DINNER AT CURZON STREET.
When Oscar Leigh left Mrs. Ashton's drawing-room abruptly that
afternoon, Hanbury was too much annoyed and perplexed to trust himself
to speak to Dora. It was getting late. He had promised to dine in
Curzon Street that evening, and would have ample opportunity after
dinner of saying to Dora anything he liked. Therefore he made an
excuse and a hasty exit as if to overtake Leigh. He had had however
enough of the clockmaker for that day, for all his life; so when he
found himself on the landing and stairs and in the hall he walked
slowly, allowing time for Leigh to get out of sight before emerging
from the house.
He took his way south and crossed Piccadilly at Hyde Park Corner. He
had to get to his mother's house in Chester Square, to dress for
dinner, and there was not much time to lose. His mother did not expect
him to dine at home that day. She knew he had promised to go to Curzon
Street, and was not in the house when he arrived.
He went straight to his own room in no very amiable humour. He was not
at all pleased with the day. He did not think Dora had acted with
prudence in persisting on going slumming in Chelsea, he was quite
certain she had not done prudently in giving Leigh their names. He
considered Leigh had behaved--well, not much better than a man of his
class might be expected to behave, and, worst of all and hardest of
all to bear, he did not consider his own conduct had been anything
like what it ought.
If he made up his mind to go in for a popular platform, he must
overcome, beat down this squeamishness which caused him to give way at
unpleasant sights. Whether he did or did not adopt the popular
platform he ought to do this. It was grotesque that his effectiveness
in an emergency should be at the mercy of a failing which most
school-girls would laugh at! It was too bad that Dora should be able
to help where he became a mere encumbrance. Poor girl----but there, he
must not allow himself to run off on a sentimental lead just now. He
must keep his mind firm, for he must be firm with Dora this evening.
What a wonderful likeness there was between that strange girl and
Dora. Yes, Miss Grace was, if possible, lovelier in face than Dora.
More quiet and still mannered. She absolutely looked more of an
aristocrat than Dora. It would be curious to see if her mind was like
Dora's too; if, for example, she had active, vivid, democratic
sympathies.
Every one who knew him told him he had a brilliant future before him.
Before he got married (about which there was no great hurry as they
were both young) it would be necessary for him to take up a definite
position in politics. He felt he had the stuff in him out of which to
make an orator, and an orator meant a statesman, and a statesman meant
power, what he pleased, a coronet later in life if he and Dora cared
for one. But he must select his career before marriage.
It would be very interesting to see if those two girls, so
marvellously alike in appearance, were similar in aspirations. How
extraordinarily alike they were. The likeness was as that man had
said, stranger than his own fabulous miracle gold.
Ashton and his wife got on very well together, although they did not
take the same view of public affairs. But then in this case things
were different from what they would be in his. Mrs. Ashton was an
ardent politician, her husband none at all. For a politician to enter
upon his public career with a young wife opposed to him would be most
unwise, the beginning of disagreement at home. At first, when he met
Dora, he was attracted towards her by the enthusiasm of her spirit. He
had never before met so young a woman, a mere girl, with such settled
faith. At that time he was not very sure how he himself thought on
many of the questions which divided men. She knew no doubt or
hesitancy, and she was very lovely and bright and fresh. He had
thought--What a helpmate for a busy man! And then, before he had time
to think much more, he had made up his mind he could not get on
without Dora.
There were many cases in which wives had been the best aids and
friends of illustrious politicians. It would never do for a man to
have a wife who would continually throw cold water on her husband's
public ardours; or, worse still, who would be actively opposed to him.
Such a state could not be borne.
Dora had clearer views and more resolute convictions than he. Women
always saw more quickly and sharply than men. If he threw himself into
the arms of the people she would be with him heart and soul, and he
should attain a wide popularity at all events.
How on earth did that man Leigh become acquainted with that exquisite
creature, Miss Grace? No wonder he called her miracle gold.
Well, it was time for him to be getting back to Curzon Street. There
was to be no one at dinner but the family and himself. There would,
therefore, neither before nor after be any politics. What a relief it
was to forget the worry, and heat and dust of politics now and then
for a while, for a little while even!
Grimsby Street was an awful place for a girl like Miss Grace to live
in. Why did she live in such horrible street? Poverty, no doubt.
Poverty. What a shame! She looked as if it would suit her better to
live in a better place. By heavens, what a lovely, exquisite girl she
was. Could that poor misshapen clockmaker be in love with her? He in
love? Monstrous!
Ten minutes past eight! Not a moment to be lost.
"Hansom! Curzon Street."
John Hanbury reached Ashton's as dinner was announced. The host
greeted him with effusion. He was always glad to have some guest, and
he particularly liked Hanbury. He was by no means hen-pecked, but
there was between him and his wife when alone the consciousness of a
truce, not the assurance of peace. Each felt the other was armed, she
with many convictions, he with only one, namely, that all convictions
were troublesome and more or less fraudulent. They lived together in
the greatest amity. They did not agree to disagree, but they agreed
not to disagree, which is a much better thing. Ashton of course
guessed there was something between Dora and Hanbury, but he had no
official cognizance of it yet, and therefore treated Hanbury merely as
a very acceptable visitor. He liked the young man, and his position
and prospects were satisfactory.
Towards the end of dinner, he said: "They tell me, Hanbury, that you
brought a very remarkable character with you to-day, a sorcerer, or an
astrologer, or alchemist. I thought men of that class had all turned
into farriers by this time."
"I don't think Leigh has anything to do with hooves, unless hooves of
the cloven kind," said Hanbury with a laugh. "If a ravenous appetite
for bread confirms the graminivorous characteristic of the hoof I am
afraid it is all up with poor Leigh in Mrs. Ashton's opinion."
"I found him very interesting I am sure," said Mrs. Ashton, "and I am
only sorry I had not more opportunity of hearing about his wonderful
clock."
"Clock? Oh, he is a clockmaker, is he," said the host, "Then I did not
make such a bad shot after all. He has something to do with metal?"
"I told you, Jerry, he makes _gold_, miracle gold," said Mrs. Ashton
vivaciously.
"So you did, my dear. So you did. My penetration then in taking him
for an alchemist does not seem to have been very great. I should be a
first-rate man to discover America now. But I fancy if I had been born
before Columbus I should not have taken the bread out of his mouth."
"Mr. Leigh told us he was not sure he would go on making this miracle
gold," said Dora.
"Not go on making gold!" cried the father in astonishment, "was there
ever yet a man who of his own free will gave up making gold? Why is he
thinking of abandoning the mine, Dora?"
"There is so much difficulty and danger, he says, father."
"Difficulty and danger! Of course there is always difficulty in making
gold; but danger--what is the danger?"
"He is liable to be blown up."
"Good heavens! for making gold? Why, what are you talking of, child?
Ah! I see," with a heavy, affected sigh, "he is a bachelor. If he were
a married man he would stand in danger of being blown up for _not_
making gold. Well, Josephine, my dear," to his wife, "you do get some
very original people around you. I must say I should like to see this
timid alchemist."
"If Mr. Ashton will honour his own house with his presence this day
week, he will have an excellent opportunity of meeting Mr. Leigh,"
said Mrs. Ashton with a bow.
"My dearest Josephine, your friend, Mr. Ashton, will do nothing of the
kind. He will not add another to your collection of monsters."
"That's a very heartless and rude speech, father."
"And I look on it as distinctly personal," said Hanbury, "for I attend
regularly."
"I have really very little to do with the matter," said Mrs. Ashton.
"Mr. Leigh is Dora's thrall."
The girl coloured and looked reproachfully at her mother, and uneasily
at Hanbury. It would be much more pleasant if the conversation shifted
away from Leigh.
"He is going to model her for Pallas-Athena."
"Mother, the poor man did not say that."
"No; he did not _say_ it, but he meant it, Dora."
"Oh, he is a sculptor, too!" cried Mr. Ashton with a laugh. "Is there
any end to this prodigy's perfections and accomplishments? But, I say,
Dora, seriously, I won't have any folly of that kind. I won't have you
give sittings to any one."
"Oh, father! indeed, you must not mind mother. She is joking. Mr.
Leigh never said or meant anything of the kind." She had grown red and
very uncomfortable.
Her father sat back in his chair and said in a bantering tone, under
which the note of seriousness could be heard:
"You know I am not a bigot. But I will have no professional-beauty
nonsense, for three reasons: First, because professional beauties are
played out; they are no longer the rage--that reason would be
sufficient with average people. Second, and more important, it isn't,
and wasn't, and never can be good form to be a professional beauty;
and third," he hesitated and looked fondly at his daughter, "and
third--confound it, my girl is too good-looking to be mentioned in the
same breath as any of these popular beauties."
"Bravo, sir," said Hanbury, as he got up to open the door for Mrs.
Ashton and Dora, who had risen to leave the room.
When the two men were left alone, Mr. Ashton said:
"This Leigh is, I assume, one of the people?"
"Yes," said Hanbury, who wished Leigh and all about him at the bottom
of the Red Sea. "But, he is not, you know, one of the horny-handed
sons of toil. He is a man of some reading, and intelligence, and
education, but rather vulgar all the same."
"All right. I'm sure if he is your friend he must be an excellent
fellow, my dear Hanbury; and if you put him up for this constituency,
I'll vote for him, no matter what his principles are. That is," he
added thoughtfully, "if I have a vote. But, for the present, my
dear fellow, I'll tell you what we'll do with him--we'll let him
alone--that is, if you don't mind doing so."
"I shall do so with great pleasure. I have had quite enough of him for
to-day," said the other, greatly relieved.
"All right. Hanbury, I shall let you into a secret. I don't care for
people who aren't nice. I prefer nice people. I like people like my
wife and Dora, and your mother and yourself."
"I am sure, sir, you are very good to include me in your list."
"And I don't care at all for people who aren't nice, you know. I don't
care at all for the poor. When they aren't objectionable they are an
awful bore. For the life of me I can't make out what reasonable men
and women see in the people. I don't object to them. I suppose they
are necessary, and have their uses and functions, and all that; but if
they have, why interfere with them? Lots of fellows I know go in for
the poor partly out of fun, and for a change, and partly to catch
votes. All right. But these fellows don't emigrate from the West and
live in the East End. If they did, they'd go mad, my boy--they'd go
mad. Anyway, I should. You know, I hate politics, and never talk
politics. If I were a very rich man, I'd buy the whole of the Isle of
Wight and banish all the poor from it, and live there the whole of my
life, and drown any of the poor that dared to land on it. I wouldn't
tell this to any soul in the world except you. I know I can trust you
to keep my secret. Mind, I don't object to my wife and Dora doing what
they like in such affairs; in fact, I rather like it, for it keeps
matters smooth for me. This is, I know, a horribly wicked profession
of faith; but I make it to you alone. I know that, according to poetic
justice, I ought to be killed on my way to the club by a coster's
run-away ass or the horse in a pauper's hearse, but I don't think I
shall oblige poetic justice by falling into or under such a scheme--_I
am always very careful at crossings_. If you are _very_ careful at
crossings, I don't see how poetic justice is to get at you. There, let
us drop this ghastly subject now."
The conversation then wandered off into general ways, and lost its
particular and personal character.
Hanbury had never heard from any other man so cynical a speech as
Ashton's, and he was considerably shocked and pained by it. His own
convictions were few. He was himself in that condition of aimless
aspiring enthusiasm proper to ardent youth, when youth has just begun
to think conscientiously with a view to action. He could see nothing
very clearly, but everything he did see shone fiercely in splendid
clouds. This low view of life, this mere animal craving for peace and
comfort, for nice things and nice people, was abhorrent to him. If in
the early part of that day he had spoken slightingly of the people, it
was out of no cynical indifference, but from the pain and worry caused
to himself in his own mind by his opinions not being ascertained and
fixed.
If he hesitated to throw his fortunes into the scale with the more
advanced politicians, it was from no mean or sordid motive. He could
not decide within himself which class had the more worthy moral
sanction. If the present rate of progress was too slow, then those who
sought to retard it were villains; if too quick, those who tried to
accelerate it were fools. Whatever else he might be, he was not
corrupt.
What Mr. Ashton said had a great influence on young Hanbury. It
aroused his suspicions. Could it be that most of those who sought to
check the car of progress harboured such vile and unmanly sentiments
as his host had uttered in confidence? Could it be that Ashton was
more courageous because he had nothing tangible to lose by candour?
Could it be that if he himself espoused the side of the slower movers,
it would be assumed he harboured opinions such as those Ashton had
just uttered? The mere supposition was an outrage. It was a suspicion
under which he would not willingly consent to rest one hour. This
cold-blooded declaration of Ashton's had done more towards the making
up of his mind than all he had heard and read since he turned his
attention to public affairs.
Yes, he would decide to throw himself body and soul among the more
progressive party. He would espouse the principles of the extreme
Liberals. Then there would be no more wavering or doubt, and no
question of discord in politics would arise between Dora and himself.
They would have but the one creed in public affairs. Their opinions
would not merely resemble the principles of one another--they would be
identical.
Mr. Ashton and his guest did not remain long in the dining-room.
Hanbury was not treated with ceremony in that house, so Mr. Ashton
merely looked into the drawing-room for a few minutes, and then went
off to his club. Mrs. Ashton had letters to write, and retired shortly
after him to the study, leaving Dora alone with John Hanbury.
He thought that in order to keep a good understanding there was
nothing like establishing a clear understanding. In order to ensure
complete pleasantness in the future, all things that might lead to
unpleasantness ought to be removed from the past and present. The best
way of treating a nettle, when you have to touch it, is to seize it
boldly.
He was in love with Dora, and he was resolved to marry her. That very
evening he was going to ask her if she did not think the best thing
they could do would be to get married soon, at once. He had made up
his mind to adopt the popular platform, and then, of course, his way
would be clear. Up to this he had been regarded as almost committed to
the more cautious side, to the Conservative party, the Democratic
Conservative party. By declaring himself now for the advanced party,
he should be greeted by it as a convert, and no doubt he could find a
willing constituency at the next general election.
That was all settled, all plain sailing. He was a young man, and in
love; but it must be observed he was not also a fool. He would show
all who knew him he was no fool. The life he now saw before him was
simple, straightforward, pleasant. Dora was beautiful, and good, and
clever, and in his part of popular politician would be an ornament by
his side, and, perhaps, a help to him in his career. She was a dear
girl, and would adorn any position to which he might aspire, to which
he might climb.
Yes, he was a young man, he was in love, but he was no fool, and he
knew that Dora would think less of him, would think nothing at all of
him, if she believed him to be a fool. Between lovers there ought to
be confidence, freedom of speech. She would esteem him all the more
for being candid and plain with her. What was this he had to say to
her? Oh, yes, he recollected----
Dora and he were sitting close to one another in the window-place
where Leigh and he had found her earlier. The long June day had faded
into luminous night; the blinds had not been lowered, or the lamps in
the room lit. The long, soft, cool, blue midsummer twilight was still
and delicious for any people, but especially for lovers.