Mr. Cheesacre felt that he was progressing well, and was conscious that he had got safely over those fences in the race which his bashfulness would naturally make difficult to him.

Mr. Cheesacre felt that he was progressing well.


He knew that he had done this under the influence of the champagne, and was aware that it might not be easy to procure again a combination of circumstances that would be so beneficial to him.


But now he was interrupted just as he was expecting success.


He was interrupted, and felt himself to be looking like a guilty creature under the eye of the strange lady.


He had not a word to say; but drawing himself suddenly a foot and half away from the widow's side, sat there confessing his guilt in his face.

drew suddenly away from the widow's side, and sat there confessing his guilt in his face.


Mrs. Greenow felt no guilt, and was afraid of no strange eyes.


"Mr. Cheesacre and I are talking about farming," she said.


"Mr. Cheesacre thinks that turnips are better than early mangels," said Mrs. Greenow.


"I prefer the early mangels," said Mrs. Greenow.


"I don't think nature ever intended those late crops.


"I daresay Mr. Cheesacre understands what he's about when he's at home," said the lady.


"I know what a bit of land can do as well as any man in Norfolk," said the gentleman.


"It may be very well in Norfolk," said Mrs. Greenow, rising from her seat; "but the practice isn't thought much of in the other counties with which I am better acquainted."


"I'd just come in to say that I thought we might be getting to the boats," said Mrs. Walker.


At this moment the delicate Ophelia was to be seen, under the influence of the music, taking a distant range upon the sands with Joe Fairstairs' arm round her waist.

At this moment the delicate Ophelia was to be seen distantly upon the sands with Joe Fairstairs' arm round her waist,


The attitude was justified by the tune that was in progress, and there is no reason why a galop on the sands should have any special termination in distance, as it must have in a room.


But, under such circumstances, Mrs. Walker's solicitude was not unreasonable.

so Mrs. Walker's solicitude was not unreasonable.


The erratic steps of the distant dancers were recalled and preparations were made for the return journey.

The distant dancers were recalled and preparations were made for the return journey.


Others had strayed besides the delicate Ophelia and the idle Joe, and some little time was taken up in collecting the party.

Others had strayed besides the delicate Ophelia and the idle Joe, and it took some time to collect the party.


The boats had to be drawn down, and the boatmen fetched from their cans and tobacco-pipes.


"I hope they're sober," said Mrs. Walker, with a look of great dismay.


"Sober as judges," said Bellfield, who had himself been looking after the remains of Mr. Cheesacre's hampers, while that gentleman had been so much better engaged in the tent.


"Because," continued Mrs. Walker, "I know that they play all manner of tricks when they're--in liquor.


They'd think nothing of taking us out to sea, Mrs. Greenow."


"Oh, I do wish they would," said Ophelia.


"Ophelia, mind you come in the boat with me," said her mother, and she looked very savage when she gave the order.

"Ophelia, mind you come in the boat with me," said her mother.


It was Mrs. Walker's intention that that boat should not carry Joe Fairstairs.


But Joe and her daughter together were too clever for her.

But Joe Fairstairs and her daughter were too clever for her.


When the boats went off she found herself to be in that one over which Mr. Cheesacre presided, while the sinning Ophelia with her good-for-nothing admirer were under the more mirthful protection of Captain Bellfield.

When the boats went off she found herself to be in Mr. Cheesacre's, while Ophelia and her admirer were under the protection of Captain Bellfield.


"Mamma will be so angry," said Ophelia, "and it was all your fault.


Then they got settled down in their seats, to the satisfaction, let us hope, of them both.


Mr. Cheesacre had vainly endeavoured to arrange that Mrs. Greenow should return with him.

Mr. Cheesacre had vainly tried to arrange that Mrs. Greenow should return with him.


But not only was Captain Bellfield opposed to such a change in their positions, but so also was Mrs. Greenow.


"I think we'd better go back as we came," she said, giving her hand to the Captain.

But the widow said, "I think we'd better go back as we came," and gave her hand to the Captain.


"Oh, certainly," said Captain Bellfield.


"Cheesacre, old fellow, mind you look after Mrs. Walker.


It really almost appeared that Captain Bellfield was addressing Mrs. Greenow as "his hearty," but it must be presumed that the term of genial endearment was intended for the whole boat's load.


Mrs. Greenow took her place on the comfortable broad bench in the stern, and Bellfield seated himself beside her, with the tiller in his hand.

Mrs. Greenow took her place in the stern, and Bellfield sat beside her, with the tiller in his hand.


"If you're going to steer, Captain Bellfield, I beg that you'll be careful."


"Don't you know that I would sooner perish beneath the waves than that a drop of water should touch you roughly?"


"But you see, we might perish beneath the waves together."


What a sweet word that is;--perish together!

What a sweet word that is; perish together!


If it were not that there might be something better even than that, I would wish to perish in such company."

Were it not that there might be something better even than that, I would wish to perish in such company."


"But I should not wish anything of the kind, Captain Bellfield, and therefore pray be careful."

"But I should not wish anything of the kind, Captain Bellfield."


There was no perishing by water on that occasion.


Mr. Cheesacre's boat reached the pier at Yarmouth first, and gave up its load without accident.

Captain Bellfield's boat reached the pier at Yarmouth


Very shortly afterwards Captain Bellfield's crew reached the same place in the same state of preservation.


"There," said he, as he handed out Mrs. Greenow.

"There," said the Captain, as he handed out Mrs. Greenow.


"I have brought you to no harm, at any rate as yet."


"And, as I hope, will not do so hereafter."

"And, I hope, will not do so hereafter."


"May the heavens forbid it, Mrs. Greenow!


Whatever may be our lots hereafter,--yours I mean and mine,--I trust that yours may be free from all disaster.

I trust that your lot may be free from all disaster.


Oh, that I might venture to hope that, at some future day, the privilege might be mine of protecting you from all danger!"

Oh, that I might venture to hope that, at some future day, I might have the privilege of protecting you from all danger!"


"I can protect myself very well, I can assure you.


We won't take you and Mr. Cheesacre out of your way;--will we, Kate?

We won't take you and Mr. Cheesacre out of your way, will we, Kate?


They were now upon the esplanade, and Mrs. Greenow's house was to the right, whereas the lodgings of both the gentlemen were to the left.


Each of them fought hard for the privilege of accompanying the widow to her door; but Mrs. Greenow was self-willed, and upon this occasion would have neither of them.

Each of the gentlemen fought for the privilege of accompanying the widow to her door; but Mrs. Greenow would have neither of them.


"Mr. Joe Fairstairs must pass the house," said she, "and he will see us home.


There was that in her voice which induced Mr. Cheesacre to obey her, and which made Captain Bellfield aware that he would only injure his cause if he endeavoured to make further progress in it on the present occasion.

There was that in her voice which induced both men to obey.


"Well, Kate, what do you think of the day?"


the aunt said when she was alone with her niece.


"I never think much about such days, aunt.


It was all very well, but I fear I have not the temperament fitted for enjoying the fun.

"It was all very well, aunt, but I fear I have not the temperament fitted for enjoying the fun.


I envied Ophelia Walker because she made herself thoroughly happy."


"I do like to see girls enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Greenow, "I do, indeed;--and young men too.

"I do like to see girls enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Greenow, "and young men too.


It seems so natural; why shouldn't young people flirt?"


"Or old people either for the matter of that?"


"Or old people either,--if they don't do any harm to anybody.

"Or old people either, if they don't do any harm to anybody.


I'll tell you what it is, Kate; people have become so very virtuous, that they're driven into all manner of abominable resources for amusement and occupation.


If I had sons and daughters I should think a little flirting the very best thing for them as a safety valve.


When people get to be old, there's a difficulty.


They want to flirt with the young people and the young people don't want them.


If the old people would be content to flirt together, I don't see why they should ever give it up;--till they're obliged to give up every thing, and go away."

When people get to be old, if they want to flirt together, I don't see why they should give it up."


That was Mrs. Greenow's doctrine on the subject of flirtation.

This was Mrs. Greenow's doctrine on the subject of flirtation.


I cannot say that the house in Queen Anne Street was a pleasant house.

I cannot say that the house in Queen Anne Street was a pleasant one.


I am now speaking of the material house, made up of the walls and furniture, and not of any pleasantness or unpleasantness supplied by the inmates.


It was a small house on the south side of the street, squeezed in between two large mansions which seemed to crush it, and by which its fair proportion of doorstep and area was in truth curtailed.

It was a small house squeezed in between two large mansions which seemed to crush it.


The stairs were narrow; the dining-room was dark, and possessed none of those appearances of plenteous hospitality which a dining-room should have.

The stairs were narrow; the dining-room was dark and unwelcoming.


But all this would have been as nothing if the drawing-room had been pretty as it is the bounden duty of all drawing-rooms to be.

This would not have mattered if the drawing-room had been pretty.


But Alice Vavasor's drawing-room was not pretty.


Her father had had the care of furnishing the house, and he had intrusted the duty to a tradesman who had chosen green paper, a green carpet, green curtains, and green damask chairs.

Her father had had the task of furnishing the house, and he had entrusted the duty to a tradesman who had chosen green paper, a green carpet, green curtains, and green damask chairs.


There was a green damask sofa, and two green arm-chairs opposite to each other at the two sides of the fireplace.

There was a green damask sofa, and two green arm-chairs, one at either side of the fireplace.


The room was altogether green, and was not enticing.


In shape it was nearly square, the very small back room on the same floor not having been, as is usual, added to it.


This had been fitted up as a "study" for Mr. Vavasor, and was very rarely used for any purpose.


Most of us know when we enter a drawing-room whether it is a pretty room or no; but how few of us know how to make a drawing-room pretty!


There has come up in London in these latter days a form of room so monstrously ugly that I will venture to say that no other people on earth but Londoners would put up with it.


Londoners, as a rule, take their houses as they can get them, looking only to situation, size, and price.


What Grecian, what Roman, what Turk, what Italian would endure, or would ever have endured, to use a room with a monstrous cantle in the form of a parallelogram cut sheerly out of one corner of it?


This is the shape of room we have now adopted,--or rather which the builders have adopted for us,--in order to throw the whole first floor into one apartment which may be presumed to have noble dimensions,--with such drawback from it as the necessities of the staircase may require.


A sharp unadorned corner projects itself into these would-be noble dimensions, and as ugly a form of chamber is produced as any upon which the eye can look.


I would say more on the subject if I dared to do so here, but I am bound now to confine myself to Miss Vavasor's room.


The monstrous deformity of which I have spoken was not known when that house in Queen Anne Street was built.


There is to be found no such abomination of shape in the buildings of our ancestors,--not even in the days of George the Second.


But yet the drawing-room of which I speak was ugly, and Alice knew that it was so.


She knew that it was ugly, and she would greatly have liked to banish the green sofa, to have re-papered the wall, and to have hung up curtains with a dash of pink through them.

was ugly, and she would greatly have liked to banish the green sofa, to re-paper the wall, and to hang up curtains with a dash of pink in them.


With the green carpet she would have been contented.


But her father was an extravagant man; and from the day on which she had come of age she had determined that it was her special duty to avoid extravagance.

But her father was an extravagant man; and she was determined to avoid extravagance.


"It's the ugliest room I ever saw in my life," her father once said to her.


"I'll go halves with you in the expense of redoing it," said Mr. Vavasor.


The things have not been here quite four years yet."


Then Mr. Vavasor had shrugged his shoulders and said nothing more about it.


It was little to him whether the drawing-room in Queen Anne Street was ugly or pretty.


He was on the committee of his club, and he took care that the furniture there should be in all respects comfortable.


It was now June; and that month Lady Macleod was in the habit of spending among her noble relatives in London when she had succeeded in making both ends so far overlap each other at Cheltenham as to give her the fifty pounds necessary for this purpose.

It was now June; in that month Lady Macleod usually visited her noble relatives in London, when she had succeeded in saving up the fifty pounds necessary for this purpose.


For though she spent her month in London among her noble friends, it must not be supposed that her noble friends gave her bed or board.

For although she spent her month in London among her noble friends, it must not be supposed that they gave her bed or board.


They sometimes gave her tea, such as it was, and once or twice in the month they gave the old lady a second-rate dinner.

They sometimes gave her tea, and once or twice a second-rate dinner.


On these occasions she hired a little parlour and bedroom behind it in King Street, Saint James's, and lived a hot, uncomfortable life, going about at nights to gatherings of fashionable people of which she in her heart disapproved, seeking for smiles which seldom came to her, and which she excused herself for desiring because they were the smiles of her kith and her kin, telling herself always that she made this vain journey to the modern Babylon for the good of Alice Vavasor, and telling herself as often that she now made it for the last time.

On these occasions she hired a little parlour and bedroom in King Street, Saint James's, and lived a hot, uncomfortable life, going about at nights to gatherings of fashionable people of which she in her heart disapproved, seeking for smiles which seldom came to her, and telling herself that she made this journey for the good of Alice Vavasor.


On the occasion of her preceding visit she had reminded herself that she was then seventy-five years old, and had sworn to herself that she would come to London no more; but here she was again in London, having justified the journey to herself on the plea that there were circumstances in Alice's engagement which made it desirable that she should for a while be near her niece.

On her previous visit she had reminded herself that she was seventy-five years old, and had sworn that she would come to London no more; but here she was again, because of the circumstances of Alice's engagement.


Her niece, as she thought, was hardly managing her own affairs discreetly.

Her niece, she thought, was not managing her affairs discreetly.


"Well, aunt," said Alice, as the old lady walked into the drawing-room one morning at eleven o'clock.

"Well, aunt," said Alice, as the old lady walked into the drawing-room one morning.


Alice always called Lady Macleod her aunt, though, as has been before explained, there was no such close connexion between them.


During Lady Macleod's sojourn in London these morning visits were made almost every day.


Alice never denied herself, and even made a point of remaining at home to receive them unless she had previously explained that she would be out; but I am not prepared to say that they were, of their own nature, agreeable to her.

and made a point of staying at home to receive her almost daily visits, although she did not enjoy them.


"Would you mind shutting the window, my dear?"


said Lady Macleod, seating herself stiffly on one of the small ugly green chairs.


She had been educated at a time when easy-chairs were considered vicious, and among people who regarded all easy postures as being so; and she could still boast, at seventy-six, that she never leaned back.

She had been educated at a time when easy-chairs were considered vicious, and could still boast, at seventy-six, that she never leaned back.


"I'm so warm that I'm afraid of the draught."


[Illustration: "Would you mind shutting the window?"]


"You don't mean to say that you've walked from King Street," said Alice, doing as she was desired.

"You don't mean to say that you've walked from King Street?" said Alice.


It's a most unfortunate thing; they always say it's just over the two miles here.


I don't believe a word of it, because I'm only a little more than the half-hour walking it; and those men will say anything.


"I really think it's too far for you to walk when it's so warm."


I must come, when I've specially come up to London to see you.


I shall have a cab back again, because it'll be hotter then, and dear Lady Midlothian has promised to send her carriage at three to take me to the concert.

I shall have a cab home again, because it'll be hotter then, and dear Lady Midlothian has promised to send her carriage at three to take me to the concert.


The idea of my going in that way at the last moment, without any invitation!"

The idea of my going at the last moment, without any invitation!"


"It wouldn't be without an invitation, Alice.


The marchioness has said to me over and over again how glad she would be to see you, if I would bring you."

The marchioness has said to me over and over again how glad she would be to see you."


"Why doesn't she come and call if she is so anxious to know me?"

"Then why doesn't she come and call one me?"


"My dear, you've no right to expect it; you haven't indeed.


"I know I've no right, and I don't expect it, and I don't want it.

"I know I've no right, and I don't expect it, or want it.


But neither has she a right to suppose that, under such circumstances, I shall go to her house.

But neither has she a right to suppose that I shall go to her house.


"I think you are very wrong,--particularly under your present circumstances.


A young woman that is going to be married, as you are--"

A young woman that is going to be married, as you are-"


Of course you are; and for his sake you are bound to cultivate any advantages that naturally belong to you.

Of course you are; and for his sake you are bound to cultivate any advantages you may have.


As to Lady Midlothian or the marchioness coming to call on you here in your father's house, after all that has passed, you really have no right to look for it."


"That sort of people are not expected to call.


If you'll think of it, how could they do it with all the demands they have on their time?"


"My dear aunt, I wouldn't interfere with their time for worlds."


"Nobody can say of me, I'm sure, that I run after great people or rich people.

Nobody can say that I run after great people or rich people.


It does happen that some of the nearest relations I have,--indeed I may say the nearest relations,--are people of high rank; and I do not see that I'm bound to turn away from my own flesh and blood because of that, particularly when they are always so anxious to keep up the connexion."

It just happens that some of my nearest relations are people of high rank; and they are anxious to keep up the connexion."


"And how are you to know them if you won't begin?


Lady Midlothian said to me only yesterday that she was glad to hear that you were going to be married so respectably, and then--"

Lady Midlothian said to me only yesterday that she was glad to hear that you were going to be married so respectably-"


"Upon my word I'm very much obliged to her ladyship.


I wonder whether she considered that she married respectably when she took Lord Midlothian?"

I wonder if she considered that she married respectably when she took Lord Midlothian?"


Now Lady Midlothian had been unfortunate in her marriage, having united herself to a man of bad character, who had used her ill, and from whom she had now been for some years separated.

Now Lady Midlothian had been unfortunate in her marriage, having united herself to a man of bad character, who had mistreated her, and from whom she had now been separated for some years.


Alice might have spared her allusion to this misfortune when speaking of the countess to the cousin who was so fond of her, but she was angered by the application of that odious word respectable to her own prospects; and perhaps the more angered as she was somewhat inclined to feel that the epithet did suit her own position.

Alice was angered by that odious word respectable; and perhaps the more angered as she felt that


Her engagement, she had sometimes told herself, was very respectable, and had as often told herself that it lacked other attractions which it should have possessed.

her engagement was indeed very respectable, although it lacked other attractions which it should have possessed.


She was not quite pleased with herself in having accepted John Grey,--or rather perhaps was not satisfied with herself in having loved him.

She was not quite pleased with herself in having accepted John Grey - or rather, perhaps, was not satisfied with herself in having loved him.


In her many thoughts on the subject, she always admitted to herself that she had accepted him simply because she loved him;--that she had given her quick assent to his quick proposal simply because he had won her heart.

She admitted to herself that she had accepted him simply because he had won her heart.


But she was sometimes almost angry with herself that she had permitted her heart to be thus easily taken from her, and had rebuked herself for her girlish facility.

But she was sometimes almost angry that she had permitted her heart to be so easily and quickly taken from her.


But the marriage would be at any rate respectable.


Mr. Grey was a man of high character, of good though moderate means; he was, too, well educated, of good birth, a gentleman, and a man of talent.

Mr. Grey was a man of high character, and good though moderate means; he was well educated, of good birth, a gentleman, and a man of talent.


No one could deny that the marriage would be highly respectable, and her father had been more than satisfied.

Her father had been more than satisfied.


Why Miss Vavasor herself was not quite satisfied will, I hope, in time make itself appear.

Why Miss Vavasor herself was not quite satisfied will, I hope, in time appear.


In the meanwhile it can be understood that Lady Midlothian's praise would gall her.

In the meanwhile, Lady Midlothian's praise galled her.


"Alice, don't be uncharitable," said Lady Macleod severely.


"Whatever may have been Lady Midlothian's misfortunes no one can say they have resulted from her own fault."

"No one can say that Lady Midlothian's misfortunes were her own fault."


"Yes they can, aunt, if she married a man whom she knew to be a scapegrace because he was very rich and an earl."

"Yes, they can, aunt, if she married a man whom she knew to be a rascal, just because he was a rich earl."


"She was the daughter of a nobleman herself, and only married in her own degree.

"She was the daughter of a nobleman herself, and only married at her own level.


She meant to be good-natured when she mentioned your marriage, and you should take it as it was meant.

She meant to be good-natured when she mentioned your marriage.


After all she was only your mother's second cousin--"

After all she was your mother's second cousin-"


"Dear aunt, I make no claim on her cousinship."


"But she admits the claim, and is quite anxious that you should know her.


She has been at the trouble to find out everything about Mr. Grey, and told me that nothing could be more satisfactory."

She has taken the trouble to find out everything about Mr. Grey, and told me that nothing could be more satisfactory."


"Upon my word I am very much obliged to her."


Lady Macleod was a woman of much patience, and possessed also of considerable perseverance.

Lady Macleod was a patient and persevering woman.


For another half-hour she went on expatiating on the advantages which would accrue to Alice as a married woman from an acquaintance with her noble relatives, and endeavouring to persuade her that no better opportunity than the present would present itself.

For another half-hour she detailed the advantages which Alice would gain from knowing these noble relatives, and tried to persuade her to take the opportunity.


There would be a place in Lady Midlothian's carriage, as none other of the daughters were going but Lady Jane.

There would be a place in Lady Midlothian's carriage.


Lady Midlothian would take it quite as a compliment, and a concert was not like a ball or any customary party.

Lady Midlothian would take it as a compliment, and


An unmarried girl might very properly go to a concert under such circumstances as now existed without any special invitation.

an unmarried girl might very properly go to a concert without any special invitation.


Lady Macleod ought to have known her adopted niece better.


As a matter of course she was immoveable.


Lady Macleod had seldom been able to persuade her to anything, and ought to have been well sure that, of all things, she could not have persuaded her to this.

Lady Macleod had seldom been able to persuade her to anything, and ought to have predicted this.


Then, at last, they came to another subject, as to which Lady Macleod declared that she had specially come on this special morning, forgetting, probably, that she had already made the same assertion with reference to the concert.

At last they came to another subject, which Lady Macleod had had in mind all along.


But in truth the last assertion was the correct one, and on that other subject she had been hurried on to say more than she meant by the eagerness of the moment.


All the morning she had been full of the matter on which she was now about to speak.


She had discussed it quite at length with Lady Midlothian;--though she was by no means prepared to tell Alice Vavasor that any such discussion had taken place.

She had discussed it at length with Lady Midlothian; though she was not going to tell Alice that.


From the concert, and the effect which Lady Midlothian's countenance might have upon Mr. Grey's future welfare, she got herself by degrees round to a projected Swiss tour which Alice was about to make.

It was a proposed Swiss tour which Alice was about to make.


Of this Swiss tour she had heard before, but had not heard who were to be Miss Vavasor's companions until Lady Midlothian had told her.

She had heard about this Swiss tour before, but had not heard who Miss Vavasor's companions were to be until Lady Midlothian had told her.


How it had come to pass that Lady Midlothian had interested herself so much in the concerns of a person whom she did not know, and on whom she in her greatness could not be expected to call, I cannot say; but from some quarter she had learned who were the proposed companions of Alice Vavasor's tour, and she had told Lady Macleod that she did not at all approve of the arrangement.

How Lady Midlothian knew this, I cannot say; but she did not approve of the arrangement.


It will be very hot, but Kate must be back by the middle of August."


I could not go alone, or with no one but George."


Indeed it was Kate who made up the party."


"Of course you could not go alone with George," said Lady Macleod, very grimly.


Now George Vavasor was Kate's brother, and was therefore also first cousin to Alice.

Now George Vavasor was Kate's brother, and therefore cousin to Alice.


He was heir to the old squire down in Westmoreland, with whom Kate lived, their father being dead.

He was heir to the old squire down in Westmorland, the grandfather with whom Kate lived, their father being dead.


Nothing, it would seem, could be more rational than that Alice should go to Switzerland with her cousins; but Lady Macleod was clearly not of this opinion; she looked very grim as she made this allusion to cousin George, and seemed to be preparing herself for a fight.

Nothing could be more rational than that Alice should go to Switzerland with her cousins; but Lady Macleod was clearly not of this opinion. She looked very grim, and seemed to be preparing for a fight.


"That is exactly what I say," answered Alice.


"But, indeed, he is simply going as an escort to me and Kate, as we don't like the rle of unprotected females.

"But he is simply going as an escort to me and Kate, as we don't like the rle of unprotected females.


It is very good-natured of him, seeing how much his time is taken up."


"That's because you don't know him, aunt."


She did not add that she had no wish to know Mr. George Vavasor, but she looked it.


"And has your father been told that he is going?"


"And does--" Lady Macleod hesitated a little before she went on, and then finished her question with a little spasmodic assumption of courage.

"And does-" Lady Macleod hesitated before she went on.


"And does Mr. Grey know that he is going?"


Alice remained silent for a full minute before she answered this question, during which Lady Macleod sat watching her grimly, with her eyes very intent upon her niece's face.

Alice remained silent for a full minute before she answered, while Lady Macleod watched her grimly and intently.


If she supposed such silence to have been in any degree produced by shame in answering the question, she was much mistaken.

If she supposed Alice to be ashamed, she was much mistaken.


But it may be doubted whether she understood the character of the girl whom she thought she knew so well, and it is probable that she did make such mistake.

She did not understand the character of the girl whom she thought she knew so well.


"I might tell you simply that he does," said Alice at last, "seeing that I wrote to him yesterday, letting him know that such were our arrangements; but I feel that I should not thus answer the question you mean to ask.

"I might tell you simply that he does," said Alice at last, "seeing that I wrote to him yesterday, letting him know the arrangements; but


You want to know whether Mr. Grey will approve of it.

you want to know whether Mr. Grey will approve of it.


As I only wrote yesterday of course I have not heard, and therefore cannot say.

Of course I have not heard yet, and therefore cannot say.


But I can say this, aunt, that much as I might regret his disapproval, it would make no change in my plans."

But I can say, aunt, that I if he did disapprove, it would make no change in my plans."


Then I must tell you, you are very wrong.


the disapproval of the man you are going to marry make no change in your plans?"

the disapproval of the man you are going to marry would make no change in your plans?"


Come, aunt, if we must discuss this matter let us do it at any rate fairly.


In an ordinary way, if Mr. Grey had asked me to give up for any reason my trip altogether, I should have given it up certainly, as I would give up any other indifferent project at the request of so dear a friend,--a friend with whom I am so--so--so closely connected.

If Mr. Grey asked me to give up my trip altogether for any reason, I should certainly do so.


But if he asked me not to travel with my cousin George, I should refuse him absolutely, without a word of parley on the subject, simply because of the nature and closeness of my connection with him.

But if he asked me not to travel with my cousin George, I should refuse, simply because of the nature and closeness of my connection with him.


I suppose you understand what I mean, aunt?"


You mean that you would refuse to obey him on the very subject on which he has a right to claim your obedience."

You mean that you would refuse to obey Mr. Grey on the very subject on which he has a right to claim your obedience."


"He has no right to claim my obedience on any subject," said Alice; and as she spoke Aunt Macleod jumped up with a little start at the vehemence of the words, and of the tone in which they were expressed.

"He has no right to claim my obedience on any subject," said Alice, so vehemently that Aunt Macleod gave a little


She had heard that tone before, and might have been used to it; but, nevertheless, the little jump was involuntary.


"At present he has no right to my obedience on any subject, but least of all on that," said Alice.


"His advice he may give me, but I am quite sure he will not ask for obedience."


"And if he advises you you will slight his advice."

"And if he advises you, you will ignore his advice."


"If he tells me that I had better not travel with my cousin George I shall certainly not take his advice.


Moreover, I should be careful to let him know how much I was offended by any such counsel from him.

Moreover, I should let him know I was offended by such advice.


It would show a littleness on his part, and a suspicion of which I cannot suppose him to be capable."


Alice, as she said this, got up from her seat and walked about the room.


When she had finished she stood at one of the windows with her back to her visitor.

, pausing at a window with her back to her visitor.


There was silence between them for a minute or two, during which Lady Macleod was deeply considering how best she might speak the terrible words, which, as Alice's nearest female relative, she felt herself bound to utter.

There was silence for a minute or two, while Lady Macleod considered how best she might speak the terrible words which she felt herself bound to utter.


At last she collected her thoughts and her courage, and spoke out.

At last she collected her courage, and spoke out.


"My dear Alice, I need hardly say that if you had a mother living, or any person with you filling the place of a mother, I should not interfere in this matter."

"My dear Alice, I need hardly say that if you had a mother living, I should not interfere in this matter."


"Of course, Aunt Macleod, if you think I am wrong you have quite a right to say so."

"Of course, Aunt Macleod, if you think I am wrong you have a perfect right to say so."


"I do think you are wrong,--very wrong, indeed; and if you persist in this I am afraid I must say that I shall think you wicked.

"I do think you are wrong, very wrong indeed; and if you persist in this I am afraid I shall think you wicked.


Of course Mr. Grey cannot like you to travel with George Vavasor."


Alice, as she asked this question, turned round and confronted Lady Macleod boldly.

Alice turned round and confronted Lady Macleod boldly.


She spoke with a steady voice, and fixed her eyes upon the old lady's face, as though determined to show that she had no fear of what might be said to her.

She spoke with a steady voice, and fixed her eyes upon the old lady's face.


Surely you do not wish me to say why not."


How can I defend myself till the accusation is made?"


"You are now engaged to marry Mr. Grey, with the consent and approbation of all your friends.

"You are now engaged to marry Mr. Grey, with the approval of all your friends.


If you mean to say that two years ago I was engaged to my cousin George you are mistaken.

If you mean to say that two years ago I was engaged to my cousin George, you are mistaken.


Three years ago I told him that under certain conditions I would become engaged to him.


But my conditions did not suit him, nor his me, and no engagement was ever made.


Mr. Grey knows the history of the whole thing.


As far as it was possible I have told him everything that took place."


"The fact was, Alice, that George Vavasor's mode of life was such that an engagement with him would have been absolute madness."

"Alice, George Vavasor's way of life was such that an engagement with him would have been absolute madness."


"Dear aunt, you must excuse me if I say that I cannot discuss George Vavasor's mode of life.

"Dear aunt, I cannot discuss George Vavasor's mode of life.


If I were thinking of becoming his wife you would have a perfect right to discuss it, because of your constant kindness to me.

If I were thinking of becoming his wife you would have a perfect right to discuss it.


But as matters are he is simply a cousin; and as I like him and you do not, we had better say nothing about him."

But he is simply a cousin; and as I like him and you do not, we had better say nothing about him."


"I must say this--that after what has passed, and at the present crisis of your life--"

"I must say this - that after what has passed, and at the present crisis of your life-"


"Yes you are, Alice; in the most special crisis of a girl's life.

"Yes, you are, Alice; in the most special crisis of a girl's life.


You are still a girl, but you are the promised wife of a very worthy man, who will look to you for all his domestic happiness.

You are the promised wife of a worthy man.


George Vavasor has the name, at least, of being very wild."

George Vavasor has the reputation of being very wild."


"The worthy man and the wild man must fight it out between them.


If I were going away with George by himself, there might be something in what you say."


"Monstrous or not, it isn't what I'm about to do.


Kate and I have put our purses together, and are going to have an outing for our special fun and gratification.

Kate and I have put our purses together, and are going to have an outing for our own pleasure.


As we should be poor travellers alone, George has promised to go with his sister.


Papa knows all about it, and never thought of making any objection."

Papa knows all about it, and never objected."


She did not like to say anything against Mr. Vavasor before his daughter; but the shaking of her head was intended to signify that Mr. Vavasor's assent in such a matter was worth nothing.

, meaning that Mr. Vavasor's assent in such a matter was worth nothing.


"I can only say again," said Lady Macleod, "that I think Mr. Grey will be displeased,--and that he will have very great cause for displeasure.

"I think Mr. Grey will be displeased, and with good cause.


And I think, moreover, that his approbation ought to be your chief study.

And I think, moreover, that his approval should be your chief concern.


I believe, my dear, I'll ask you to let Jane get me a cab.


I shan't have a bit too much time to dress for the concert."


Alice simply rang the bell, and said no further word on the subject which they had been discussing.


When Lady Macleod got up to go away, Alice kissed her, as was customary with them, and the old lady as she went uttered her customary valediction.

When Lady Macleod was leaving, Alice kissed her, as usual, and the old lady uttered her customary farewell.


There was therefore no quarrel between them.


But both of them felt that words had been spoken which must probably lead to some diminution of their past intimacy.

But both felt that words had been spoken which must lessen their intimacy.


When Lady Macleod had gone Alice sat alone for an hour thinking of what had passed between them,--thinking rather of those two men, the worthy man and the wild man, whose names had been mentioned in close connection with herself.

When Lady Macleod had gone Alice sat alone for an hour thinking of those two men, the worthy man and the wild man.


John Grey was a worthy man, a man worthy at all points, as far as she knew him.


And she told herself, also, that her cousin George was wild,--very wild.

And she told herself, also, that her cousin George was very wild.


And yet her thoughts were, I fear, on the whole more kindly towards her cousin than towards her lover.

And yet her thoughts were, I fear, more kindly towards her cousin than towards her lover.


She had declared to her aunt that John Grey would be incapable of such suspicion as would be shown by any objection on his part to the arrangements made for the tour.

She had declared to her aunt that John Grey would be incapable of suspicion over the arrangements made for the tour.


She had said so, and had so believed; and yet she continued to brood over the position which her affairs would take, if he did make the objection which Lady Macleod anticipated.

She believed it; and yet she continued to brood over what would happen if he did object.


She told herself over and over again, that under such circumstances she would not give way an inch.


"He is free to go," she said to herself.


, "If he does not trust me he is quite free to go."


It may almost be said that she came at last to anticipate from her lover that very answer to her own letter which she had declared him to be incapable of making.

And she came at last to anticipate from her lover that very answer to her own letter which she had declared him to be incapable of making.


Lady Monk's house in Gloucester Square was admirably well adapted for the giving of parties.

Lady Monk's house in Gloucester Square was admirably well adapted for parties.

Chapter 49: How Lady Glencora Went to Lady Monk's Party


It was a large house, and seemed to the eyes of guests to be much larger than it was.


The hall was spacious, and the stairs went up in the centre, facing you as you entered the inner hall.

The hall was spacious, with the stairs going up the centre


Round the top of the stairs there was a broad gallery, with an ornamented railing, and from this opened the doors into the three reception-rooms.

; round the top of the stairs there was a broad gallery, with an ornamented railing, and from this opened the doors into the three reception-rooms.


There were two on the right, the larger of which looked out backwards, and these two were connected by an archway, as though made for folding-doors; but the doors, I believe, never were there.

The two on the right were connected by an archway; and


Fronting the top of the staircase there was a smaller room, looking out backwards, very prettily furnished, and much used by Lady Monk when alone.

there was a smaller room, very prettily furnished, which Lady Monk used when alone.


It was here that Burgo had held that conference with his aunt of which mention has been made.


Below stairs there was the great dining-room, on which, on these occasions, a huge buffet was erected for refreshments,--what I may call a masculine buffet, as it was attended by butlers and men in livery,--and there was a smaller room looking out into the square, in which there was a feminine battery for the dispensing of tea and such like smaller good things, and from which female aid could be attained for the arrangement or mending of dresses in a further sanctum within it.

Downstairs was the great dining-room, on which a huge buffet was erected for refreshments, attended by butlers and men in livery; and there was a smaller room looking out into the square, where maids could dispense tea and other good things.


For such purposes as that now on foot the house was most commodious.


Lady Monk, on these occasions, was moved by a noble ambition to do something different from that done by her neighbours in similar circumstances, and therefore she never came forward to receive her guests.

Lady Monk, on these occasions, never came forward to receive her guests.


She ensconced herself, early in the evening, in that room at the head of the stairs, and there they who chose to see her made their way up to her, and spoke their little speeches.

She stayed in that room at the head of the stairs, and they who wished to see her made their way up and spoke their little speeches.


They who thought her to be a great woman,--and many people did think her to be great,--were wont to declare that she never forgot those who did come, or those who did not.


And even they who desired to describe her as little,--for even Lady Monk had enemies,--would hint that though she never came out of the room, she would rise from her chair and make a step towards the door whenever any name very high in fashionable life greeted her ears.

She would rise from her chair and take a step towards the door to greet anyone very high in fashionable life,


So that a mighty Cabinet Minister, or a duchess in great repute, or any special wonder of the season, could not fail of entering her precincts and being seen there for a few moments.


It would, of course, happen that the doorway of her chamber would become blocked; but there were precautions taken to avoid this inconvenience as far as possible, and one man in livery was employed to go backwards and forwards between his mistress and the outer world, so as to keep the thread of a passage open.

Of course the doorway of her chamber would become blocked; but a man in livery was employed to go backwards and forwards between his mistress and the outer world.


But though Lady Monk was in this way enabled to rest herself during her labours, there was much in her night's work which was not altogether exhilarating.


Ladies would come into her small room and sit there by the hour, with whom she had not the slightest wish to hold conversation.

But ladies would also come into her small room and sit there by the hour, with whom Lady Monk had not the slightest wish to hold conversation.


The Duchess of St. Bungay would always be there,--so that there was a special seat in one corner of the room which was called the Duchess' stool.

The Duchess of St. Bungay would always be there.


"I shouldn't care a straw about her," Lady Monk had been heard to complain, "if she would talk to anybody.


But nobody will talk to her, and then she listens to everything."

But nobody will talk to her, and she listens to everything."


There had been another word or two between Burgo Fitzgerald and his aunt before the evening came, a word or two in the speaking of which she had found some difficulty.

There had been another word or two between Burgo Fitzgerald and his aunt, which she had spoken with some difficulty.


She was prepared with the money,--with that two hundred pounds for which he had asked,--obtained with what wiles, and lies, and baseness of subterfuge I need not stop here to describe.

She had the two hundred pounds for which he had asked - obtained with what wiles and lies I need not here describe.


But she was by no means willing to give this over into her nephew's hands without security.

But she was not willing to give this to her nephew without security.


She was willing to advance him this money; she had been willing even to go through unusual dirt to get it for him; but she was desirous that he should have it only for a certain purpose.


How could she bind him down to spend it as she would have it spent?

How could she bind him to spend it as she wanted it spent?


Could she undertake to hand it to him as soon as Lady Glencora should be in his power?

Could she hand it to him as soon as Lady Glencora was in his power?


Even though she could have brought herself to say as much,--and I think she might also have done so after what she had said,--she could not have carried out such a plan.


In that case the want would be instant, and the action must be rapid.


She therefore had no alternative but to entrust him with the bank-notes at once.

That was not possible; she had no alternative but to entrust him with the bank-notes at once.


"Burgo," she said, "if I find that you deceive me now, I will never trust you again."

"Burgo," she said, "if you deceive me now, I will never trust you again."


"All right," said Burgo, as he barely counted the money before he thrust it into his breast-pocket.

"All right," said Burgo, thrusting the money into his breast-pocket.


"It is lent to you for a certain purpose, should you happen to want it," she said, solemnly.


"I do happen to want it very much," he answered.


She did not dare to say more; but as her nephew turned away from her with a step that was quite light in its gaiety, she almost felt that she was already cozened.

She did not dare to say more; but as her nephew turned away from her with a light step, she almost felt that she was already tricked.


Let Burgo's troubles be as heavy as they might be, there was something to him ecstatic in the touch of ready money which always cured them for the moment.

There was always something ecstatic to Burgo in the touch of ready money which cured his troubles for the moment.


[Illustration: "All right," said Burgo, as he thrust the money into his breast-pocket.]


On the morning of Lady Monk's party a few very uncomfortable words passed between Mr. Palliser and his wife.


"Then you can give Mrs. Marsham a seat in your carriage?"


I thought I had told you that I had promised my cousin Jane."


"Indeed I can't,--unless you would like me to sit out with the coachman."

"Indeed I can't - unless you would like me to sit with the coachman."


There was something in this,--a tone of loudness, a touch of what he called to himself vulgarity,--which made him very angry.

There was a touch of what he called vulgarity in this which made him very angry.


So he turned away from her, and looked as black as a thundercloud.


"You must know, Plantagenet," she went on, "that it is impossible for three women dressed to go out in one carriage.

"You must know, Plantagenet," she went on, "that it is impossible for three women in evening dress to fit in one carriage."


I am sure you wouldn't like to see me afterwards if I had been one of them."


"You need not have said anything to Lady Jane when Miss Vavasor refused.

"You need not have asked Lady Jane when Miss Vavasor refused."


"And I had told you that I liked going with young women, and not with old ones.


"Glencora, I wish you would not use such expressions."


Quite as good as Mr. Bott's, when he said in the House the other night that the Government kept their accounts in a higgledy-piggledy way.


You see, I have been studying the debates, and you shouldn't be angry with me."


Then, I suppose, the carriage must go for Mrs. Marsham after it has taken you?"


Jane will not be in a hurry, and I am sure I shall not."


"She will think you very uncivil; that is all.


I told her that she could go with you when I heard that Miss Vavasor was not to be there."


"Then, Plantagenet, you shouldn't have told her so, and that's the long--; but I mustn't say that.

"Then, Plantagenet, you shouldn't have told her so.


The truth is this, if you give me any orders I'll obey them,--as far as I can.

If you give me any orders I'll obey them - as far as I can.


But if I'm left to go by my own judgement, it's not fair that I should be scolded afterwards."


"Then, if it's only what she thinks, I don't care two straws about it.


She may have the carriage to herself if she likes, but she shan't have me in it,--not unless I'm ordered to go.


I don't like her, and I won't pretend to like her.


My belief is that she follows me about to tell you if she thinks that I do wrong."


"And that odious baboon with the red bristles does the same thing,--only he goes to her because he doesn't dare to go to you."

"And that odious baboon with the red bristles does the same thing - only he goes to her because he doesn't dare to go to you."


Plantagenet Palliser was struck wild with dismay.


He understood well who it was whom his wife intended to describe; but that she should have spoken of any man as a baboon with red bristles, was terrible to his mind!

He understood well whom his wife meant; but that she should have spoken of any man as a baboon with red bristles, was terrible!


He was beginning to think that he hardly knew how to manage his wife.


And the picture she had drawn was very distressing to him.


She had no mother; neither had he; and he had wished that Mrs. Marsham should give to her some of that matronly assistance and guidance which a mother does give to her young married daughter.


It was true, too, as he knew, that a word or two as to some socially domestic matters had filtered through to him from Mr. Bott, down at Matching Priory, but only in such a way as to enable him to see what counsel it was needful that he should give.

It was true that a word or two about domestic matters had filtered through to him from Mr. Bott, down at Matching Priory, but only in such a way as to enable him to see what advice he should give.


As for espionage over his wife,--no man could despise it more than he did!

As for spying on his wife - no man could despise it more than he did!


No man would be less willing to resort to it!


And now his wife was accusing him of keeping spies, both male and female.

And now his wife was accusing him of keeping spies.


he said again; and then he stopped, not knowing what to say to her.


"Well, my dear, it's better you should know at once what I feel about it.


I don't suppose I'm very good; indeed I dare say I'm bad enough, but these people about me won't make me any better.


The duennas don't make the Spanish ladies worth much."


After that, Lady Glencora sat herself down, and Mr. Palliser stood for some moments looking at her.

Lady Glencora sat down, and Mr. Palliser stood for some moments looking at her.


It ended in his making her a long speech, in which he said a good deal of his own justice and forbearance, and something also of her frivolity and childishness.


He told her that his only complaint of her was that she was too young, and, as he did so, she made a little grimace,--not to him, but to herself, as though saying to herself that that was all he knew about it.

He told her that his only complaint of her was that she was too young, and, as he did so, she made a little grimace to herself, as if to say it was more than that.


He did not notice it, or, if he did, his notice did not stop his eloquence.

He did not notice it, or, if he did, it did not stop his eloquence.


He assured her that he was far from keeping any watch over her, and declared that she had altogether mistaken Mrs. Marsham's character.


At that, there was another little grimace.


"There's somebody has mistaken it worse than I have," the grimace said.


Of the bristly baboon he condescended to say nothing, and he wound up by giving her a cold kiss, and saying that he would meet her at Lady Monk's.

He ended by giving her a cold kiss, and saying that he would meet her at Lady Monk's.


When the evening came,--or rather the night,--the carriage went first for Mrs. Marsham, and having deposited her at Lady Monk's, went back to Park Lane for Lady Glencora.

When the evening came, the carriage went first for Mrs. Marsham, and having deposited her at Lady Monk's, went back to Park Lane for Lady Glencora.


Then she had herself driven to St. James's Square, to pick up Lady Jane, so that altogether the coachman and horses did not have a good time of it.


"I wish he'd keep a separate carriage for her," Lady Glencora said to her cousin Jane,--having perceived that her servants were not in a good humour.

"I wish he'd keep a separate carriage for her," Lady Glencora said to her cousin Jane.


"That would be expensive," said Lady Jane.


"Yes, it would be expensive," said Lady Glencora.


She would not condescend to make any remark as to the non-importance of such expense to a man so wealthy as her husband, knowing that his wealth was, in fact, hers.

, not deigning to remark that her husband's wealth was, in fact, hers.


Never to him or to any other,--not even to herself,--had she hinted that much was due to her because she had been magnificent as an heiress.

She put on no airs because she was an heiress.


There were many things about this woman that were not altogether what a husband might wish.


She was not softly delicate in all her ways; but in disposition and temper she was altogether generous.

She was not softly delicate in all her ways; but she was altogether generous.


I do not know that she was at all points a lady, but had Fate so willed it she would have been a thorough gentleman.

I do not know that she was at all points a lady, but had Fate so willed it, she would have been a thorough gentleman.


Mrs. Marsham was by no means satisfied with the way in which she was treated.

Mrs. Marsham was by no means satisfied with the way she was treated.


She would not have cared to go at all to Lady Monk's party had she supposed that she would have to make her entry there alone.

She would not have cared to go to Lady Monk's party if she had known that she would have to make her entry there alone


With Lady Glencora she would have seemed to receive some of that homage which would certainly have been paid to her companion.

, without a share of the homage which would certainly have been paid to Lady Glencora.


The carriage called, moreover, before she was fully ready, and the footman, as he stood at the door to hand her in, had been very sulky.


She knew that Lady Glencora had positively declined her companionship; and if she resolved to be revenged, such resolution on her part was only natural.

If she resolved to be revenged, such resolution was only natural.


When she reached Lady Monk's house, she had to make her way up stairs all alone.

When she reached Lady Monk's house, she had to make her way upstairs all alone.


The servants called her Mrs. Marsh, and under that name she got passed on into the front drawing-room.


There she sat down, not having seen Lady Monk, and meditated over her injuries.


It was past eleven before Lady Glencora arrived, and Burgo Fitzgerald had begun to think that his evil stars intended that he should never see her again.


He had been wickedly baulked at Monkshade, by what influence he had never yet ascertained; and now he thought that the same influence must be at work to keep her again away from his aunt's house.


He had settled in his mind no accurate plan of a campaign; he had in his thoughts no fixed arrangement by which he might do the thing which he meditated.


He had attempted to make some such plan; but, as is the case with all men to whom thinking is an unusual operation, concluded at last that he had better leave it to the course of events.

He had attempted to make a plan; but, like all men to whom thinking is unusual, concluded at last that he had better leave it to the course of events.


It was, however, obviously necessary that he should see Lady Glencora before the course of events could be made to do anything for him.

It was, however, necessary that he should see Lady Glencora before the course of events could do anything for him.


He had written to her, making his proposition in bold terms, and he felt that if she were utterly decided against him, her anger at his suggestion, or at least her refusal, would have been made known to him in some way.

He had written to her boldly, and he felt that her


Silence did not absolutely give consent, but it seemed to show that consent was not impossible.

silence seemed to show that consent was not impossible.


From ten o'clock to past eleven he stood about on the staircase of his aunt's house, waiting for the name which he was desirous of hearing, and which he almost feared to hear.

From ten o'clock to past eleven he stood about on the staircase, waiting for the name which he desired yet almost feared to hear.


Men spoke to him, and women also, but he hardly answered.


His aunt once called him into her room, and with a cautionary frown on her brow, bade him go dance.

His aunt once called him into her room, and with a frown told him to go and dance.


"Don't look so dreadfully preoccupied," she said to him in a whisper.


But he shook his head at her, almost savagely, and went away, and did not dance.

But he shook his head almost savagely, and went away.


How was he to dance with such an enterprise as that upon his mind?


Even to Burgo Fitzgerald the task of running away with another man's wife had in it something which prevented dancing.


Lady Monk was older, and was able to regulate her feelings with more exactness.


But Burgo, though he could not dance, went down into the dining-room and drank.

Instead he went down into the dining-room and drank.


He took a large beer-glass full of champagne and soon after that another.

He took a large beer-glass full of champagne and then another.


The drink did not flush his cheeks or make his forehead red, or bring out the sweat-drops on his brow, as it does with some men; but it added a peculiar brightness to his blue eyes.

The drink did not flush his cheeks, but it added a peculiar brightness to his blue eyes.


It was by the light of his eyes that men knew when Burgo had been drinking.


At last, while he was still in the supper room, he heard Lady Glencora's name announced.

At last, while he was in the supper room, he heard Lady Glencora's name announced.


He had already seen Mr. Palliser come in and make his way up-stairs some quarter of an hour before; but as to that he was indifferent.

He had already seen Mr. Palliser come in and make his way upstairs a quarter of an hour before.


He had known that the husband was to be there.


When the long-expected name reached his ears, his heart seemed to jump within him.

When the long-expected name now reached his ears, his heart seemed to jump.


What, on the spur of the moment, should he do?


As he had resolved that he would be doing,--that something should be done, let it be what it might,--he hurried to the dining-room door, and was just in time to see and be seen as Lady Glencora was passing up the stairs.

He hurried to the dining-room door, just in time to see and be seen as Lady Glencora was passing up the stairs.


She was just above him as he got himself out into the hall, so that he could not absolutely greet her with his hand; but he looked up at her, and caught her eye.


He looked up, and moved his hand to her in token of salutation.


She looked down at him, and the expression of her face altered visibly as her glance met his.

She looked down at him, and her expression altered visibly as her glance met his.


She barely bowed to him,--with her eyes rather than with her head, but he flattered himself that there was, at any rate, no anger in her countenance.

She barely bowed to him, but he thought there was, at any rate, no anger in her face.


How beautiful he was as he gazed up at her, leaning against the wall as he stood, and watching her as she made her slow way up the stairs!

How beautiful he was as he gazed up at her, leaning against the wall and watching her as she made her slow way up the stairs!


She felt that his eyes were on her, and where the stairs turned she could not restrain herself from one other glance.


As her eyes fell on his again, his mouth opened, and she fancied that she could hear the faint sigh that he uttered.

As her eyes fell on his again, his mouth opened, and she fancied that she could hear a faint sigh.


It was a glorious mouth, such as the old sculptors gave to their marble gods!


And Burgo, if it was so that he had not heart enough to love truly, could look as though he loved.

Burgo, though he had not heart enough to love truly, could look as though he loved.


It was not in him deceit,--or what men call acting.


The expression came to him naturally, though it expressed so much more than there was within; as strong words come to some men who have no knowledge that they are speaking strongly.


At this moment Burgo Fitzgerald looked as though it were possible that he might die of love.

At this moment he looked as though he might die of love.


Lady Glencora was met at the top of the stairs by Lady Monk, who came out to her, almost into the gallery, with her sweetest smile,--so that the newly-arrived guest, of course, entered into the small room.

Lady Glencora was met at the top of the stairs by Lady Monk, who came out to her with her sweetest smile.


There sat the Duchess of St. Bungay on her stool in the corner, and there, next to the Duchess, but at the moment engaged in no conversation, stood Mr. Bott.

Lady Glencora entered the small room, where sat the Duchess of St. Bungay, with Mr. Bott standing next to her.


There was another lady there, who stood very high in the world, and whom Lady Monk was very glad to welcome--the young Marchioness of Hartletop.

There was another lady there, who stood very high in the world, and whom Lady Monk was very glad to welcome - the young Marchioness of Hartletop.


She was in slight mourning; for her father-in-law, the late Marquis, had died no t yet quite six months since.


Very beautiful she was, and one whose presence at their houses ladies and gentlemen prized alike.


She never said silly things, like the Duchess, never was troublesome as to people's conduct to her, was always gracious, yet was never led away into intimacies, was without peer the best-dressed woman in London, and yet gave herself no airs;--and then she was so exquisitely beautiful.

never said silly things, was always gracious, yet was never led away into intimacies, was the best-dressed woman in London, and yet gave herself no airs - and she was exquisitely beautiful.


There were, indeed, people who said that it meant nothing; but then, what should the smile of a young married woman mean?


She had not been born in the purple, like Lady Glencora, her father being a country clergyman who had never reached a higher grade than that of an archdeacon; but she knew the ways of high life, and what an exigeant husband would demand of her, much better than poor Glencora.

Her father had been a country clergyman; but she knew the ways of high life much better than poor Glencora.


She would have spoken of no man as a baboon with a bristly beard.


She never talked of the long and the short of it.


She did not wander out o' nights in winter among the ruins.

She did not wander out on winter nights among the ruins.


She made no fast friendship with ladies whom her lord did not like.


She had once, indeed, been approached by a lover since she had been married,--Mr. Palliser himself having been the offender,--but she had turned the affair to infinite credit and profit, had gained her husband's closest confidence by telling him of it all, had yet not brought on any hostile collision, and had even dismissed her lover without annoying him.

She had once, indeed, been approached by a lover after she had been married - Mr. Palliser himself having been the offender - but she had turned the affair to credit, had gained her husband's closest confidence by telling him of it all, and had even dismissed her lover without annoying him.


But then Lady Hartletop was a miracle of a woman!


Though born in the purple, she was made of ordinary flesh and blood, and as she entered Lady Monk's little room, hardly knew how to recover herself sufficiently for the purposes of ordinary conversation.

She was made of ordinary flesh and blood, and as she entered Lady Monk's little room, hardly knew how to recover herself enough to make ordinary conversation.


"Dear Lady Glencora, do come in for a moment to my den.


We were so sorry not to have you at Monkshade.

we were so sorry not to have you at Monkshade.


We heard such terrible things about your health."


Lady Glencora said that it was only a cold,--a bad cold.

Lady Glencora said that it was only a cold.


"Oh, yes; we heard,--something about moonlight and ruins.

"Oh, yes; we heard something about moonlight and ruins.


I love that sort of thing, above all people; but it doesn't do; does it?


I think you know Lady Hartletop;--and there's the Duchess of St. Bungay.

I think you know Lady Hartletop; and the Duchess of St. Bungay."


Mr. Palliser was here five minutes since."


Then Lady Monk was obliged to get to her door again and Lady Glencora found herself standing close to Lady Hartletop.

Then Lady Monk was obliged to go to her door again and Lady Glencora found herself standing close to Lady Hartletop.


"We saw Mr. Palliser just pass through," said Lady Hartletop, who was able to meet and speak of the man who had dared to approach her with his love, without the slightest nervousness.

"We saw Mr. Palliser just pass through," said Lady Hartletop, who was able to speak of the man who had dared to approach her with his love, without the slightest nervousness.


"Yes; he said he should be here," said Lady Glencora.


"There's a great crowd," said Lady Hartletop.


said Lady Glencora, and then they had said to each other all that society required.


Lady Glencora, as we know, could talk with imprudent vehemence by the hour together if she liked her companion; but the other lady seldom committed herself by more words than she had uttered now,--unless it was to her tirewoman.


"How very well you are looking," said the Duchess.


"And I heard you had been so ill." Of that midnight escapade among the ruins it was fated that Lady Glencora should never hear the last.


sounded in her ear, and there was a great red paw stuck out for her to take.


But after what had passed between Lady Glencora and her husband to-day about Mr. Bott, she was determined that she would not take Mr. Bott's hand.

But she was determined that she would not take Mr. Bott's hand.


"I think I'll look for Mr. Palliser in the back room."


"Dear Lady Glencora," whispered the Duchess, in an ecstasy of agony.


Lady Glencora turned and bowed her head to her stout friend.


There's that woman, Mrs. Conway Sparkes, coming, and you know how I hate her."


She had nothing to do but to take the Duchess under her wing, and they passed into the large room together.

She had to take the Duchess under her wing, and they passed into the large room together.


It is, I think, more than probable that Mrs. Conway Sparkes had been brought in by Lady Monk as the only way of removing the Duchess from her stool.

It is, I think, probable that Mrs. Conway Sparkes had been brought in by Lady Monk as the only way of removing the Duchess.


Just within the dancing-room Lady Glencora found her husband, standing in a corner, looking as though he were making calculations.

In the dancing-room Lady Glencora found her husband standing in a corner, looking as though he were making calculations.


"I'm going away," said he, coming up to her.


"I only just came because I said I would.


"Perhaps once,--just to show that I'm not an old woman."

"Perhaps once, just to show that I'm not an old woman."


Then he went, and in the crush of the doorway he passed Burgo Fitzgerald, whose eye was intently fixed upon his wife.


He looked at Burgo, and some thought of that young man's former hopes flashed across his mind,--some remembrance, too, of a caution that had been whispered to him; but for no moment did a suspicion come to him that he ought to stop and watch by his wife.

He looked at Burgo, and some thought of that young man's former hopes flashed across his mind - some remembrance, too, of a caution that had been whispered to him; but for no moment did he suspect that he ought to stay and guard his wife.


Burgo Fitzgerald remained for a minute or two leaning where we last saw him,--against the dining-room wall at the bottom of the staircase; and as he did so some thoughts that were almost solemn passed across his mind, This thing that he was about to do, or to attempt,--was it in itself a good thing, and would it be good for her whom he pretended to love?

Burgo Fitzgerald remained for a minute or two leaning against the wall at the bottom of the staircase; and some thoughts that were almost solemn passed across his mind.
This thing that he was about to attempt - was it good, and would it be good for Glencora?

Chapter 50: How Lady Glencora Came Back from Lady Monk's Party


What would be her future if she consented now to go with him, and to divide herself from her husband?

What would her future be if she consented to go with him, and to leave her husband?


Of his own future he thought not at all.


Even when he had first found himself attracted by the reputation of her wealth, he cannot be said to have looked forward in any prudential way to coming years.

Even when he had first found himself attracted by her wealth,


His desire to put himself in possession of so magnificent a fortune had simply prompted him, as he might have been prompted to play for a high stake at a gaming-table.

it simply prompted him, as he might have been prompted to play for a high stake at a gaming-table.


But now, during these moments, he did think a little of her.


Would she be happy, simply because he loved her, when all women should cease to acknowledge her; when men would regard her as one degraded and dishonoured; when society should be closed against her; when she would be driven to live loudly because the softness and graces of quiet life would be denied to her?

Would she be happy, simply because he loved her, when all regarded her as degraded and dishonoured; when society should be closed against her?


Burgo knew well what must be the nature of such a woman's life in such circumstances.


Would Glencora be happy with him while living such a life simply because he loved her?


And, under such circumstances, was it likely that he would continue to love her?

And, under such circumstances, would he continue to love her?


Did he not know himself to be the most inconstant of men, and the least trustworthy?

Did he not know himself to be the most inconstant and untrustworthy of men?


Leaning thus against the wall at the bottom of the stairs he did ask himself all these questions with something of true feeling about his heart, and almost persuaded himself that he had better take his hat and wander forth anywhere into the streets.

He asked himself these questions with something of true feeling, and almost persuaded himself that he had better wander forth into the streets.


It mattered little what might become of himself.


If he could drink himself out of the world, it might be an end of things that would be not altogether undesirable.

If he could drink himself out of the world, it might be an end of things.


But then the remembrance of his aunt's two hundred pounds came upon him, which money he even now had about him on his person, and a certain idea of honour told him that he was bound to do that for which the money had been given to him.

But then he remembered his aunt's two hundred pounds, and a certain idea of honour told him that he was bound to do that for which the money had been given.


As to telling his aunt that he had changed his mind, and, therefore, refunding the money--no such thought as that was possible to him!

As to telling his aunt that he had changed his mind, and refunding the money - that was impossible!


To give back two hundred pounds entire,--two hundred pounds which were already within his clutches, was not within the compass of Burgo's generosity.

He could not give back two hundred pounds.


Remembering the cash, he told himself that hesitation was no longer possible to him.


So he gathered himself up, stretched his hands over his head, uttered a sigh that was audible to all around him, and took himself up-stairs.

So he gathered himself up, stretched his hands over his head, uttered a deep sigh, and took himself upstairs.


He looked in at his aunt's room, and then he saw her and was seen by her.


"Well, Burgo," she said, with her sweetest smile, "have you been dancing?"


He turned away from her without answering her, muttering something between his teeth about a cold-blooded Jezebel,--which, if she had heard it, would have made her think him the most ungrateful of men.

He turned away, muttering something about a cold-blooded Jezebel.


But she did not hear him, and smiled still as he went away, saying something to Mrs. Conway Sparkes as to the great change for the better which had taken place in her nephew's conduct.

But she did not hear, and smiled as he went.


"There's no knowing who may not reform," said Mrs. Sparkes, with an emphasis which seemed to Lady Monk to be almost uncourteous.


Burgo made his way first into the front room and then into the larger room where the dancing was in progress, and there he saw Lady Glencora standing up in a quadrille with the Marquis of Hartletop.

Burgo made his way first into the front room and then into the larger room where the dancing was, and there he saw Lady Glencora standing up in a quadrille with the Marquis of Hartletop.


Lord Hartletop was a man not much more given to conversation than his wife, and Lady Glencora seemed to go through her work with very little gratification either in the dancing or in the society of her partner.

Lady Glencora seemed to enjoy neither the dancing nor the society of her partner.


She was simply standing up to dance, because, as she had told Mr. Palliser, ladies of her age generally do stand up on such occasions.

She was simply standing up to dance because it was the correct thing to do.


Burgo watched her as she crossed and re-crossed the room, and at last she was aware of his presence.

Burgo watched her, and at last she became aware of his presence.


It made no change in her, except that she became even somewhat less animated than she had been before.

It made no change in her, except that she became even less animated than before.


She would not seem to see him, nor would she allow herself to be driven into a pretence of a conversation with her partner because he was there.


"I will go up to her at once, and ask her to waltz," Burgo said to himself, as soon as the last figure of the quadrille was in action.

"I will go up to her at once, and ask her to waltz," Burgo said to himself.


"Why should I not ask her as well as any other woman?"


Then the music ceased, and after a minute's interval Lord Hartletop took away his partner on his arm into another room.

Then the music ceased, and Lord Hartletop took away his partner on his arm into another room.


Burgo, who had been standing near the door, followed them at once.


The crowd was great, so that he could not get near them or even keep them in sight, but he was aware of the way in which they were going.

The crowd was so great that he could not get near them, but he knew which way they were going.


It was five minutes after this when he again saw her, and then she was seated on a cane bench in the gallery, and an old woman was standing close to her, talking to her.

Five minutes later he again saw her, seated on a cane bench in the gallery, with an old woman standing close to her, talking to her.


It was Mrs. Marsham cautioning her against some petty imprudence, and Lady Glencora was telling that lady that she needed no such advice, in words almost as curt as those I have used.

It was Mrs. Marsham, cautioning her against some petty imprudence, and Lady Glencora was curtly telling that lady that she needed no such advice.


Lord Hartletop had left her, feeling that, as far as that was concerned, he had done his duty for the night.

Lord Hartletop had left her, feeling that he had done his duty for the night.


Burgo knew nothing of Mrs. Marsham,--had never seen her before, and was quite unaware that she had any special connection with Mr. Palliser.

Burgo knew nothing of Mrs. Marsham, and was quite unaware that she had any connection with Mr. Palliser.


It was impossible, he thought, to find Lady Glencora in a better position for his purpose, so he made his way up to her through the crowd, and muttering some slight inaudible word, offered her his hand.

So he made his way up to Lady Glencora through the crowd, and muttering some inaudible word, offered her his hand.


"That will do very well thank you, Mrs. Marsham," Lady Glencora said at this moment.

"That will do very well, thank you, Mrs. Marsham," Lady Glencora said.


"Pray, do not trouble yourself," and then she gave her hand to Fitzgerald.


Mrs. Marsham, though unknown to him, knew with quite sufficient accuracy who he was, and all his history, as far as it concerned her friend's wife.

Mrs. Marsham knew who he was, and all his history.


She had learned the whole story of the loves of Burgo and Lady Glencora.


Though Mr. Palliser had never mentioned that man's name to her, she was well aware that her duty as a duenna would make it expedient that she should keep a doubly wary eye upon him should he come near the sheepfold.

Though Mr. Palliser had never mentioned his name to her, she was well aware that her duty as a duenna meant that she should keep a doubly wary eye upon him.


And there he was, close to them, almost leaning over them, with the hand of his late lady love,--the hand of Mr. Palliser's wife,--within his own!

And there he was, leaning over them, taking the hand of Mr. Palliser's wife!


How Lady Glencora might have carried herself at this moment had Mrs. Marsham not been there, it is bootless now to surmise; but it may be well understood that under Mrs. Marsham's immediate eye all her resolution would be in Burgo's favour.

How Lady Glencora might have behaved at this moment if Mrs. Marsham not been there, it is pointless to guess; but under Mrs. Marsham's eye, all her resolution was in Burgo's favour.


She looked at him softly and kindly, and though she uttered no articulate word, her countenance seemed to show that the meeting was not unpleasant to her.

She looked at him softly and kindly, and though she said nothing, her face seemed to show pleasure.


said Burgo,--asking it not at all as though it were a special favour,--asking it exactly as he might have done had they been in the habit of dancing with each other every other night for the last three months.

said Burgo, asking as though it were a commonplace event.


"I don't think Lady Glencora will waltz to-night," said Mrs. Marsham, very stiffly.

"I don't think Lady Glencora will waltz tonight," said Mrs. Marsham, very stiffly.


She certainly did not know her business as a duenna, or else the enormity of Burgo's proposition had struck her so forcibly as to take away from her all her presence of mind.


Otherwise, she must have been aware that such an answer from her would surely drive her friend's wife into open hostility.

she would have been aware that this answer would drive her friend's wife into open hostility.


said Lady Glencora rising from her seat.

said Lady Glencora, rising from her seat.


I rather think I shall, the more especially as Mr. Fitzgerald waltzes very well."

I rather think I shall, especially as Mr. Fitzgerald waltzes very well."


Thereupon she put her hand upon Burgo's arm.


Mrs. Marsham made still a little effort,--a little effort that was probably involuntary.


She put out her hand, and laid it on Lady Glencora's left shoulder, looking into her face as she did so with all the severity of caution of which she was mistress.

laid a hand on Lady Glencora's left shoulder, looking into her face with all the severity of caution of which she was capable.


Lady Glencora shook her duenna off angrily.


Whether she would put her fate into the hands of this man who was now touching her, or whether she would not, she had not as yet decided; but of this she was very sure, that nothing said or done by Mrs. Marsham should have any effect in restraining her.

Whether she would put her fate into Burgo's hands, she had not yet decided; but she was very sure that Mrs. Marsham should not restrain her.


Some rumour of that proposed visit to Monkshade, and the way in which it had been prevented, had reached her ear.


Some whispers had come to her that Fitzgerald still dared to love, as married, the woman whom he had loved before she was married.

Some whispers had come to her that Fitzgerald still dared to love Lady Glencora.


There was a rumour about that he still had some hope.


Mrs. Marsham had never believed that Mr. Palliser's wife would really be false to her vows.


It was not in fear of any such catastrophe as a positive elopement that she had taken upon herself the duty of duenna.

It was not in fear of any such catastrophe that she had taken on the duty of duenna


Lady Glencora would, no doubt, require to be pressed down into that decent mould which it would become the wife of a Mr. Palliser to assume as her form; and this pressing down, and this moulding, Mrs. Marsham thought that she could accomplish.

: it was merely to mould her into a form appropriate for the wife of Mr. Palliser.


It had not hitherto occurred to her that she might be required to guard Mr. Palliser from positive dishonour; but now--now she hardly knew what to think about it.

It had not occurred to her that she might need to guard Mr. Palliser from positive dishonour; but now she hardly knew what to think.


And then she saw Mr. Bott looming large before her on the top of the staircase.

And then she saw Mr. Bott at the top of the staircase.


In the meantime Lady Glencora went off towards the dancers, leaning on Burgo's arm.


They were the first words he spoke to her, though since he had last seen her he had written to her that letter which even now she carried about her.


His voice in her ears sounded as it used to sound when their intimacy had been close, and questions such as that he had asked were common between them.

His voice in her ears sounded as it used to sound when their intimacy had been close.


"Her name is Mrs. Marsham; she is my bte noire."


And then they were actually dancing, whirling round the room together, before a word had been said of that which was Burgo's settled purpose, and which at some moments was her settled purpose also.

And then they were actually dancing, whirling round the room together, before a word had been said about Burgo's purpose.


Burgo waltzed excellently, and in old days, before her marriage, Lady Glencora had been passionately fond of dancing.

Burgo waltzed excellently, and before her marriage, Lady Glencora had been passionately fond of dancing.


She seemed to give herself up to it now as though the old days had come back to her.


Lady Monk, creeping to the intermediate door between her den and the dancing-room, looked in on them, and then crept back again.

Lady Monk, creeping from her den to the dancing-room, looked in on them, and then crept back again.


Mrs. Marsham and Mr. Bott standing together just inside the other door, near to the staircase, looked on also--in horror.

Mrs. Marsham and Mr. Bott, standing together just inside the other door, looked on also - in horror.


"He shouldn't have gone away and left her," said Mr. Bott, almost hoarsely.


"But I don't know where to find him," said Mrs. Marsham.


"I didn't mean now at once," said Mr. Bott;--and then he added, "Do you think it is as bad as that?"

"I didn't mean now, at once," said Mr. Bott. "Do you think it is as bad as that?"


"I don't know what to think," said Mrs. Marsham.


The waltzers went on till they were stopped by want of breath.


"I am so much out of practice," said Lady Glencora; "I didn't think--I should have been able--to dance at all."

"I am so much out of practice," said Lady Glencora; "I didn't think I should have been able - to dance at all."


Then she put up her face, and slightly opened her mouth, and stretched her nostrils,--as ladies do as well as horses when the running has been severe and they want air.

Then she put up her face, and slightly opened her mouth, and breathed deep.


"Presently," said she, beginning to have some thought in her mind as to whether Mrs. Marsham was watching her.

"Presently," said she, beginning to wonder whether Mrs. Marsham was watching her.


Then there was a little pause, after which he spoke in an altered voice.

Then there was a little pause, after which he spoke in an altered voice, knowing that he must use this opportunity.


It was, of course, necessary for him that he should bring her to some thought of the truth.


It was all very sweet, that dancing with her, as they used to dance, without any question as to the reason why it was so; that sudden falling into the old habits, as though everything between this night and the former nights had been a dream; but this would not further his views.


The opportunity had come to him which he must use, if he intended ever to use such opportunity.


There was the two hundred pounds in his pocket, which he did not intend to give back.


"Does it put you in mind of 'old days?'"


The words roused her from her sleep at once, and dissipated her dream.


The facts all rushed upon her in an instant; the letter in her pocket; the request which she had made to Alice, that Alice might be induced to guard her from this danger; the words which her husband had spoken to her in the morning, and her anger against him in that he had subjected her to the eyes of a Mrs. Marsham; her own unsettled mind--quite unsettled whether it would be best for her to go or to stay!

The facts all rushed upon her in an instant; the letter in her pocket; the request which she had made to Alice so that she might be guarded from this danger; the words which her husband had spoken to her in the morning, and her anger about Mrs. Marsham!


It all came upon her now at the first word of tenderness which Burgo spoke to her.

It all came upon her now at the first word of tenderness which Burgo spoke.


It has often been said of woman that she who doubts is lost,--so often that they who say it now, say it simply because others have said it before them, never thinking whether or no there be any truth in the proverb.

It has often been said of woman that she who doubts is lost.


But they who have said so, thinking of their words as they were uttered, have known but little of women.

But they who have said so have known little of women.


Women doubt every day, who solve their doubts at last on the right side, driven to do so, some by fear, more by conscience, but most of them by that half-prudential, half-unconscious knowledge of what is fitting, useful, and best under the cirumstances, which rarely deserts either men or women till they have brought themselves to the Burgo Fitzgerald state of recklessness.

Women doubt every day, and many solve their doubts at last on the right side, driven to do so by fear, or conscience, but mostly by that half-unconscious knowledge of what is fitting, useful, and best under the circumstances.


Men when they have fallen even to that, will still keep up some outward show towards the world; but women in this condition defy the world, and declare themselves to be children of perdition.


Lady Glencora was doubting sorely; but, though doubting, she was not as yet lost.


She was driven to answer, and she knew that much would be decided by the way in which she might now speak.


"You must not talk of that," she said, very softly.


And now his tongue was unloosed, so that he began to speak quickly.


I suppose it is best not even to think of them?"


I wish I knew the inside of your heart, Cora, so that I could see what it is that you really wish."


In the old days he had always called her Cora, and now the name came from his lips upon her ears as a thing of custom, causing no surprise.

In the old days he had always called her Cora, and now the name came as no surprise.


They were standing back, behind the circle, almost in a corner, and Burgo knew well how to speak at such moments so that his words should be audible to none but her whom he addressed.

They were standing back, almost in a corner, and Burgo knew his words were audible to none but her whom he addressed.


"You should not have come to me at all," she said.


"Come and dance," she said; "I see a pair of eyes looking at us."


The pair of eyes which Lady Glencora saw were in the possession of Mr. Bott, who was standing alone, leaning against the side of the doorway, every now and then raising his heels from the ground, so that he might look down upon the sinners as from a vantage ground.

The pair of eyes which she saw were Mr. Bott's. He was standing alone in the doorway, every now and then raising his heels from the ground, so that he might look down upon the sinners from above.


Mrs. Marsham had left him, and had gotten herself away in Lady Glencora's own carriage to Park Lane, in order that she might find Mr. Palliser there, if by chance he should be at home.

Mrs. Marsham had left him, and had gone in Lady Glencora's own carriage to Park Lane, in order to look there for Mr. Palliser.


Mrs. Marsham had said when Mr. Bott had suggested this line of conduct.

Mrs. Marsham had said when Mr. Bott had suggested this.


"There'll be worse mischief if you don't," Mr. Bott had answered.


"He can come back, and then he can do as he likes.

"He can come back, and then do as he likes.


Again they went round the room,--or that small portion of the room which the invading crowd had left to the dancers,--as though they were enjoying themselves thoroughly, and in all innocence.

Again they went round the room as though they were enjoying themselves thoroughly, and in all innocence.


But there were others besides Mr. Bott who looked on and wondered.


The Duchess of St. Bungay saw it, and shook her head sorrowing,--for the Duchess was good at heart.

The Duchess of St. Bungay saw it, and shook her head sorrowing, for the Duchess was good at heart.


Mrs. Conway Sparkes saw it, and drank it down with keen appetite,--as a thirsty man with a longing for wine will drink champagne,--for Mrs. Conway Sparkes was not good at heart.

Mrs. Conway Sparkes saw it, and drank it down with keen appetite; for Mrs. Conway Sparkes was not good at heart.


Lady Hartletop saw it, and just raised her eyebrows.


She liked to know what was going on, as such knowledge was sometimes useful; but, as for heart,--what she had was, in such a matter, neither good nor bad.

She liked to know what was going on; but, as for her heart, what she had was neither good nor bad.


Her blood circulated with its ordinary precision, and, in that respect, no woman ever had a better heart.


Lady Monk saw it, and a frown gathered on her brow.


She knew that Burgo would not help his success by drawing down the eyes of all her guests upon his attempt.

She knew that Burgo would not help his success by drawing the eyes of all her guests.


In the meantime Mr. Bott stood there, mounting still higher on his toes, straightening his back against the wall.


Burgo said again, as soon as a moment's pause gave him breath to speak.


Perhaps her breath did not return to her as rapidly as his.


But, of course, he knew that she had received it.


She would have quickly signified to him that no letter from him had come to her hands had it not reached her.


"Let us go out upon the stairs," he said, "for I must speak to you.


Oh, if you could know what I suffered when you did not come to Monkshade!"


They were now making their way slowly down the stairs, in the crowd, towards the supper-room.


All the world was now intent on food and drink, and they were only doing as others did.

; for all the world was now intent on food and drink.


Lady Glencora was not thinking where she went, but, glancing upwards, as she stood for a moment wedged upon the stairs, her eyes met those of Mr. Bott.

Lady Glencora glanced upwards, as she stood for a moment wedged upon the stairs, and her eyes met those of Mr. Bott.


"A man that can treat me like that deserves that I should leave him."


That was the thought that crossed her mind at the moment.

That was the thought that crossed her mind.


"I'll get you some champagne with water in it," said Burgo.


They had now got into the room, and had therefore escaped Mr. Bott's eyes for the moment.

They had now got into the supper-room, and had escaped Mr. Bott's eyes for the moment.


"Mr. Fitzgerald,"--and now her words had become a whisper in his ear,--"do what I ask you.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," - and now she whispered - "do what I ask you.


For the sake of the old days of which you spoke, the dear old days which can never come again--"

For the sake of the old days which can never come again-"


Go to the sideboard, and then do not come back.


You are doing me an injury while you remain with me."


But she had now recovered her presence of mind, and understood what was going on.


She was no longer in a dream, but words and things bore to her again their proper meaning.


"I will not have it, Mr. Fitzgerald," she answered, speaking almost passionately.


This was still true, for Mr. Bott had now again got his eyes on them, round the supper-room door.


Whatever was the reward for which he was working, private secretaryship or what else, it must be owned that he worked hard for it.


But there are labours which are labours of love.


If you are minded to do as I have asked you--"

If you are minded to do as I have asked you-"


Do you not know that you insult me by proposing it?"


"Yes;--it is an insult, Cora,--unless such an offer be a joy to you.


"If you wish to be my wife instead of his, it is no insult."