Mrs. Marsham.
But Lady Glencora was not brought to repentance by her husband's last
words. It seemed to her to be so intolerably cruel, this demand of
his, that she should be made to pass the whole of her first evening
in town with an old woman for whom it was impossible that she should
entertain the slightest regard, that she resolved upon rebellion. Had
he positively ordered Mrs. Marsham, she would have sent for that lady,
and have contented herself with enduring her presence in disdainful
silence; but Mr. Palliser had not given any order. He had made a
request, and a request, from its very nature, admits of no obedience.
The compliance with a request must be voluntary, and she would not
send for Mrs. Marsham, except upon compulsion. Had not she also made
a request to him, and had not he refused it? It was his prerogative,
undoubtedly, to command; but in that matter of requests she had a
right to expect that her voice should be as potent as his own. She
wrote a line, therefore, to Alice before she went to bed, begging her
cousin to come to her early on the following day, so that they might
go out together, and then afterwards dine in company with Mr. Bott.
"I know that will be an inducement to you," Lady Glencora said,
"because your generous heart will feel of what service you may be to
me. Nobody else will be here,--unless, indeed, Mrs. Marsham should be
asked, unknown to myself."
Then she sat herself down to think,--to think especially about the
cruelty of husbands. She had been told over and over again, in the
days before her marriage, that Burgo would ill-use her if he became
her husband. The Marquis of Auld Reekie had gone so far as to suggest
that Burgo might probably beat her. But what hard treatment, even
what beating, could be so unendurable as this total want of sympathy,
as this deadness in life, which her present lot entailed upon her? As
for that matter of beating, she ridiculed the idea in her very soul.
She sat smiling at the absurdity of the thing as she thought of the
beauty of Burgo's eyes, of the softness of his touch, of the loving,
almost worshipping, tones of his voice. Would it not even be better
to be beaten by him than to have politics explained to her at one
o'clock at night by such a husband as Plantagenet Palliser? The
British Constitution, indeed! Had she married Burgo they would have
been in sunny Italy, and he would have told her some other tale than
that as they sat together under the pale moonlight. She had a little
water-coloured drawing called Raphael and Fornarina, and she was
infantine enough to tell herself that the so-called Raphael was like
her Burgo--no, not her Burgo, but the Burgo that was not hers. At any
rate, all the romance of the picture she might have enjoyed had they
allowed her to dispose as she had wished of her own hand. She might
have sat in marble balconies, while the vines clustered over her
head, and he would have been at her knee, hardly speaking to her,
but making his presence felt by the halo of its divinity. He would
have called upon her for no hard replies. With him near her she would
have enjoyed the soft air, and would have sat happy, without trouble,
lapped in the delight of loving. It was thus that Fornarina sat. And
why should not such a lot have been hers? Her Raphael would have
loved her, let them say what they would about his cruelty.
Poor, wretched, overburthened child, to whom the commonest lessons of
life had not yet been taught, and who had now fallen into the hands
of one who was so ill-fitted to teach them! Who would not pity her?
Who could say that the fault was hers? The world had laden her with
wealth till she had had no limb free for its ordinary uses, and then
had turned her loose to run her race!
"Have you written to your cousin?" her husband asked her the next
morning. His voice, as he spoke, clearly showed that his anger was
either over or suppressed.
"Yes; I have asked her to come and drive, and then to stay for
dinner. I shall send the carriage for her if she can come. The man is
to wait for an answer."
"Very well," said Mr. Palliser, mildly. And then, after a short pause,
he added, "As that is settled, perhaps you would have no objection to
ask Mrs. Marsham also?"
"Won't she probably be engaged?"
"No; I think not," said Mr. Palliser. And then he added, being ashamed
of the tinge of falsehood of which he would otherwise have been
guilty, "I know she is not engaged."
"She expects to come, then?" said Lady Glencora.
"I have not asked her, if you mean that, Glencora. Had I done so,
I should have said so. I told her that I did not know what your
engagements were."
"I will write to her, if you please," said the wife, who felt that
she could hardly refuse any longer.
"Do, my dear!" said the husband. So Lady Glencora did write to Mrs.
Marsham, who promised to come,--as did also Alice Vavasor.
Lady Glencora would, at any rate, have Alice to herself for some
hours before dinner. At first she took comfort in that reflection;
but after a while she bethought herself that she would not know
what to tell Alice, or what not to tell. Did she mean to show that
letter to her cousin? If she did show it, then,--so she argued with
herself,--she must bring herself to endure the wretchedness of her
present lot, and must give up for ever all her dreams about Raphael
and Fornarina. If she did not show it,--or, at any rate, tell of
it,--then it would come to pass that she would leave her husband
under the protection of another man, and she would become--what she
did not dare to name even to herself. She declared that so it must
be. She knew that she would go with Burgo, should he ever come to her
with the means of going at his and her instant command. But should
she bring herself to let Alice know that such a letter had been
conveyed to her, Burgo would never have such power.
I remember the story of a case of abduction in which a man was tried
for his life, and was acquitted, because the lady had acquiesced in
the carrying away while it was in progress. She had, as she herself
declared, armed herself with a sure and certain charm or talisman
against such dangers, which she kept suspended round her neck; but
whilst she was in the post-chaise she opened the window and threw
the charm from her, no longer desiring, as the learned counsel for
the defence efficiently alleged, to be kept under the bonds of such
protection. Lady Glencora's state of mind was, in its nature, nearly
the same as that of the lady in the post-chaise. Whether or no she
would use her charm, she had not yet decided, but the power of doing
so was still hers.
Alice came, and the greeting between the cousins was very
affectionate. Lady Glencora received her as though they had been
playmates from early childhood; and Alice, though such impulsive love
was not natural to her as to the other, could not bring herself to
be cold to one who was so warm to her. Indeed, had she not promised
her love in that meeting at Matching Priory in which her cousin
had told her of all her wretchedness? "I will love you!" Alice had
said; and though there was much in Lady Glencora that she could not
approve,--much even that she could not bring herself to like,--still
she would not allow her heart to contradict her words.
They sat so long over the fire in the drawing-room that at last they
agreed that the driving should be abandoned.
"What's the use of it?" said Lady Glencora. "There's nothing to see,
and the wind is as cold as charity. We are much more comfortable
here; are we not?" Alice quite acquiesced in this, having no great
desire to be driven through the parks in the gloom of a February
afternoon.
"If I had Dandy and Flirt up here, there would be some fun in it; but
Mr. Palliser doesn't wish me to drive in London."
"I suppose it would be dangerous?"
"Not in the least. I don't think it's that he minds; but he has an
idea that it looks fast."
"So it does. If I were a man, I'm sure I shouldn't like my wife to
drive horses about London."
"And why not? Just because you'd be a tyrant,--like other husbands?
What's the harm of looking fast, if one doesn't do anything improper?
Poor Dandy, and dear Flirt! I'm sure they'd like it."
"Perhaps Mr. Palliser doesn't care for that?"
"I can tell you something else he doesn't care for. He doesn't care
whether Dandy's mistress likes it."
"Don't say that, Glencora."
"Why not say it,--to you?"
"Don't teach yourself to think it. That's what I mean. I believe he
would consent to anything that he didn't think wrong."
"Such as lectures about the British Constitution! But never mind
about that, Alice. Of course the British Constitution is everything
to him, and I wish I knew more about it;--that's all. But I haven't
told you whom you are to meet at dinner."
"Yes, you have--Mr. Bott."
"But there's another guest, a Mrs. Marsham. I thought I'd got rid of
her for to-day, when I wrote to you; but I hadn't. She's coming."
"She won't hurt me at all," said Alice.
"She will hurt me very much. She'll destroy the pleasure of our whole
evening. I do believe that she hates you, and that she thinks you
instigate me to all manner of iniquity. What fools they all are!"
"Who are they all, Glencora?"
"She and that man, and--. Never mind. It makes me sick when I think
that they should be so blind. Alice, I hardly know how much I owe to
you; I don't, indeed. Everything, I believe." Lady Glencora, as she
spoke, put her hand into her pocket, and grasped the letter which lay
there.
"That's nonsense," said Alice.
"No; it's not nonsense. Who do you think came to Matching when I was
there?"
"What;--to the house?" said Alice, feeling almost certain that Mr.
Fitzgerald was the person to whom Lady Glencora was alluding.
"No; not to the house."
"If it is the person of whom I am thinking," said Alice, solemnly,
"let me implore you not to speak of him."
"And why should I not speak of him? Did I not speak of him before to
you, and was it not for good? How are you to be my friend, if I may
not speak to you of everything?"
"But you should not think of him."
"What nonsense you talk, Alice! Not think of him! How is one to help
one's thoughts? Look here."
Her hand was on the letter, and it would have been out in a moment,
and thrown upon Alice's lap, had not the servant opened the door and
announced Mrs. Marsham.
"Oh, how I do wish we had gone to drive!" said Lady Glencora, in a
voice which the servant certainly heard, and which Mrs. Marsham would
have heard had she not been a little hard of hearing,--in her bonnet.
"How do, my dear?" said Mrs. Marsham. "I thought I'd just come across
from Norfolk Street and see you, though I am coming to dinner in the
evening. It's only just a step, you know. How d'ye do, Miss Vavasor?"
and she made a salutation to Alice which was nearly as cold as it
could be.
Mrs. Marsham was a woman who had many good points. She was poor,
and bore her poverty without complaint. She was connected by blood
and friendship with people rich and titled; but she paid to none of
them egregious respect on account of their wealth or titles. She was
staunch in her friendships, and staunch in her enmities. She was
no fool, and knew well what was going on in the world. She could
talk about the last novel, or--if need be--about the Constitution.
She had been a true wife, though sometimes too strong-minded, and a
painstaking mother, whose children, however, had never loved her as
most mothers like to be loved.
The catalogue of her faults must be quite as long as that of her
virtues. She was one of those women who are ambitious of power, and
not very scrupulous as to the manner in which they obtain it. She
was hardhearted, and capable of pursuing an object without much
regard to the injury she might do. She would not flatter wealth or
fawn before a title, but she was not above any artifice by which she
might ingratiate herself with those whom it suited her purpose to
conciliate. She thought evil rather than good. She was herself untrue
in action, if not absolutely in word. I do not say that she would
coin lies, but she would willingly leave false impressions. She had
been the bosom friend, and in many things the guide in life, of Mr.
Palliser's mother; and she took a special interest in Mr. Palliser's
welfare. When he married, she heard the story of the loves of Burgo
and Lady Glencora; and though she thought well of the money, she
was not disposed to think very well of the bride. She made up her
mind that the young lady would want watching, and she was of opinion
that no one would be so well able to watch Lady Glencora as herself.
She had not plainly opened her mind on this matter to Mr. Palliser;
she had not made any distinct suggestion to him that she would act
as Argus to his wife. Mr. Palliser would have rejected any such
suggestion, and Mrs. Marsham knew that he would do so; but she
had let a word or two drop, hinting that Lady Glencora was very
young,--hinting that Lady Glencora's manners were charming in their
childlike simplicity; but hinting also that precaution was, for that
reason, the more necessary. Mr. Palliser, who suspected nothing as
to Burgo or as to any other special peril, whose whole disposition
was void of suspicion, whose dry nature realized neither the delights
nor the dangers of love, acknowledged that Glencora was young. He
especially wished that she should be discreet and matronly; he feared
no lovers, but he feared that she might do silly things,--that
she would catch cold,--and not know how to live a life becoming
the wife of a Chancellor of the Exchequer. Therefore he submitted
Glencora,--and, to a certain extent, himself,--into the hands of Mrs.
Marsham.
Lady Glencora had not been twenty-four hours in the house with this
lady before she recognized in her a duenna. In all such matters no
one could be quicker than Lady Glencora. She might be very ignorant
about the British Constitution, and, alas! very ignorant also as to
the real elements of right and wrong in a woman's conduct, but she
was no fool. She had an eye that could see, and an ear that could
understand, and an abundance of that feminine instinct which teaches
a woman to know her friend or her enemy at a glance, at a touch, at
a word. In many things Lady Glencora was much quicker, much more
clever, than her husband, though he was to be Chancellor of the
Exchequer, and though she did know nothing of the Constitution.
She knew, too, that he was easily to be deceived,--that though his
intelligence was keen, his instincts were dull,--that he was gifted
with no fineness of touch, with no subtle appreciation of the
characters of men and women; and, to a certain extent, she looked
down upon him for his obtusity. He should have been aware that Burgo
was a danger to be avoided; and he should have been aware also that
Mrs. Marsham was a duenna not to be employed. When a woman knows that
she is guarded by a watch-dog, she is bound to deceive her Cerberus,
if it be possible, and is usually not ill-disposed to deceive also
the owner of Cerberus. Lady Glencora felt that Mrs. Marsham was her
Cerberus, and she was heartily resolved that if she was to be kept in
the proper line at all, she would not be so kept by Mrs. Marsham.
Alice rose and accepted Mrs. Marsham's salutation quite as coldly as
it had been given, and from that time forward those two ladies were
enemies. Mrs. Marsham, groping quite in the dark, partly guessed that
Alice had in some way interfered to prevent Lady Glencora's visit to
Monkshade, and, though such prevention was, no doubt, good in that
lady's eyes, she resented the interference. She had made up her mind
that Alice was not the sort of friend that Lady Glencora should have
about her. Alice recognized and accepted the feud.
"I thought I might find you at home," said Mrs. Marsham, "as I know
you are lazy about going out in the cold,--unless it be for a foolish
midnight ramble," and Mrs. Marsham shook her head. She was a little
woman, with sharp small eyes, with a permanent colour in her face,
and two short, crisp, grey curls at each side of her face; always
well dressed, always in good health, and, as Lady Glencora believed,
altogether incapable of fatigue.
"The ramble you speak of was very wise, I think," said Lady Glencora;
"but I never could see the use of driving about in London in the
middle of winter."
"One ought to go out of the house every day," said Mrs. Marsham.
"I hate all those rules. Don't you, Alice?" Alice did not hate them,
therefore she said nothing.
"My dear Glencora, one must live by rules in this life. You might as
well say that you hated sitting down to dinner."
"So I do, very often; almost always when there's company."
"You'll get over that feeling after another season in town," said Mrs.
Marsham, pretending to suppose that Lady Glencora alluded to some
remaining timidity in receiving her own guests.
"Upon my word I don't think I shall. It's a thing that seems always
to be getting more grievous, instead of less so. Mr. Bott is coming to
dine here to-night."
There was no mistaking the meaning of this. There was no pretending
even to mistake it. Now, Mrs. Marsham had accepted the right hand
of fellowship from Mr. Bott,--not because she especially liked him,
but in compliance with the apparent necessities of Mr. Palliser's
position. Mr. Bott had made good his ground about Mr. Palliser; and Mrs.
Marsham, as she was not strong enough to turn him off from it, had
given him the right hand of fellowship.
"Mr. Bott is a Member of Parliament, and a very serviceable friend of
Mr. Palliser's," said Mrs. Marsham.
"All the same; we do not like Mr. Bott--do we, Alice? He is Doctor
Fell to us; only I think we could tell why."
"I certainly do not like him," said Alice.
"It can be but of small matter to you, Miss Vavasor," said Mrs.
Marsham, "as you will not probably have to see much of him."
"Of the very smallest moment," said Alice. "He did annoy me once, but
will never, I dare say, have an opportunity of doing so again."
"I don't know what the annoyance may have been."
"Of course you don't, Mrs. Marsham."
"But I shouldn't have thought it likely that a person so fully
employed as Mr. Bott, and employed, too, on matters of such vast
importance, would have gone out of his way to annoy a young lady whom
he chanced to meet for a day or two in a country-house."
"I don't think that Alice means that he attempted to flirt with her,"
said Lady Glencora, laughing. "Fancy Mr. Bott's flirtation!"
"Perhaps he did not attempt," said Mrs. Marsham; and the words, the
tone, and the innuendo together were more than Alice was able to bear
with equanimity.
"Glencora," said she, rising from her chair, "I think I'll leave
you alone with Mrs. Marsham. I'm not disposed to discuss Mr. Bott's
character, and certainly not to hear his name mentioned in
disagreeable connection with my own."
But Lady Glencora would not let her go. "Nonsense, Alice," she said.
"If you and I can't fight our little battles against Mr. Bott and Mrs.
Marsham without running away, it is odd. There is a warfare in which
they who run away never live to fight another day."
"I hope, Glencora, you do not count me as your enemy?" said Mrs.
Marsham, drawing herself up.
"But I shall,--certainly, if you attack Alice. Love me, love my dog.
I beg your pardon, Alice; but what I meant was this, Mrs. Marsham;
Love me, love the best friend I have in the world."
"I did not mean to offend Miss Vavasor," said Mrs. Marsham, looking at
her very grimly. Alice merely bowed her head. She had been offended,
and she would not deny it. After that, Mrs. Marsham took herself
off, saying that she would be back to dinner. She was angry, but
not unhappy. She thought that she could put down Miss Vavasor, and
she was prepared to bear a good deal from Lady Glencora--for Mr.
Palliser's sake, as she said to herself, with some attempt at a
sentimental remembrance of her old friend.
"She's a nasty old cat," said Lady Glencora, as soon as the door was
closed; and she said these words with so droll a voice, with such a
childlike shaking of her head, with so much comedy in her grimace,
that Alice could not but laugh. "She is," said Lady Glencora. "I know
her, and you'll have to know her, too, before you've done with her.
It won't at all do for you to run away when she spits at you. You
must hold your ground, and show your claws,--and make her know that
if she spits, you can scratch."
"But I don't want to be a cat myself."
"She'll find I'm of the genus, but of the tiger kind, if she
persecutes me. Alice, there's one thing I have made up my mind about.
I will not be persecuted. If my husband tells me to do anything, as
long as he is my husband I'll do it; but I won't be persecuted."
"You should remember that she was a very old friend of Mr. Palliser's
mother."
"I do remember; and that may be a very good reason why she should
come here occasionally, or go to Matching, or to any place in which
we may be living. It's a bore, of course; but it's a natural bore,
and one that ought to be borne."
"And that will be the beginning and the end of it."
"I'm afraid not, my dear. It may perhaps be the end of it, but I fear
it won't be the beginning. I won't be persecuted. If she gives me
advice, I shall tell her to her face that it's not wanted; and if she
insults any friend of mine, as she did you, I shall tell her that she
had better stay away. She'll go and tell him, of course; but I can't
help that. I've made up my mind that I won't be persecuted."
After that, Lady Glencora felt no further inclination to show Burgo's
letter to Alice on that occasion. They sat over the drawing-room
fire, talking chiefly of Alice's affairs, till it was time for them
to dress. But Alice, though she spoke much of Mr. Grey, said no word
as to her engagement with George Vavasor. How could she speak of it,
inasmuch as she had already resolved,--already almost resolved,--that
that engagement also should be broken?
Alice, when she came down to the drawing-room, before dinner, found
Mr. Bott there alone. She had dressed more quickly than her friend,
and Mr. Palliser had not yet made his appearance.
"I did not expect the pleasure of meeting Miss Vavasor to-day," he
said, as he came up, offering his hand. She gave him her hand, and
then sat down, merely muttering some word of reply.
"We spent a very pleasant month down at Matching together;--didn't
you think so?"
"I spent a pleasant month there certainly."
"You left, if I remember, the morning after that late walk out among
the ruins? That was unfortunate, was it not? Poor Lady Glencora! it
made her very ill; so much so, that she could not go to Monkshade,
as she particularly wished. It was very sad. Lady Glencora is very
delicate,--very delicate, indeed. We, who have the privilege of being
near her, ought always to remember that."
"I don't think she is at all delicate."
"Oh! don't you? I'm afraid that's your mistake, Miss Vavasor."
"I believe she has very good health, which is the greatest blessing
in the world. By delicate I suppose you mean weak and infirm."
"Oh, dear, no,--not in the least,--not infirm certainly! I should be
very sorry to be supposed to have said that Lady Glencora is infirm.
What I mean is, not robust, Miss Vavasor. Her general organization,
if you understand me, is exquisitely delicate. One can see that, I
think, in every glance of her eye."
Alice was going to protest that she had never seen it at all, when Mr.
Palliser entered the room along with Mrs. Marsham.
The two gentlemen shook hands, and then Mr. Palliser turned to Alice.
She perceived at once by his face that she was unwelcome, and wished
herself away from his house. It might be all very well for Lady
Glencora to fight with Mrs. Marsham,--and with her husband, too, in
regard to the Marsham persecution,--but there could be no reason why
she should do so. He just touched her hand, barely closing his thumb
upon her fingers, and asked her how she was. Then he turned away from
her side of the fire, and began talking to Mrs. Marsham on the other.
There was that in his face and in his manner which was positively
offensive to her. He made no allusion to his former acquaintance with
her,--spoke no word about Matching, no word about his wife, as he
would naturally have done to his wife's friend. Alice felt the blood
mount into her face, and regretted greatly that she had ever come
among these people. Had she not long since made up her mind that she
would avoid her great relations, and did not all this prove that it
would have been well for her to have clung to that resolution? What
was Lady Glencora to her that she should submit herself to be treated
as though she were a poor companion,--a dependent, who received a
salary for her attendance,--an indigent cousin, hanging on to the
bounty of her rich connection? Alice was proud to a fault. She had
nursed her pride till it was very faulty. All her troubles and
sorrows in life had come from an overfed craving for independence.
Why, then, should she submit to be treated with open want of courtesy
by any man; but, of all men, why should she submit to it from such a
one as Mr. Palliser,--the heir of a ducal house, rolling in wealth,
and magnificent with all the magnificence of British pomp and pride?
No; she would make Lady Glencora understand that the close intimacies
of daily life were not possible to them!
"I declare I'm very much ashamed," said Lady Glencora, as she entered
the room. "I shan't apologize to you, Alice, for it was you who kept
me talking; but I do beg Mrs. Marsham's pardon."
Mrs. Marsham was all smiles and forgiveness, and hoped that Lady
Glencora would not make a stranger of her. Then dinner was announced,
and Alice had to walk down stairs by herself. She did not care a
doit for that, but there had been a disagreeable little contest when
the moment came. Lady Glencora had wished to give up Mr. Bott to her
cousin, but Mr. Bott had stuck manfully to Lady Glencora's side. He
hoped to take Lady Glencora down to dinner very often, and was not at
all disposed to abate his privilege.
During dinner-time Alice said very little, nor was there given to her
opportunity of saying much. She could not but think of the day of her
first arrival at Matching Priory, when she had sat between the Duke
of St. Bungay and Jeffrey Palliser, and when everybody had been so
civil to her! She now occupied one side of the table by herself,
away from the fire, where she felt cold and desolate in the gloom of
the large half-lighted room. Mr. Palliser occupied himself with Mrs.
Marsham, who talked politics to him; and Mr. Bott never lost a moment
in his endeavours to say some civil word to Lady Glencora. Lady
Glencora gave him no encouragement; but she hardly dared to snub
him openly in her husband's immediate presence. Twenty times during
dinner she said some little word to Alice, attempting at first to
make the time pleasant, and then, when the matter was too far gone
for that, attempting to give some relief. But it was of no avail.
There are moments in which conversation seems to be impossible,--in
which the very gods interfere to put a seal upon the lips of the
unfortunate one. It was such a moment now with Alice. She had never
as yet been used to snubbing. Whatever position she had hitherto
held, in that she had always stood foremost,--much more so than had
been good for her. When she had gone to Matching, she had trembled
for her position; but there all had gone well with her; there
Lady Glencora's kindness had at first been able to secure for
her a reception that had been flattering, and almost better than
flattering. Jeffrey Palliser had been her friend, and would, had she
so willed it, have been more than her friend. But now she felt that
the halls of the Pallisers were too cold for her, and that the sooner
she escaped from their gloom and hard discourtesy the better for her.
Mrs. Marsham, when the three ladies had returned to the drawing-room
together, was a little triumphant. She felt that she had put Alice
down; and with the energetic prudence of a good general who knows
that he should follow up a victory, let the cost of doing so be what
it may, she determined to keep her down. Alice had resolved that she
would come as seldom as might be to Mr. Palliser's house in Park
Lane. That resolution on her part was in close accordance with Mrs.
Marsham's own views.
"Is Miss Vavasor going to walk home?" she asked.
"Walk home;--all along Oxford Street! Good gracious! no. Why should
she walk? The carriage will take her."
"Or a cab," said Alice. "I am quite used to go about London in a cab
by myself."
"I don't think they are nice for young ladies after dark," said Mrs.
Marsham. "I was going to offer my servant to walk with her. She is an
elderly woman, and would not mind it."
"I'm sure Alice is very much obliged," said Lady Glencora; "but she
will have the carriage."
"You are very good-natured," said Mrs. Marsham; "but gentlemen do so
dislike having their horses out at night."
"No gentleman's horses will be out," said Lady Glencora, savagely;
"and as for mine, it's what they are there for." It was not often
that Lady Glencora made any allusion to her own property, or allowed
any one near her to suppose that she remembered the fact that her
husband's great wealth was, in truth, her wealth. As to many matters
her mind was wrong. In some things her taste was not delicate as
should be that of a woman. But, as regarded her money, no woman could
have behaved with greater reticence, or a purer delicacy. But now,
when she was twitted by her husband's special friend with ill-usage
to her husband's horses, because she chose to send her own friend
home in her own carriage, she did find it hard to bear.
"I dare say it's all right," said Mrs. Marsham.
"It is all right," said Lady Glencora. "Mr. Palliser has given me my
horses for my own use, to do as I like with them; and if he thinks I
take them out when they ought to be left at home, he can tell me so.
Nobody else has a right to do it." Lady Glencora, by this time, was
almost in a passion, and showed that she was so.
"My dear Lady Glencora, you have mistaken me," said Mrs. Marsham; "I
did not mean anything of that kind."
"I am so sorry," said Alice. "And it is such a pity, as I am quite
used to going about in cabs."
"Of course you are," said Lady Glencora. "Why shouldn't you? I'd
go home in a wheelbarrow if I couldn't walk, and had no other
conveyance. That's not the question. Mrs. Marsham understands that."
"Upon my word, I don't understand anything," said that lady.
"I understand this," said Lady Glencora; "that in all such matters as
that, I intend to follow my own pleasure. Come, Alice, let us have
some coffee,"--and she rang the bell. "What a fuss we have made about
a stupid old carriage!"
The gentlemen did not return to the drawing-room that evening,
having, no doubt, joint work to do in arranging the great financial
calculations of the nation; and, at an early hour, Alice was taken
home in Lady Glencora's brougham, leaving her cousin still in the
hands of Mrs. Marsham.