"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
indeed of these you must be an adequate judge--would never do any
thing 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
honors as no doubt you would have won, to obtain your fellowship, to
go to the bar, with those credentials in favor 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 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's 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 movement; the face was hid
from the glance--it 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 fortune to make."
"Because they are idle, and idleness is contagious. Right--better not
be 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 camelia 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.