"Mr. Leslie," said Egerton, when Harley had left the library, "you did
not act with your usual discretion in touching upon matters connected
with politics in the presence of a third party."
"I feel that already, sir; my excuse is, that I held Lord L'Estrange to
be your most intimate friend."
"A public man, Mr. Leslie, would ill serve his country if he were not
especially reserved towards his private friends--when they do not belong
to his party."
"But pardon me my ignorance. Lord Lansmere is so well known to be one of
your supporters, that I fancied his son must share his sentiments, and be
in your confidence."
Egerton's brows slightly contracted, and gave a stern expression to a
countenance always firm and decided. He however answered in a mild tone,
"At the entrance into political life, Mr. Leslie, there is nothing in
which a young man of your talents should be more on his guard than
thinking for himself; he will nearly always think wrong. And I believe
that is one reason why young men of talent disappoint their friends, and
remain so long out of office."
A haughty flush passed over Randal's brow, and faded away quickly; he
bowed in silence.
Egerton resumed, as if in explanation, and even in kindly apology,
"Look at Lord L'Estrange himself. What young man could come into life
with brighter auspices? Rank, wealth, high animal spirits (a great
advantage those same spirits, Mr. Leslie), courage, self-possession,
scholarship as brilliant perhaps as your own; and now see how his life is
wasted! Why? He always thought fit to think for himself. He could
never be broken into harness, and never will be. The state coach, Mr.
Leslie, requires that all the horses should pull together."
"With submission, sir," answered Randal, "I should think that there were
other reasons why Lord L'Estrange, whatever be his talents--and of these
you must be indeed an adequate judge--would never do anything in public
life."
"Ay, and what?" said Egerton, quickly.
"First," said Randal, shrewdly, "private life has done too much for him.
What could public life give to one who needs nothing? Born at the top of
the social ladder, why should he put himself voluntarily at the last
step, for the sake of climbing up again? And secondly, Lord L'Estrange
seems to me a man in whose organization /sentiment/ usurps too large a
share for practical existence."
"You have a keen eye," said Audley, with some admiration,--"keen for one
so young. Poor Harley!"
Mr. Egerton's last words were said to himself. He resumed quickly,
"There is something on my mind, my young friend. Let us be frank with
each other. I placed before you fairly the advantages and disadvantages
of the choice I gave you. To take your degree with such honours as no
doubt you would have won, to obtain your fellowship, to go to the Bar,
with those credentials in favour of your talents,--this was one career.
To come at once into public life, to profit by my experience, avail
yourself of my interest, to take the chances of rise or fall with a
party,--this was another. You chose the last. But in so doing, there
was a consideration which might weigh with you, and on which, in stating
your reasons for your option, you were silent."
"What is that, sir?"
"You might have counted on my fortune, should the chances of party fail
you: speak, and without shame if so; it would be natural in a young man,
who comes from the elder branch of the House whose heiress was my wife."
"You wound me, Mr. Egerton," said Randal, turning away.
Mr. Egerton's cold glance followed Randal's movements; the face was hid
from the glance, and the statesman's eye rested on the figure, which is
often as self-betraying as the countenance itself. Randal baffled Mr.
Egerton's penetration,--the young man's emotion might be honest pride and
pained and generous feeling, or it might be something else. Egerton
continued slowly,
"Once for all, then, distinctly and emphatically, I say, never count upon
that; count upon all else that I can do for you, and forgive me when I
advise harshly or censure coldly; ascribe this to my interest in your
career. Moreover, before decision becomes irrevocable, I wish you to
know practically all that is disagreeable or even humiliating in the
first subordinate steps of him who, without wealth or station, would rise
in public life. I will not consider your choice settled till the end of
a year at least,--your name will be kept on the college books till then;
if on experience you should prefer to return to Oxford, and pursue the
slower but surer path to independence and distinction, you can. And now
give me your hand, Mr. Leslie, in sign that you forgive my bluntness: it
is time to dress."
Randal, with his face still averted, extended his hand. Mr. Egerton held
it a moment, then dropping it, left the room. Randal turned as the door
closed; and there was in his dark face a power of sinister passion, that
justified all Harley's warnings. His lips moved, but not audibly; then
as if struck by a sudden thought, he followed Egerton into the hall.
"Sir," said he, "I forgot to say, that on returning from Maida Hill,
I took shelter from the rain under a covered passage, and there I met
unexpectedly with your nephew, Frank Hazeldean."
"Ah!" said Egerton, indifferently, "a fine young man; in the Guards.
It is a pity that my brother has such antiquated political notions;
he should put his son into parliament, and under my guidance; I could
push him. Well, and what said Frank?"
"He invited me to call on him. I remember that you once rather cautioned
me against too intimate an acquaintance with those who have not got their
fortunes to make."
"Because they are idle, and idleness is contagious. Right,--better not
to be too intimate with a young Guardsman."
"Then you would not have me call on him, sir? We were rather friends
at Eton; and if I wholly reject his overtures, might he not think that
you--"
"I!" interrupted Egerton. "Ah, true; my brother might think I bore him a
grudge; absurd. Call then, and ask the young man here. Yet still, I do
not advise intimacy." Egerton turned into his dressing-room. "Sir,"
said his valet, who was in waiting, "Mr. Levy is here,--he says by
appointment; and Mr. Grinders is also just come from the country."
"Tell Mr. Grinders to come in first," said Egerton, seating himself.
"You need not wait; I can dress without you. Tell Mr. Levy I will see
him in five minutes."
Mr. Grinders was steward to Audley Egerton.
Mr. Levy was a handsome man, who wore a camellia in his button-hole;
drove, in his cabriolet, a high-stepping horse that had cost L200; was
well known to young men of fashion, and considered by their fathers a
very dangerous acquaintance.