CHAPTER XLIII. MR. BALFOUR’S MISSION
Lady Lendrick was dictating to her secretary, Miss Morse, the Annual Report of the “Benevolent Ballad-Singers’ Aid Society,” when her servant announced the arrival of Mr. Cholmondely Balfour. She stopped abruptly short at a pathetic bit of description, – “The aged minstrel, too old for erotic poetry, and yet debarred by the stern rules of a repressive policy from the strains of patriotic song,” – for, be it said parenthetically, Lady Lendrick affected “Irishry” to a large extent, – and, dismissing Miss Morse to an adjoining room, she desired the servant to introduce Mr. Balfour.
Is it fancy, or am I right in supposing that English officials have a manner specially assumed for Ireland and the Irish, – a thing like the fur cloak a man wears in Russia, or the snowshoes he puts on in Lapland, not intended for other latitudes, but admirably adapted for the locality it is made for? I will not insist that this theory of mine is faultless, but I appeal to a candid public of my own countrmen if they have not in their experience seen what may support it. I do not say it is a bad manner, – a presuming manner, – a manner of depreciation towards these it is used to, or a manner indicative of indifference in him who uses it. I simply say that they who employ it keep it as especially for Ireland as they keep their macintosh capes for wet weather, and would no more think of displaying it in England than they would go to her Majesty’s levee in a shooting-jacket. Mr. Balfour was not wanting in this manner. Indeed, the Administration of which he formed a humble part were all proficients in it. It was a something between a mock homage and a very jocular familiarity, so that when he arose after a bow, deep and reverential enough for the presence of majesty, he lounged over to a chair and threw himself down with the ease and unconcern of one perfectly at home.
“And how is my Lady? and how are the fourscore and one associations for turnkeys’ widows and dog-stealers’ orphans doing? What ‘s the last new thing in benevolence? Do tell me, for I ‘ve won five shillings at loo, and want to invest it.”
“You mean you have drawn your quarter’s salary, Mr. Balfour.”
“No, by Jove; they don’t pay us so liberally. We have the run of our teeth and no more.”
“You forget your tongue, sir; you are unjust.”
“Why, my Lady, you are as quick as Sir William himself; living with that great wit has made you positively dangerous.”
“I have not enjoyed over-much of the opportunity you speak of.”
“Yes, I know that; no fault of yours, though. The world is agreed on that point. I take it he’s about the most impossible man to live with the age has yet produced. Sewell has told me such things of him! – things that would be incredible if I had not seen him.”
“I beg pardon for interrupting, but of course you have not come to dilate on the Chief Baron’s defects of temper to his wife.”
“No, only incidentally, – parenthetically, as one may say, – just as one knocks over a hare when he’s out partridge-shooting.”
“Never mind the hare, then, sir; keep to your partridges.”
“My partridges! my partridges! which are my partridges? Oh, to be sure! I want to talk to you about Sewell. He has told you perhaps how ill we have behaved to him, – grossly, shamefully ill, I call it.”
“He has told me that the Government object to his having this appointment, but he has not explained on what ground.”
“Neither can I. Official life has its mysteries, and, hate them as one may, they must be respected; he ought n’t to have sold out, – it was rank folly to sell out. What could he have in the world better than a continued succession of young fellows fresh from home, and knowing positively nothing of horse-flesh or billiards?”
“I don’t understand you, sir, – that is, I hope I misunderstand you,” said she, haughtily.
“I mean simply this, that I’d rather be a lieutenant-colonel with such opportunities than I ‘d be Chairman of the Great Overland.”
“Opportunities – and for what?”
“For everything, – for everything; for game off the balls, on every race in the kingdom, and as snug a thing every night over a devilled kidney as any man could wish for. Don’t look shocked, – it’s all on the square; that old hag that was here last week would have given her diamond ear-rings to find out something against Sewell, and she could n’t.”
“You mean Lady Trafford?”
“I do. She stayed a week here just to blacken his character, and she never could get beyond that story of her son and Mrs. Sewell.”
“What story? I never heard of it.”
“A lie, of course, from beginning to end; and it’s hard to imagine that she herself believed it.”
“But what was it?”
“Oh, a trumpery tale of young Trafford having made love to Mrs. Sewell, and proposed to run off with her, and Sewell having played a game at écarté on it, and lost, – the whole thing being knocked up by Trafford’s fall. But you must have heard it! The town talked of nothing else for a fortnight.”
“The town never had the insolence to talk of it to me.”
“What a stupid town! If there be anything really that can be said to be established in the code of society, it is that you may say anything to anybody about their relations. But for such a rule how could conversation go on? – who travels about with his friend’s family-tree in his pocket? And as to Sewell, – I suppose I may say it, – he has not a truer friend in the world than myself.”
She bowed a very stiff acknowledgment of the speech, and he went on: “I ‘m not going to say he gets on well with his wife, – but who does? Did you ever hear of him who did? The fact I take to be this, that every one has a certain capital of good-nature and kindliness to trade on, and he who expends this abroad can’t have so much of it for home consumption; that’s how your insufferable husbands are such charming fellows for the world! Don’t you agree with me?”
A very chilling smile, that might mean anything, was all her reply.
“I was there all the time,” continued he, with unabated fluency. “I saw everything that went on: Sewell’s policy was what our people call non-intervention; he saw nothing, heard nothing, believed nothing; and I will say there ‘s a great deal of dignity in that line; and when your servant comes to wake you in the morning, with the tidings that your wife has run away, you have established a right before the world to be distracted, injured, overwhelmed, and outraged to any extent you may feel disposed to appear.”
“Your thoughts upon morals are, I must say, very edifying, sir.”
“They ‘re always practical, so much I will say. This world is a composite sort of thing, with such currents of mixed motives running through it, if a man tries to be logical he is sure to make an ass of himself, and one learns at last to become as flexible in his opinions and as elastic as the great British constitution.
“I am delighted with your liberality, sir, and charmed with your candor; and as you have expressed your opinion so freely upon my husband and my son, would it appear too great a favor if I were to ask what you would say of myself?”
“That you are charming, Lady Lendrick, – positively charming,” replied he, rapturously. “That there is not a grace of manner, nor a captivation, of which you are not mistress; that you possess that attraction which excels all others in its influence; you render all who come within the sphere of your fascination so much your slaves that the cold grow enthusiastic, the distrustful become credulous, and even the cautious reserve of office gives way, and the well-trained private secretary of a Viceroy betrays himself into indiscretions that would half ruin an aide-de-camp.”
“I assure you, sir, I never so much as suspected my own powers.”
“True as I am here; the simple fact is, I have come to say so.”
“You have come to say so! What do you mean?”
With this he proceeded to explain that her Excellency had deputed him to invite Lady Lendrick to join the picnic on the island. “It was so completely a home party, that, except himself and a few of the household, none had even heard of it. None but those really intimate will be there,” said he; “and for once in our lives we shall be able to discuss our absent friends with that charming candor that gives conversation its salt. When we had written down all the names, it was her Excellency said, ‘I ‘d call this perfect if I could add one more to the list.’ ‘I’ll swear I know whom you mean,’ said his Excellency; and he took his pencil and wrote a line on a card. ‘Am I right?’ asked he. She nodded, and said, ‘Balfour, go and ask her to come. Be sure you explain what the whole thing is, how it was got up, and that it must not be talked of.’ Of course, do what one will, these things do get about. Servants will talk of them, and tradespeople talk of them, and we must expect a fair share of ill-nature and malice from that outer world which was not included in the civility; but it can’t be helped. I believe it’s one of the conditions of humanity, that to make one man happy you may always calculate on making ten others miserable.”
This time Lady Lendrick had something else to think of besides Mr. Balfour’s ethics, and so she only smiled and said nothing.
“I hope I ‘m to bring back a favorable answer,” said he, rising to take leave. “Won’t you let me say that we ‘re to call for you?”
“I really am much flattered. I don’t know how to express my grateful sense of their Excellencies’ recollection of me. It is for Wednesday, you say?”
“Yes, Wednesday. We mean to leave town by two o’clock, and there will be a carriage here for you by that hour. Will that suit you?”
“Perfectly.”
“I am overjoyed at my success. Good-bye till Wednesday, then.” He moved towards the door, and then stopped. “What was it? I surely had something else to say. Oh, to be sure, I remember. Tell me, if you can, what are Sir William’s views about retirement: he is not quite pleased with us just now, and we can’t well approach him; but we really would wish to meet his wishes, if we could manage to come at them.” All this he said in a sort of careless, easy way, as though it were a matter of little moment, or one calling for very slight exercise of skill to set right.
“And do you imagine he has taken me into his confidence, Mr. Balfour?” asked she, with a smile.
“Not formally, perhaps, – not what we call officially; but he may have done so in that more effective way termed ‘officiously.’”
“Not even that. I could probably make as good a guess about your own future intentions as those of the Chief Baron.”
“You have heard him talk of them?”
“Scores of times.”
“And in what tone, – with what drift?”
“Always as that of one very ill-used, hardly treated, undervalued, and the like.”
“And the remedy? What was the remedy?”
“To make him a peer, – at least, so his friends say.”
“But taking that to be impossible, what next?”
“He becomes ‘impossible’ also,” said she, laughing.
“Are we to imagine that a man of such intelligence as he possesses cannot concede something to circumstances, – cannot make allowances for the exigencies of ‘party,’ – cannot, in fact, take any other view of a difficulty but the one that must respond to his own will?”
“Yes; I think that is exactly what you are called on to imagine. You are to persuade yourself to regard this earth as inhabited by the Chief Baron, and some other people not mentioned specifically in the census.”
“He is most unreasonable, then.”
“Of course he is; but I wouldn’t have you tell him so. You see, Mr. Balfour, the Chief imagines all this while that he is maintaining and upholding the privileges of the Irish Bar. The burden of his song is, ‘There would have been no objection to my claim had I been the Chief Baron of the English Court.’”
“Possibly,” murmured Balfour; and then, lower again, “Fleas are not – ”
“Quite true,” said she, for her quick ear caught his words, – “quite true. Fleas are not lobsters, – bless their souls! But, as I said before, I ‘d not remind them of that fact. ‘The Fleas’ are just sore enough upon it already.”
Balfour for once felt some confusion. He saw what a slip he had made, and now it had damaged his whole negotiation. Nothing but boldness would avail now, and he resolved to be bold.
“There is a thing has been done in England, and I don’t see why we might not attempt it in the present case. A great lawyer there obtained a peerage for his wife – ”
She burst out into a fit of laughter at this, at once so hearty and so natural that at last he could not help joining, and laughing too.
“I must say, Mr. Balfour,” said she, as soon as she could speak, – “I must say there is ingenuity in your suggestion. The relations that subsist between Sir William and myself are precisely such as to recommend your project.”
“I am not so sure that they are obstacles to it. I have always heard that he had a poor opinion of his son, who was a common-place sort of man that studied medicine. It could be no part of the Chief Baron’s plan to make such a person the head of a house. Now, he likes Sewell, and he dotes on that boy, – the little fellow I saw at the Priory. These are all elements in the scheme. Don’t you think so?”
“Let me ask you one question before I answer yours: Does this thought come from yourself alone, or has it any origin in another quarter?”
“Am I to be candid?”
“You are.”
“And are you to be confidential?”
“Certainly.”
“In that case,” said he, drawing a long breath, as though about to remove a perilous weight off his mind, “I will tell you frankly, it comes from authority. Now, don’t ask me more, – not another question. I have already avowed what my instructions most imperatively forbid me to own, – what, in fact, would be ruin to me if it were known that I revealed. What his Excellency – I mean, what the other person said was, ‘Ascertain Lady Lendrick’s wishes on this subject; learn, if you can, – but, above all, without compromising yourself, – whether she really cares for a step in rank; find out, if so, what aid she can or will lend us.’ But what am I saying? Here am I entering upon the whole detail? What would become of me if I did not know I might rely upon you?”
“It’s worth thinking over,” said she, after a pause.
“I should think it is. It is not every day of our lives such a brilliant offer presents itself. All I ask, all I stipulate for, is that you make no confidences, ask no advice from any quarter. Think it well over in your own mind, but impart it to none, least of all to Sewell.”
“Of course not to him,” said she, resolutely, for she knew well to what purposes he would apply the knowledge.
“Remember that we want to have the resignation before Parliament meets, – bear that in mind. Time is all-important with us; the rest will follow in due course.” With this he said “Good-bye,” and was gone.
“The rest will follow in due course,” said she to herself, repeating his last words as he went. “With your good leave, Mr. Balfour, the ‘rest’ shall precede the beginning.”
Was n’t it Bolingbroke that said constitutional government never could go on without lying, – audacious lying too? If the old Judge will only consent to go, her Ladyship’s peerage will admit of a compromise. Such was Mr. Balfour’s meditation as he stepped into his cab.
CHAPTER XLIV. AFTER-DINNER THOUGHTS
Her Majesty’s – th had got their orders for Malta, and some surmised for India, though it was not yet known; but all agreed it was hard, – “confoundedly hard,” they called it. “Had n’t they had their turn of Inidan service? – how many years had that grim old major passed in the Deccan, – what weary winters had the bronzed bald captain there spent at Rangoon!”
How they inveighed against the national niggardliness that insisted on making a small army do the work of a large one! How they scouted the popular idea that regiments were treated alike and without favoritism! They knew better. They knew that if they had been the Nine Hundred and Ninth, or Three Thousand and First, there would have been no thought of sending them back to cholera and jungle fever. Some, with a little sly flattery, ascribed the order to their efficiency, and declared that they had done their work so well at Gonurshabad, the Government selected them at once when fresh troubles were threatening; and a few old grumblers, tired of service, sick of the Horse Guards, – not over-enamored of even life, – agreed that it was rank folly to join a regiment where the Lieutenant-Colonel was not a man of high connections; as they said, “If old Cave there had been a Lord George or even an Honorable, we ‘d have had ten years more of home service.”
With the exception of two or three raw subalterns who had never been out of England, and who wanted the glory of pig-sticking and the brevet to tell tiger stories, there were gloom and depression everywhere. The financially gifted complained that as they had all or nearly all bought their commissions, there was no comparison between the treatment administered to them and to officers in any foreign army; and such as knew geography asked triumphantly whether a Frenchman, who could be only sent to Africa, or an Austrian, whose most remote banishment was the “Banat,” was in the same position as an unfortunate Briton, who could be despatched to patrol the North Pole to-day, and to-morrow relieve guard at New Zealand? By a unanimous vote it was carried that the English army was the worst paid, hardest worked, and most ill-treated service in Europe; but the roast-beef played just at the moment, and they went in to dinner.
As the last bars of that prandial melody were dying away, two men crossed the barrack-yard towards the mess-house. They were in close confabulation, and although evidently on their way to dinner, showed by their loitering pace how much more engrossed they were by the subject that engaged them than by any desire for the pleasures of the table. They were Colonel Cave and Sewell.
“I can scarcely picture to my mind as great a fool as that,” said Sewell, angrily. “Can you?”
“I don’t know,” said Cave, slowly and doubtingly. “First of all, I never was heir to a large estate; and, secondly, I was never, that I remember, in love.”
“In love! in fiddlestick. Why, he has not seen the girl this year and half; he scarcely knows her. I doubt greatly if she cares a straw for him; and for a caprice – a mere caprice – to surrender his right to a fine fortune and a good position is absolute idiocy; but I tell you more, Cave, though worse – far worse.” Here his voice grew harsh and grating, as he continued: “When I and other men like me played with Trafford, we betted with the man who was to inherit Holt. When I asked the fellow to my house, and suffered a certain intimacy – for I never liked him – it was because he represented twelve thousand a year in broad acres. I ‘d stand a good deal from a man like that, that I ‘d soon pull another up for, – eh?”
The interrogative here puzzled Cave, who certainly was not a concurring party to the sentiment, and yet did not want to make it matter of discussion.
“We shall be late, – we’ve lost our soup already,” said he, moving more briskly forward.
“I ‘d no more have let that fellow take on him, as he did under my roof, than I ‘d sufifer him to kennel his dogs in my dressing-room. You don’t know – you can’t know – how he behaved.” These words were spoken in passionate warmth, and still there was that in the speaker’s manner that showed a want of real earnestness; so it certainly seemed to Cave, who secretly determined to give no encouragement to further disclosures.
“There are things,” resumed Sewell, “that a man can’t speak on, – at least, he can only speak of them when they become the talk of the town.”
“Come along, I want my dinner. I’m not sure I have not a guest, besides, who does not know any of our fellows. I only remembered him this instant. Is n’t this Saturday?”
“One thing I ‘ll swear, – he shall pay me every shilling he owes me, or he does not sail with the regiment. I ‘ll stand no nonsense of renewals; if he has to sell out for it, he shall book up. You have told him, I hope, he has nothing to expect from my forbearance?”
“We can talk this all over another time. Come along now, – we ‘re very late.”
“Go on, then, and eat your dinner; leave me to my cigar – I ‘ve no appetite. I ‘ll drop in when you have dined.”
“No, no; you shall come too, – your absence will only make fellows talk; they are talking already.”
“Are they? and in what way?” asked he, sternly.
“Nothing seriously, of course,” mumbled Cave, for he saw how he had fallen into an indiscretion; “but you must come, and you must be yourself too. It’s the only way to meet flying rumors.”
“Come along, then,” said Sewell, passing his arm within the other’s; and they hurried forward without another word being spoken by either.
It was evident that Sewell’s appearance caused some surprise. There was a certain awkward significance in the way men looked at him and at each other that implied astonishment at his presence.
“I didn’t know you were down here,” said the old Major, making an involuntary explanation of his look of wonderment.
“Nothing very remarkable, I take it, that a man is stopping at his own house,” said Se well, testily. “No – no fish. Get me some mutton,” added he to the mess-waiter.
“You have heard that we ‘ve got our orders,” said a captain opposite him.
“Yes; Cave told me.”
“I rather like it, – that is, if it means India,” said a very young-looking ensign.
Sewell put up his eye-glass and looked at the speaker, and then, letting it drop, went on with his dinner without a word.
“There ‘s no man can tell you more about Bengal than Colonel Sewell there,” said Cave, to some one near him. “He served on the staff there, and knows every corner of it.”
“I wish I did n’t, with all my heart. It’s a sort of knowledge that costs a man pretty dearly.”
“I ‘ve always been told India was a capital place,” said a gay, frank-looking young lieutenant, “and that if a man did n’t drink, or take to high play, he could get on admirably.”
“Nor entangle himself with a pretty woman,” added another.
“Nor raise a smashing loan from the Agra Bank,” cried a third.
“You are the very wisest young gentlemen it has ever been my privilege to sit down with,” said Sewell, with a grin. “Whence could you have gleaned all these prudent maxims?”
“I got mine,” said the Lieutenant, “from a cousin. Such a good fellow as he was! He always tipped me when I was at Sandhurst, but he’s past tipping any one now.”
“Dead?”
“No; I believe it would be better he were; but he was ruined in India, – ‘let in’ on a race, and lost everything, even to his commission.”
“Was his name Stanley?”
“No, Stapyleton, – Frank Stapyleton, – he was in the Grays.”
“Sewell, what are you drinking?” cried Cave, with a loudness that overbore the talk around him. “I can’t see you down there. You ‘ve got amongst the youngsters.”
“I am in the midst of all that is agreeable and entertaining,” said Sewell, with a smile of most malicious meaning. “Talk of youngsters, indeed! I’d like to hear where you could match them for knowledge of life and mankind.”
There was certainly nothing in his look or manner as he spoke these words that suggested distrust or suspicion to those around him, for they seemed overjoyed at his praise, and delighted to hear themselves called men of the world. The grim old Major at the opposite side of the table shook his head thoughtfully, and muttered some words to himself.
“They ‘re a shady lot, I take it,” said a young captain to his neighbor, “those fellows who remain in India, and never come home; either they have done something they can’t meet in England, or they want to do things in India they couldn’t do here.”
“There’s great truth in that remark,” said Sewell. “Captain Neeves, let us have a glass of wine together. I have myself seen a great deal to bear out your observation.”
Neeves colored with pleasure at this approval, and went on: “I heard of one fellow – I forget his name – I never remember names; but he had a very pretty wife, and all the fellows used to make up to her, and pay her immense attention, and the husband rooked them all at écarté, every man of them.”
“What a scoundrel!” said Sewell, with energy. “You ought to have preserved the name, if only for a warning.”
“I think I can get it, Colonel. I ‘ll try and obtain it for you.”
“Was it Moorcroft?” cried one.
“Or Massingbred?” asked another.
“I’ll wager a sovereign it was Dudgeon; wasn’t it Dudgeon?”
But no; it was none of the three. Still, the suggestions opened a whole chapter of biographical details, in which each of these worthies vied with the other. No man ever listened to the various anecdotes narrated with a more eager interest than Sewell. Now and then, indeed, a slight incredulity – a sort of puzzled astonishment that the world could be so very wicked, that there really were such fellows – would seem to distract him; but he listened on, and even occasionally asked an explanation of this or of that, to show the extreme attention he vouchsafed to the theme.
To be sure, their attempts to describe the way some trick was played with the cards or the dice, how the horse was “nobbled” or the match “squared,” were neither very remarkable for accuracy nor clearness. They had not been well “briefed,” as lawyers say, or they had not mastered their instructions. Sewell, however, was no captious critic; he took what he got, and was thankful.
When they arose from the table, the old Major, dropping behind the line of those who lounged into the adjoining room, caught a young officer by the arm, and whispered some few words in his ear.
“What a scrape I ‘m in!” cried the young fellow as he listened.
“I think not, this time; but let it be a caution to you how you talk of rumors in presence of men who are strangers to you.”
“I say, Major,” asked a young captain, coming up hurriedly, “isn’t that Sewell the man of the Agra affair?”
“I don’t think I ‘d ask him about it, that’s all,” said the Major, slyly, and moved away.
“I got amongst a capital lot of young fellows at my end of the table – second battalion men, I think, – who were all new to me, but very agreeable,” said Sewell to Cave, as he sipped his coffee.
“You’d like your rubber, Sewell, I know,” said Cave; “let us see if we haven’t got some good players.”
“Not to-night, – thanks, – I promised my wife to be home early; one of the chicks is poorly.”
“I want so much to have a game with Colonel Sewell,” said a young fellow. “They told me up at Delhi that you hadn’t your equal at whist or billiards.”
Sewell’s pale face grew flushed; but though he smiled and bowed, it was not difficult to see that his manner evinced more irritation than pleasure.
“I say,” said another, who sat shuffling the cards by himself at a table, “who knows that trick about the double ace in picquet? That was the way Beresford was rooked at Madras.”
“I must say good-night,” said Sewell; “it’s a long drive to the Nest You ‘ll come over to breakfast some morning before you leave, won’t you?”
“I ‘ll do my best. At all events, I ‘ll pay my respects to Mrs. Sewell;” and with a good deal of hand-shaking and some cordial speeches Sewell took his leave and retired.
Had any one marked the pace at which Sewell drove home that night, black and dark as it was, he would have said, “There goes one on some errand of life or death.” There was something of recklessness in the way he pushed his strong-boned thoroughbred, urging him up hill and down without check or relief, nor slackening rein till he drew up at his own door, the panting beast making the buggy tremble with the violent action of his respiration. Low muttering to himself, the groom led the beast to the stable, and Sewell passed up the stairs to the small drawing-room where his wife usually sat.
She was reading as he entered; a little table with a tea equipage at her side. She did not raise her eyes from her book when he came in; but whether his footstep on the stair had its meaning to her quick ears or not, a slight flush quivered on her cheek, and her mouth trembled faintly.
“Shall I give you some tea?” asked she, as he threw himself into a seat. He made no answer, and she laid down her book, and sat still and silent.
“Was your dinner pleasant?” said she, after a pause.
“How could it be other than pleasant, Madam,” said he, fiercely, “when they talked so much of you?”
“Of me?– talked of me?”
“Just so; there were a set of young fellows who had just joined from another battalion, and who discoursed of you, of your life in India, of your voyage home, and lastly of some incidents that were attributed to your sojourn here. To me it was perfectly delightful. I had my opinion asked over and over again, if I thought that such a levity was so perfectly harmless, and such another liberty was the soul of innocence? In a word, Madam, I enjoyed the privilege, very rarely accorded to a husband, I fancy, to sit in judgment over his own wife, and say what he thought of her conduct.”
“Was there no one to tell these gentlemen to whom they were speaking?” said she, with a subdued, quiet tone.
“No; I came in late and took my place amongst men all strangers to me. I assure you I profited largely by the incident. It is so seldom one gets public opinion in its undiluted form, it ‘s quite refreshing to taste it neat. Of course they were not always correct. I could have set them right on many points. They had got a totally wrong version of what they called the ‘Agra row,’ though one of the party said he was Beresford’s cousin.”
She grasped the table convulsively to steady herself, and in so doing threw it down, and the whole tea equipage with it.
“Yes,” continued he, as though responding to this evidence of emotion on her part, – “yes; it pushed one’s patience pretty hard to be obliged to sit under such criticism.”
“And what obliged you, sir? was it fear?”
“Yes, Madam, you have guessed it. I was afraid – terribly afraid to own I was your husband.”
A low faint groan was all she uttered, as she covered her face with her hands. “I had next,” continued he, “to listen to a dispute as to whether Trafford had ever seriously offered to run away with you or not. It was almost put to the vote. Faith, I believe my casting voice might have carried the thing either way if I had only known how to give it.” She murmured something too low to be heard correctly, but he caught at part of it, and said: “Well, that was pretty much what I suspected. The debate was, however, adjourned; and as Cave called me by my name at the moment, the confidences came to an abrupt conclusion. As I foresaw that these youngsters, ignorant of life and manners as they were, would be at once for making apologetic speeches and such-like, I stole away and came home, more domestico, to ruminate over my enjoyments at my own fireside.”