A MAN WITH A FUTURE
Mr. Dalmaine first turned his attention to politics at the time when
the question of popular education was to the front in British politics.
It was an excellent opportunity for would-be legislators conscious of
rhetorical gifts and only waiting for some safe, simple subject whereon
to exercise them. Both safe and simple was the topic which all and
sundry were then called upon to discuss; it was impossible not to have
views on education (have we not all been educated?), and delightfully
easy to support them by prophecy. Never had the vaticinating style of
oratory a greater vogue. Never was a richer occasion for the utterance
of wisdom such as recommends itself to the British public.
Mr. Dalmaine understood the tastes and habits of that public as well as
most men of his standing. After one abortive attempt to enter
Parliament, he gained his seat for Vauxhall at the election of 1874,
and from the day of his success he steadily applied himself to the
political profession. He was then two-and-thirty; for twelve years he
had been actively engaged in commerce and now held the position of
senior partner in a firm owning several factories in Lambeth. Such a
training was valuable; politics he viewed as business on a larger
scale, and business, the larger its scale the better, was his one
enthusiasm. His education had not been liberal; he saw that that made
no difference, and wisely pursued the bent of his positive mind where
another man might have wasted his time in the attempt to gain culture.
He saw that his was the age of the practical. Let who would be an
idealist, the practical man in the end got all that was worth having.
He worked. You might have seen him, for instance, in his study one
Sunday morning in the January which the story has now reached; a glance
at him showed that he was no idler in fields of art or erudition;
blue-books were heaped about him, hooks bound in law calf lay open near
his hand, newspapers monopolised one table. He was interested in all
that concerns the industrial population of Great Britain; he was making
that subject his speciality; he meant to link his name with factory
Acts, with education Acts, with Acts for the better housing of the
work-folk, with what not of the kind. And the single working man for
whom he veritably cared one jot was Mr. James Dalmaine.
He was rather a good-looking fellow, a well-built, sound, red-bearded
Englishman. His ears were not quite so close against his head as they
should be; his lips might have had a more urbane expression; his hand
might have been a trifle less weighty; but when he stood up with his
back to the fire and looked musingly along the cornice of the room, one
felt that his appearance on a platform would conciliate those
right-thinking electors who desire that Parliament should represent the
comely, beef-fed British breed. He was fairly well-to-do, though some
held that he had speculated a little rashly of late; he felt very
strongly, however, that his pedestal must be yet more solid before he
could claim the confidence of his countrymen with the completeness that
he desired. Of late he had given thought to a particular scheme, and
not at all a disagreeable one, for enhancing his social, and therefore
political, credit. He was thinking of her--the scheme, I would say--at
present.
These chambers of his were in Westminster; they were spacious,
convenient; he had received deputations from his constituents here.
Lambeth was only just over the water; he liked to be near, for it was
one of his hobbies, one of the very few that he allowed himself, to
keep thoroughly cognisant of the affairs of his borough--which, as you
are aware, includes the district of Lambeth--even of its petty affairs.
Some day, he said to himself, he would in this way overlook Great
Britain--would have her statistics at his finger-ends, would change
here, confirm there, guide everywhere. In the meantime he satisfied
himself with this section. He knew what was going on in workmen's
clubs, in places of amusement, in the market streets. There is a
pleasure in surveying from a height the doing and driving of ordinary
mortals; a member for Vauxhall studying his borough in this spirit
naturally comes to feel himself a sort of Grand Duke.
It was one o'clock. There came a knock at the door, followed by the
appearance of a middle-aged man who silently proclaimed himself a
secretary. This was Mr. Tasker; he had served Mr. Dalmaine thus for
three years, prior to which he had been employed as a clerk at the
works in Lambeth. Mr. Dalmaine first had his attention drawn to Tasker
eight or nine years before, by an instance of singular shrewdness in
the latter's discharge of his duties. From that day he kept his eye on
him--took Opportunities of advancing him. Tasker was born with a love
of politics and with a genius for detail; Mr. Dalmaine discovered all
this, and, when the due season came, raised him to the dignity of his
private scribe. Tasker regarded his employer as his earthly Providence,
was devoted to him, served him admirably. It was the one instance of
Mr. Dalmaine's having interested himself in an individual; he had no
thought of anything but his own profit in doing so, but none the less
he had made a mortal happy. You observe the beneficence that lies in
practicality.
Before going to luncheon on a Sunday it was Mr. Dalmaine's practice to
talk of things in general with his secretary. To-day, among other
questions, he asked, with a meaning smile:
'What of young Egremont's lectures? Has he recommenced?'
'The first of the new course is to-night,' replied Mr. Tasker, who sat
bending a paper-cutter over his leg. Mr. Dalmaine, knowing his
secretary, encouraged him to be on easy terms. In truth, he had a
liking for Tasker. Partly it reciprocated the other's feeling, no
doubt; and then one generally looks with indulgence on a man whom one
has discovered and developed.
'Does he go on with his literature?'
'No. The title is, "Thoughts for the Present."'
Mr. Dalmaine leaned back and laughed. It was a hearty laugh.
'I foresaw it, I foresaw it! And how many hearers has he?'
'Six only.'
'To be sure.'
'But there is something more. Mr. Egremont is going to present Lambeth
with a free public library. He has taken a building.'
'A fact? How do you know that, Tasker?'
'I heard it at the club last night. He has informed the members of his
class.'
'Ha! He is really going to bleed himself to prove his sincerity?'
They discussed the subject a little longer. Then Mr. Dalmaine dictated
a letter or two that he wished to have off his mind, and after that
bade Tasker good-day.
At half-past four in the afternoon he drove up to a house at Lancaster
Gate, where he had recently been a not infrequent visitor. The servant
preceded him with becoming stateliness to the drawing-room, and
announced his name in the hearing of three ladies, who were pleasantly
chatting in the aroma of tea. The eldest of them was Mrs. Tyrrell; her
companions were Miss Tyrrell and a young married lady paying a call.
Mrs. Tyrrell was one of those excellently preserved matrons who testify
to the wholesome placidity of woman's life in wealthy English homes.
Her existence had taken for granted the perfection of the universe;
probably she had never thought of a problem which did not solve itself
for the pleasant trouble of stating it in refined terms, and certainly
it had never occurred to her that social propriety was distinguishable
from the Absolute Good. She was not a dull woman, and the opposite of
an unfeeling one, but her wits and her heart had both been so subdued
to the social code, that it was very difficult for her to entertain
seriously any mode of thought or action for which she could not recall
a respectable precedent. By nature she was indulgent, of mild
disposition, of sunny intelligence; so endowed, circumstances had
bidden her regard it as the end of her being to respect conventions, to
check her native impulse if ever it went counter to the opinion of
Society, to use her intellect for the sole purpose of discovering how
far it was permitted to be used. And she was a happy woman, had always
been a happy woman. She had known a little trouble in relation to her
favourite sister's marriage with Mr. Newthorpe, for she foresaw that it
could not turn out very well, and she had been obliged to censure her
sister for excessive devotion to the pleasures of Society; it grieved
her, on the other hand, to think of her poor niece being brought up in
a way so utterly opposed to all the traditions. But these were only
little ripples on the smooth flowing surface. You knew that she would
never be smitten down with a great sorrow. She was of those whom Fate
must needs respect, so gracefully and sweetly do they accept happiness
as their right.
Mr. Dalmaine joined these ladies with the manner of the sturdy Briton
who would make himself agreeable yet dreads the _petit maitre_. His
voice would have been better if a little more subdued; he seated
himself with perhaps rather more of ease than of grace; but on the
whole Society would have let him pass muster as a well-bred man.
'You are interested in all that concerns your constituency, Mr.
Dalmaine,' said Mrs. Tyrrell; 'we were speaking of Mr. Egremont's plan
of founding a library in Lambeth. You have heard of it?'
'Oh yes.'
'Do you think it will be a good thing?'
'I am very doubtful. One doesn't like to speak unkindly of such
admirable intentions, but I really think that in this he is working on
a wrong principle. I so strongly object to _giving_ anything when it's
in the power of people to win it for themselves with a little wholesome
exertion. Now, there's the Free Library Act; if the people of Lambeth
really want a library, let them tax themselves and adopt the statutory
scheme. Sincerely, I believe that Mr. Egremont will do more harm than
good. We must avoid anything that tends to pauperise the working
classes.'
'How amusing!' exclaimed Paula. 'It's almost word for word what mamma's
just been saying.'
Paula was dressed in the prettiest of tea-gowns; she looked the most
exquisite of conservatory flowers. Her smile to Mr. Dalmaine was very
gracious.
'That really is how I felt,' said Mrs. Tyrrell. 'But Mr. Egremont will
never be persuaded of that. He is so wholehearted in his desire to help
these poor people, yet, I'm afraid, so very, very unpractical.'
The young married lady observed:
'Oh, no one ought _ever_ to interfere with philanthropy unless they
have a _very_ practical scheme. Canon Brougham was so emphatic on that
point this morning. So _much_ harm may be done, when we mean everything
for the best.'
'Yes, I feel that very strongly,' said Dalmaine, his masculine accent
more masculine than ever after the plaintive piping. 'I even fear that
Mr. Egremont is doing wrong in making his lectures free. We may be sure
they are well worth paying to hear, and it's an axiom in all dealing
with the working class that they will never value anything that they
don't pay for.'
'Oh, but Mr. Dalmaine,' protested Paula, 'you couldn't ask Mr. Egremont
to take money at the door!'
'It sounds shocking, Miss Tyrrell, but if Mr. Egremont stands before
them as a teacher, he ought to charge for his lessons. I assure you
they would put a far higher value on his lectures. I grieve to hear
that his class has fallen off. I could have foreseen that. The basis is
not sound. To put it in plain, even coarse, language, all social reform
must be undertaken on strictly commercial principles.'
'How I should like to hear you say that to Mr. Egremont!' remarked
Paula. 'Oh, his face!'
'Mr. Egremont is an idealist,' said Mrs. Tyrrell, smiling.
'Surely the very _last_ kind of person to attempt social reform!'
exclaimed the young married lady.
The conversation drew off into other channels. Mr. Dalmaine was
supplied with the clearest opinions on every topic, and he had a way of
delivering them which was most effective with persons of Mrs. Tyrrell's
composition. In everything he affected sobriety. If he had to express a
severe judgment, it was done with gentlemanly regret. If he commended
anything, he did so with a judicial air. In fact, it would not have
been easy to imagine Mr. Dalmaine speaking with an outburst of natural
fervour on any topic whatsoever. His view was the view of common sense,
and he enunciated the barrenest convictions in a tone which would have
suited profound originality.
A week later there was a dinner party at the Tyrrells, and Egremont was
among the bidden. He had persisted in his tendency to hold aloof from
general society, in spite of many warnings from Mrs. Ormonde, but he
could not, short of ingratitude, wholly absent himself from his friends
at Lancaster Gate. Mrs. Tyrrell was no exception to the rule in her
attitude to Egremont; as did all matronly ladies, she held him in very
warm liking, and sincerely hoped that a young man so admirably fitted
for the refinements of social life would in time get rid of his
extravagant idealism. A little of that was graceful; Society was
beginning to view it with favour when confined within the proper
bounds; but to carry it into act, and waste one's life in wholly
unpractical--nay, in positively harmful--enterprise was a sad thing.
She had reasoned with him, but he showed himself so perverted in his
sense of the fitness of things that the task had to be abandoned as
hopeless. And yet the good lady liked him. She had hoped, and not so
long ago, that he might some day desire to stand in a nearer relation
to her than that of a friend, but herein again she felt that her wish
was growing futile. Paula indulged in hints with reference to her
cousin Annabel, and Mrs. Tyrrell began to fear that the strangely
educated girl might be the cause of Walter's extreme aberrations.
Egremont arrived early on the evening of the dinner. Only one guest had
preceded him. With Mrs. Tyrrell and Paula were Mr. Tyrrell and the son
of the house, Mr. John, the Jack Tyrrell of sundry convivial clubs in
town. Mr. Tyrrell senior was a high-coloured jovial gentleman of three
score, great in finance, practical to the backbone, yet with wit and
tact which put him at ease with all manner of men, even with social
reformers. These latter amused him vastly; he failed to see that the
world needed any reforming whatever, at all events beyond that which is
constitutionally provided for in the proceedings of the British
Parliament. He had great wealth; he fared sumptuously every day; things
shone to him in a rosy after-dinner light. Not a gross or a selfish
man, for he was as good-natured as he was contented, and gave very
freely of his substance; it was simply his part in the world to enjoy
the product of other men's labour and to set an example of glorious
self-satisfaction. Egremont, in certain moods, had tried to despise Mr.
Tyrrell, but he never quite succeeded. Nor indeed was the man
contemptible. Had you told him with frank conviction that you deemed
him a poor sort of phenomenon, he would have shaken the ceiling with
laughter and have admired you for your plain-speaking. For there was a
large and generous vigour about him, and adverse criticism could only
heighten his satisfaction in his own stability.
Something of the cold dignity in which she had taken refuge at
Ullswater was still to be remarked in Paula's manner as she received
Egremont. She held her charming head erect, and let her eyelids droop a
little, and the few words which she addressed to him were rather
absently spoken. With others, as they arrived, she was sportively
intimate. Her bearing had gained a little in maturity during the past
half year, but it was still with a blending of _naivete_ and capricious
affectation that she wrought her spell. Her dress was a miracle, and
inseparably a part of her; it was impossible to picture her in any
serious situation, so entirely was she a child of luxury and frivolous
concern. Exquisite as an artistic product of Society, she affected the
imagination not so much by her personal charm as through the perfume of
luxury which breathed about her. Egremont, with his radical tendencies
of thought, found himself marvelling as he regarded her; what a life
was hers! Compare it with that of some little work-girl in Lambeth,
such as he saw in the street--what spaces between those two worlds! Was
it possible that this dainty creation, this thing of material
omnipotence, would suffer decay of her sweetness and in the end die?
The reason took her side and revolted against law; it would be an
outrage if time or mischance laid hold upon her.
Yet there was something in Paula which he did not recognise. Since she
could formulate desires, few had found impression on her lips which
were not at once gratified; an exception caused her at first rather
astonishment than impatience. Such astonishment fell upon her when she
understood that Egremont's coming to Ullswater was not on her account.
In truth, she wished it had been, and from that moment the fates were
kind enough to notice Paula's poor little existence, and bid her
remember she was mortal. She took the admonition ill, and certainly it
was impertinent from her point of view. She had slight philosophy, but
out of that disappointment Paula by degrees drew an understanding that
she had had a glimpse of a strange world, that something of moment had
been at stake.
Egremont, standing in the rear of a chatting group, had all but dreamed
himself into oblivion of the present when he heard loud announcement of
'Mr. Dalmaine.' It was some time since he had met the Member for
Vauxhall. Looking upon the politician's well-knit frame, his
well-coloured face with its expression of shrewd earnestness, he for a
moment seemed to himself to shrink into insignificance. After sitting
opposite Dalmaine for an hour at the dinner-table, he was able to
regard the man again in what he deemed a true light. But the impression
made upon one by an object suddenly presented when the thought is busy
with far other things will as a rule embody much essential truth. As a
force, Egremont would not have weighed in the scale against Dalmaine.
Putting himself in conscious opposition to such a man, he had but his
due in a sense of nullity.
Mr. Tyrrell was kind to him in the assignment of a partner. A pretty,
gentle, receptive maiden, anxious to show interest in things of the
mind--with such a one Walter was at his best, because his simplest and
happiest. He put away thought of Lambeth--which in truth was beginning
to trouble his mind like a fixed idea--and talked much as he would have
done a couple of years ago, with bright intelligence, with natural
enjoyment of the hour. It was greatly his charm in such conversation
that had made him a favourite with pleasant people of the world. In
withdrawing himself from the sphere of these amenities he was opposing
the free growth of his character, which in consequence suffered. He was
cognisant of that; he knew that he was more himself to-night than he
had been for some months. But the fixed idea waited in the background.
When the ladies were gone, he saw Dalmaine rise and come round the
table towards him.
'I'm glad to see you again,' Dalmaine began, depositing his wine-glass
and refilling it. 'Pray tell me something about your lectures. You have
resumed since Christmas, I think?'
Egremont had no mind to speak of these things. It cost him an effort to
find an answer.
'Yes, I still have a few hearers.'
And at once he was angry with himself for falling into this confession
of failure. Dalmaine was the last man before whom he would affect
humility.
'I am sure,' observed the politician, 'everyone who has the good of the
working classes at heart must feel indebted to you. It's so very seldom
that men of culture care to address audiences of that kind. Yet it must
be the most effectual way of reaching the people. You address them on
English Literature, I think?'
Egremont did not care to explain that he had now a broader subject. He
murmured an affirmative. Dalmaine had hoped to elicit some of the
'Thoughts for the Present,' and felt disappointment.
'An excellent choice, it seems to me,' he continued, making his glass
revolve on the table-cloth. 'They are much too ignorant of the best
wealth of their country. They have so few inducements to read the great
historians, for instance. If you can bring them to do so, you make them
more capable citizens, abler to form a judgment on the questions of the
day.'
Egremont smiled.
'My one aim,' he remarked, 'is to persuade them to forget that there
are such things as questions of the day.'
Dalmaine also smiled, and with a slight involuntary curling of the lip.
'Ah, I remember our discussions on the Atlantic. I scarcely thought you
would apply those ideas in their--their fulness, when you began
practical work. You surely will admit that, in a time when their
interests are engaging so much attention, working men should--for
instance--go to the polls with intelligent preparation.'
'I'd rather they didn't go to the polls at all,' Walter replied. He
knew that this was exaggeration, but it pleased him to exaggerate. He
enjoyed the effect on the honourable member's broad countenance.
'Come, come!' said Dalmaine, laughing with appearance of entering into
the joke. 'At that rate, English freedom would soon be at an end. One
might as well abolish newspapers.'
'In my opinion, the one greatest boon that could be granted the working
class. I do my best to dissuade them from the reading of newspapers.'
Dalmaine turned the whole matter into a jest. Secretly he believed that
Egremont was poking contemptuous fun at him, but it was his principle
to receive everything with good-humour. They drew apart again, each
feeling more strongly than ever the instinctive opposition between
their elements. It amounted to a reciprocal dislike, an irritation
provoked by each other's presence. Dalmaine was beginning to suspect
Egremont of some scheme too deep for his fathoming; it was easier for
him to believe anything, than that idealism pure and simple was at the
bottom of such behaviour. Walter, on the other hand, viewed the
politician's personality with something more than contempt. Dalmaine
embodied those forces of philistinism, that essence of the vulgar
creed, which Egremont had undertaken to attack, and which, as he
already felt, were likely to yield as little before his efforts as a
stone wall under the blow of a naked hand. Two such would do well to
keep apart.
On returning to the drawing-room, Egremont kept watch for a vacant
place by Paula. Presently he was able to move to her side. She spread
her fan upon her lap, and, ruffling its edge of white fur, said
negligently:
'So you decided to waste an evening, Mr. Egremont.'
'I decided to have an evening of rest and enjoyment.'
'I suppose you are working dreadfully hard. When do you open your
library?'
'Scarcely in less than four or five months.'
'And will you stand at the counter and give out books, like the young
men at Mudie's?'
'Sometimes, I dare say. But I have found a librarian.'
'Who is he?'
'A working man in Lambeth. One of the most sympathetic natures I have
ever met; a man who might have gone on all his life making
candles--that is how things are arranged.'
'Making candles? What a funny change of occupation! And you really
think you are doing good in that disagreeable place?'
'I can only hope.'
'You are quite sure you are not doing harm?'
'Does it seem to you that I am?'
Paula assumed an air of wisdom.
'Of course I have no right to speak of such things, but it is my
opinion that you are destroying their sense of self-respect. I don't
think they ought to have things _given_ them; they should be encouraged
to help themselves.'
He examined her face. It was obvious that this profound sentiment had
not taken birth in Paula's charming little head, and he guessed from
whom she had derived it.
'I have no doubt Mr. Dalmaine would agree with you,' he said smiling.
'I believe I have heard him say something of the kind.'
'I'm glad to hear it. Mr. Dalmaine is an authority in such matters.'
'And I, the very reverse of one?'
'Well, I really do think, Mr. Egremont, that you are taking up things
for which you are not--not exactly suited, you know.'
She said it with the prettiest air of patronage, looking at him for a
moment, then, as usual, letting her eyes wander about the room.
'Miss Tyrrell,' he replied, with gravity that was half genuine, 'tell
me for what I _am_ exactly suited, and you will do me a vast kindness.'
She reflected.
'Oh, there are lots of things you do very nicely indeed. I've seen you
play croquet beautifully. But I've always thought it a pity you weren't
a clergyman.'
Walter laughed.
'Well, a local preacher is next to it.'
Both were at once carried back to the evening at Ullswater. Paula kept
silence; her eyes were directed towards Dalmaine, who almost at the
same moment looked towards her. She played with her fan.
'You know that my uncle has been ill?' she said.
'No, I have heard nothing of that.'
Paula looked surprised.
'Don't you hear from--from them?'
'I have a letter from Mr. Newthorpe very occasionally But surely the
illness has not been serious?'
'Mamma heard this morning about it. I don't know what's been the
matter. I shouldn't wonder if they come to London before long.'
Egremont shortly changed his place, and saw that Dalmaine took the
vacant seat by Paula. The two seemed to get on very well together.
Paula was evidently exerting herself to be charming; Dalmaine was doing
his best to trifle.
He sought more information from Mrs. Tyrrell regarding Mr. Newthorpe.
She seemed to fear that her brother-in-law might have been in more
danger than Annabel in her letter admitted.
'They certainly must come south,' she said. 'They are having a terrible
winter, and it has evidently tried Mr. Newthorpe beyond his strength.
You have influence with him, I believe, Mr. Egremont. Pray join me in
my efforts to bring them both back to civilisation.'
'I fear my influence will effect nothing if yours fails,' said Walter.
'But Mr. Newthorpe should certainly not risk his health.'
He next had a chat with Mr. John Tyrrell, junior. Paula's brother was
two-and-twenty, a frankly sensual youth, of admirable temper, great in
turf matters, with a genius for conviviality. Jack's health was
perfect, for he had his father's habit of enjoying life without excess,
and his stamina allowed a wide limit to the term moderation. Like the
rest of his family, he had the secret of conciliating goodwill; there
was no humbug in him, and one respected him as a fine specimen of the
young male developed at enormous expense. For Egremont he had a certain
reverence: a man who habitually thought was clearly, he admitted, of a
higher grade than himself, and he had no objection whatever to proclaim
his own inferiority. Egremont, talking with him, was half disposed to
envy Jack Tyrrell. What a simple thing life was with limitless cash, a
perfect digestion, and good-humour in the place of brains!
His room seemed very cold and lonely when he got back to it shortly
before midnight. The fire had been let out; the books round the walls
had a musty appearance; there was stale tobacco in the air. He paced
the floor, thinking of Annabel, wondering whether she would soon be in
London, longing to see her. And before he went to bed, he wrote a
letter to Mr. Newthorpe, expressing the anxiety with which he had heard
of his illness. Of himself he said little; the few words that came to
his pen concerning the Lambeth crusade were rather lifeless.
He was being talked of meanwhile in the Tyrrells' drawing-room. The
last guests being gone, there was chat for a few minutes between the
members of the family.
'Egremont isn't looking quite up to the mark,' said Mr. Tyrrell, as he
stood before the fire, hands in pockets.
'I thought the same,' said his wife. 'He seems worried. What a
deplorable thing it is, to think that he will spend large sums of money
on this library scheme!'
Mr. Tyrrell made inarticulate noises, and at length laughed.
'He must amuse himself in his own way.'
'But after all, papa,' said Paula, whose advocacy went much by the rule
of contraries, 'it must be a good thing to give people books to read. I
dare say it prevents them from going to the public-house.'
'Shouldn't wonder if it does, Paula,' he replied, with a benevolent
gaze.
'Then what's your objection?'
'I don't object to the library in particular. It's only that Egremont
isn't the man to do these kind of things. It is to be hoped that he'll
get tired of it, and find something more in his line.'
'What _is_ his line?'
'Ah, that's the question! Very likely he hasn't one at all. It seems to
me there's a good many young fellows in that case nowadays. They have
education, they have money, and they don't know what the deuce to do
with either one or the other. They're a cut above you, Mr. Jack; it
isn't enough for them to live and enjoy themselves. So they get it into
their heads that they're called upon to reform the world--a nice handy
little job, that'll keep them going. The girls, I notice, are beginning
to have the same craze. I shouldn't wonder if Paula gets an idea that
she'll be a hospital-nurse, or go district-visiting in Bethnal Green.'
'I certainly should if I thought it would amuse me,' said Paula. 'But
why shouldn't Mr. Egremont do work of this kind? He's in earnest; he
doesn't only do it for fun.'
'Of course he's in earnest, and there's the absurdity of it. Social
reform, pooh! Why, who are the real social reformers? The men who don't
care a scrap for the people, but take up ideas because they can make
capital out of them. It isn't idealists who do the work of the world,
but the hard-headed, practical, selfish men. A big employer of labour
'll do more good in a day, just because he sees profit 'll come of it,
than all the mooning philanthropists in a hundred years. Nothing solid
has ever been gained in this world that wasn't pursued out of
self-interest. Look at Dalmaine. How much do you think he cares for the
factory-hands he's always talking about? But he'll do them many a good
turn; he'll make many a life easier; and just because it's his business
to do so, because it's the way of advancing himself. He aims at being
Home Secretary one of these days, and I shouldn't wonder if he is.
There's your real social reformer. Egremont's an amateur, a dilettante.
In many ways he's worth a hundred of Dalmaine, but Dalmaine will
benefit the world, and it's well if Egremont doesn't do harm.'
In all which it is not impossible that Mr. John Tyrrell hit the nail on
the head. Much satisfied with his little oration, he went off to don a
jacket and enjoy a cigar by his smoking-room fire.
A couple of days later, Mr. Dalmaine called at the house before
luncheon. After speaking with Mrs. Tyrrell, he had a private interview
with Paula. The event was referred to in a letter Paula addressed to
her cousin Annabel in the course of the ensuing week.
'Dear Bell,--We are much relieved by your letter. It is of course
impossible to stay among those mountains for the rest of the winter; I
hope uncle will very soon be well enough to come south. The plan of
living at Eastbourne for a time is no doubt a good one. You'll have
Mrs. Ormonde to talk to. She is very nice, though I've generally found
her a little serious: but then she's like you in that. I think it's a
pity people trouble themselves about things that only make them gloomy.
'I have a little piece of news for you. It really looks as if I was
going to be married. In fact, I've said I would be, and I think it
likely I shall keep my word. My name will be Mrs. Dalmaine. Don't you
remember Mr. Egremont speaking of Mr. Dalmaine and calling him names?
From that moment I made up my mind that he must be a very nice man, and
when we made his acquaintance I found that I wasn't so far wrong. You
see, poor Mr. Egremont so hates everything and everybody that's
practical. Now I'm practical, as you know, so it's right I should marry
a practical man. Papa has the highest opinion of Mr. Dalmaine's
abilities; he thinks he has a great future in politics. Wouldn't it be
delightful if one's husband really became Prime Minister or something
of the kind!
'Do you know, it really _is_ a pity that Mr. Egremont is going on in
this way! He's going to spend enormous sums of money in establishing a
library in Lambeth. It's very good of him, of course, but we are all so
sure it's a mistake. Shall I tell you _my own_ view? Mr. Egremont is an
idealist, and idealists are _not_ the people to do serious work of this
kind. The real social reformers are the hard-headed, practical men, who
at heart care only for their own advancement. If you think, I'm sure
you'll find this is true. You see that I am beginning to occupy myself
with serious questions. It will be necessary in the wife of an active
politician. But if you _could_ hint to Mr. Egremont that he is going
shockingly astray! He dined with us the other night, and doesn't look
at all well. I am so afraid lest he is doing all this just because you
tell him to. Is it so?
'But I have fifty other letters to write. My best love to uncle; tell
him to get well as quickly as possible. I wonder that dreadful lonely
place hasn't killed you both. I shall be so glad to see you again, for
I do really like you, Bell, and I know you are awfully wise and good.
Think of me sometimes and hope that I shall be happy.--Yours
affectionately,
'PAULA TYRRELL'