ATLEE’S RETURN
When Atlee arrived at Bruton Street, the welcome that met him was almost
cordial. Lord Danesbury--not very demonstrative at any time--received him
with warmth, and Lady Maude gave him her hand with a sort of significant
cordiality that overwhelmed him with delight. The climax of his enjoyment
was, however, reached when Lord Danesbury said to him, ‘We are glad to see
you at home again.’
This speech sank deep into his heart, and he never wearied of repeating it
over and over to himself. When he reached his room, where his luggage had
already preceded him, and found his dressing articles laid out, and all the
little cares and attentions which well-trained servants understand awaiting
him, he muttered, with a tremulous sort of ecstasy, ‘This is a very
glorious way to come home!’
The rich furniture of the room, the many appliances of luxury and ease
around him, the sense of rest and quiet, so delightful after a journey, all
appealed to him as he threw himself into a deep-cushioned chair. He cried
aloud, ‘Home! home! Is this indeed home? What a different thing from that
mean life of privation and penury I have always been associating with this
word--from that perpetual struggle with debt--the miserable conflict that
went on through every day, till not an action, not a thought, remained
untinctured with money, and if a momentary pleasure crossed the path, the
cost of it as certain to tarnish all the enjoyment! Such was the only home
I have ever known, or indeed imagined.’
It is said that the men who have emerged from very humble conditions in
life, and occupy places of eminence or promise, are less overjoyed at this
change of fortune than impressed with a kind of resentment towards the
destiny that once had subjected them to privation. Their feeling is not so
much joy at the present as discontent with the past.
‘Why was I not born to all this?’ cried Atlee indignantly. ‘What is there
in me, or in my nature, that this should be a usurpation? Why was I not
schooled at Eton, and trained at Oxford? Why was I not bred up amongst the
men whose competitor I shall soon find myself? Why have I not their
ways, their instincts, their watchwords, their pastimes, and even their
prejudices, as parts of my very nature? Why am I to learn these late in
life, as a man learns a new language, and never fully catches the sounds or
the niceties? Is there any competitorship I should flinch from, any rivalry
I should fear, if I had but started fair in the race?’
This sense of having been hardly treated by Fortune at the outset, marred
much of his present enjoyment, accompanied as it was by a misgiving that,
do what he might, that early inferiority would cling to him, like some rag
of a garment that he must wear over all his ‘braverie,’ proclaiming as it
did to the world, ‘This is from what I sprung originally.’
It was not by any exercise of vanity that Atlee knew he talked better, knew
more, was wittier and more ready-witted than the majority of men of his age
and standing. The consciousness that he could do scores of things _they_
could not do was not enough, tarnished as it was by a misgiving that, by
some secret mystery of breeding, some freemasonry of fashion, he was not
one of them, and that this awkward fact was suspended over him for life, to
arrest his course in the hour of success, and balk him at the very moment
of victory.
‘Till a man’s adoption amongst them is ratified by a marriage, he is not
safe,’ muttered he. ‘Till the fate and future of one of their own is
embarked in the same boat with himself, they’ll not grieve over his
shipwreck.’
Could he but call Lady Maude his wife! Was this possible? There were
classes in which affections went for much, where there was such a thing
as engaging these same affections, and actually pledging all hope of
happiness in life on the faith of such engagements. These, it is true,
were the sentiments that prevailed in humbler walks of life, amongst
those lowly-born people whose births and marriages were not chronicled in
gilt-bound volumes. The Lady Maudes of the world, whatever imprudences
they might permit themselves, certainly never ‘fell in love.’ Condition
and place in the world were far too serious things to be made the sport of
sentiment. Love was a very proper thing in three-volume novels, and Mr.
Mudie drove a roaring trade in it; but in the well-bred world, immersed in
all its engagements, triple-deep in its projects and promises for pleasure,
where was the time, where the opportunity, for this pleasant fooling?
That luxurious selfishness in which people delight to plan a future life,
and agree to think that they have in themselves what can confront narrow
fortune and difficulty--these had no place in the lives of persons of
fashion! In that coquetry of admiration and flattery which in the language
of slang is called spooning, young persons occasionally got so far
acquainted that they agreed to be married, pretty much as they agreed
to waltz or to polka together; but it was always with the distinct
understanding that they were doing what mammas would approve of, and family
solicitors of good conscience could ratify. No tyrannical sentimentality,
no uncontrollable gush of sympathy, no irresistible convictions about all
future happiness being dependent on one issue, overbore these natures, and
made them insensible to title, and rank, and station, and settlements.
In one word, Atlee, after due consideration, satisfied his mind that,
though a man might gain the affections of the doctor’s daughter or the
squire’s niece, and so establish him as an element of her happiness that
friends would overlook all differences of fortune, and try to make some
sort of compromise with Fate, all these were unsuited to the sphere in
which Lady Maude moved. It was, indeed, a realm where this coinage did not
circulate. To enable him to address her with any prospect of success, he
should be able to show--ay, and to show argumentatively--that she was, in
listening to him, about to do something eminently prudent and worldly-wise.
She must, in short, be in a position to show her friends and ‘society’ that
she had not committed herself to anything wilful or foolish--had not been
misled by a sentiment or betrayed by a sympathy; and that the well-bred
questioner who inquired, ‘Why did she marry Atlee?’ should be met by an
answer satisfactory and convincing.
In the various ways he canvassed the question and revolved it with himself,
there was one consideration which, if I were at all concerned for his
character for gallantry, I should be reluctant to reveal; but as I feel
little interest on this score, I am free to own was this. He remembered
that as Lady Maude was no longer in her first youth, there was reason to
suppose she might listen to addresses now which, some years ago, would have
met scant favour in her eyes.
In the matrimonial Lloyd’s, if there were such a body, she would not have
figured A No. 1; and the risks of entering the conjugal state have probably
called for an extra premium. Atlee attached great importance to this fact;
but it was not the less a matter which demanded the greatest delicacy of
treatment. He must know it, and he must not know it. He must see that she
had been the belle of many seasons, and he must pretend to regard her as
fresh to the ways of life, and new to society. He trusted a good deal to
his tact to do this, for while insinuating to her the possible future of
such a man as himself--the high place, and the great rewards which, in all
likelihood, awaited him--there would come an opportune moment to suggest,
that to any one less gifted, less conversant with knowledge of life than
herself, such reasonings could not be addressed.
‘It could never be,’ cried he aloud; ‘to some miss fresh from the
schoolroom and the governess, I could dare to talk a language only
understood by those who have been conversant with high questions, and moved
in the society of thoughtful talkers.’
There is no quality so dangerous to eulogise as experience, and Atlee
thought long over this. One determination or another must speedily be come
to. If there was no likelihood of success with Lady Maude, he must not
lose his chances with the Greek girl. The sum, whatever it might be, which
her father should obtain for his secret papers, would constitute a very
respectable portion. ‘I have a stronger reason to fight for liberal terms,’
thought he, ‘than the Prince Kostalergi imagines; and, fortunately, that
fine parental trait, that noble desire to make a provision for his child,
stands out so clearly in my brief, I should be a sorry advocate if I could
not employ it.’
In the few words that passed between Lord Danesbury and himself on
arriving, he learned that there was but little chance of winning his
election for the borough. Indeed, he bore the disappointment jauntily and
good-humouredly. That great philosophy of not attaching too much importance
to any one thing in life, sustained him in every venture. ‘Bet on the
field--never back the favourite,’ was his formula for inculcating the
wisdom of trusting to the general game of life, rather than to any
particular emergency. ‘Back the field,’ he would say, ‘and you must be
unlucky, or you’ll come right in the long run.’
They dined that day alone, that is, they were but three at table; and Atlee
enjoyed the unspeakable pleasure of hearing them talk with the freedom
and unconstraint people only indulge in when ‘at home.’ Lord Danesbury
discussed confidential questions of political importance: told how his
colleagues agreed in this, or differed on that; adverted to the nice points
of temperament which made one man hopeful and that other despondent or
distrustful; he exposed the difficulties they had to meet in the Commons,
and where the Upper House was intractable; and even went so far in his
confidences as to admit where the criticisms of the Press were felt to be
damaging to the administration.
‘The real danger of ridicule,’ said he, ‘is not the pungency of the satire,
it is the facility with which it is remembered and circulated. The man who
reads the strong leader in the _Times_ may have some general impression
of being convinced, but he cannot repeat its arguments or quote its
expressions. The pasquinade or the squib gets a hold on the mind, and in
its very drollery will ensure its being retained there.’
Atlee was not a little gratified to hear that this opinion was delivered
apropos to a short paper of his own, whose witty sarcasms on the Cabinet
were exciting great amusement in town, and much curiosity as to the writer.
‘He has not seen “The Whitebait Dinner” yet,’ said Lady Maude; ‘the
cleverest _jeu d’esprit_ of the day.’
‘Ay, or of any day,’ broke in Lord Danesbury. ‘Even the _Anti-Jacobin_
has nothing better. The notion is this. The Devil happens to be taking a
holiday, and he is in town just at the time of the Ministerial dinner,
and hearing that he is at Claridge’s, the Cabinet, ashamed at the little
attention bestowed on a crowned head, ask him down to Greenwich. He
accepts, and to kill an hour--
“He strolled down, of course,
To the Parliament House,
And heard how England stood,
As she has since the Flood,
Without ally or friend to assist her.
But, while every persuasion
Was full of invasion
From Russian or Prussian,
Yet the only discussion
Was, how should a Gentleman marry his sister.”’
‘Can you remember any more of it, my lord?’ asked Atlee, on whose table at
that moment were lying the proof-sheets of the production.
‘Maude has it all somewhere. You must find it for him, and let him guess
the writer--if he can.’
‘What do the clubs say?’ asked Atlee.
‘I think they are divided between Orlop and Bouverie. I’m told that the
Garrick people say it’s Sankey, a young fellow in F. O.’
‘You should see Aunt Jerningham about it, Mr. Atlee--her eagerness is
driving her half mad.’
‘Take him out to “Lebanon” on Sunday,’ said my lord; and Lady Maude agreed
with a charming grace and courtesy, adding as she left the room, ‘So
remember you are engaged for Sunday.’
Atlee bowed as he held the door open for her to pass out, and threw into
his glance what he desired might mean homage and eternal devotion.
‘Now then for a little quiet confab,’ said my lord. ‘Let me hear what you
mean by your telegram. All I could make out was that you found our man.’
‘Yes, I found him, and passed several hours in his company.’
‘Was the fellow very much out at elbows, as usual?’
‘No, my lord--thriving, and likely to thrive. He has just been named envoy
to the Ottoman Court.’
‘Bah!’ was all the reply his incredulity could permit.
‘True, I assure you. Such is the estimation he is held in at Athens,
the Greeks declare he has not his equal. You are aware that his name is
Spiridion Kostalergi, and he claims to be Prince of Delos.’
‘With all my heart. Our Hellenic friends never quarrel over their nobility.
There are titles and to spare for every one. Will he give us our papers?’
‘Yes; but not without high terms. He declares, in fact, my lord, that you
can no more return to the Bosporus without _him_ than he can go there
without _you_.’
‘Is the fellow insolent enough to take this ground?’
‘That is he. In fact, he presumes to talk as your lordship’s colleague, and
hints at the several points in which you may act in concert.’
‘It is very Greek all this.’
‘His terms are ten thousand pounds in cash, and--’
‘There, there, that will do. Why not fifty--why not a hundred thousand?’
‘He affects a desire to be moderate, my lord.’
‘I hope you withdrew at once after such a proposal? I trust you did not
prolong the interview a moment longer?’
‘I arose, indeed, and declared that the mere mention of such terms was like
a refusal to treat at all.’
‘And you retired?’
‘I gained the door, when he detained me. He has, I must admit, a marvellous
plausibility, for though at first he seemed to rely on the all-importance
of these documents to your lordship--how far they would compromise you
in the past and impede you for the future, how they would impair your
influence, and excite the animosity of many who were freely canvassed and
discussed in them--yet he abandoned all that at the end of our interview,
and restricted himself to the plea that the sum, if a large one, could not
be a serious difficulty to a great English noble, and would be the
crowning fortune of a poor Greek gentleman, who merely desired to secure a
marriage-portion for his only daughter.’
‘And you believed this?’
‘I so far believed him that I have his pledge in writing that, when he has
your lordship’s assurance that you will comply with his terms--and he only
asks that much--he will deposit the papers in the hands of the Minister at
Athens, and constitute your lordship the trustee of the amount in favour of
his daughter, the sum only to be paid on her marriage.’
‘How can it possibly concern me that he has a daughter, or why should I
accept such a trust?’
‘The proposition had no other meaning than to guarantee the good faith on
which his demand is made.’
‘I don’t believe in the daughter.’
‘That is, that there is one?’
‘No. I am persuaded that she has no existence. It is some question of a
mistress or a dependant; and if so, the sentimentality, which would seem to
have appealed so forcibly to you, fails at once.’
‘That is quite true, my lord; and I cannot pretend to deny the weakness you
accuse me of. There may be no daughter in the question.’
‘Ah! You begin to perceive now that you surrendered your convictions too
easily, Atlee. You failed in that element of “restless distrust” that
Talleyrand used to call the temper of the diplomatist.’
‘It is not the first time I have had to feel I am your lordship’s
inferior.’
‘_My_ education was not made in a day, Atlee. It need be no discouragement
to you that you are not as long-sighted as I am. No, no; rely upon it,
there is no daughter in the case.’
‘With that conviction, my lord, what is easier than to make your adhesion
to his terms conditional on his truth? You agree, if his statement be in
all respects verified.’
‘Which implies that it is of the least consequence to me whether the fellow
has a daughter or not?’
‘It is so only as the guarantee of the man’s veracity.’
‘And shall I give ten thousand pounds to test _that?_’
‘No, my lord; but to repossess yourself of what, in very doubtful hands,
might prove a great scandal and a great disaster.’
‘Ten thousand pounds! ten thousand pounds!’
‘Why not eight--perhaps five? I have not your lordship’s great knowledge to
guide me, and I cannot tell when these men really mean to maintain their
ground. From my own very meagre experiences, I should say he was not a very
tractable individual. He sees some promise of better fortune before him,
and like a genuine gambler--as I hear he is--he determines to back his
luck.’
‘Ten thousand pounds!’ muttered the other, below his breath.
‘As regards the money, my lord, I take it that these same papers were
documents which more or less concerned the public service--they were in no
sense personal, although meant to be private; and, although in my ignorance
I may be mistaken, it seems to me that the fund devoted to secret services
could not be more fittingly appropriated than in acquiring documents whose
publicity could prove a national injury.’
‘Totally wrong--utterly wrong. The money could never be paid on such a
pretence--the “Office” would not sanction--no Minister would dare to advise
it.’
‘Then I come back to my original suggestion. I should give a conditional
acceptance, and treat for a reduction of the amount.’
‘You would say five?’
‘I opine, my lord, eight would have more chance of success.’
‘You are a warm advocate for your client,’ said his lordship, laughing; and
though the shot was merely a random one, it went so true to the mark that
Atlee flushed up and became crimson all over. ‘Don’t mistake me, Atlee,’
said his lordship, in a kindly tone. ‘I know thoroughly how _my_ interests,
and only mine, have any claim on your attention. This Greek fellow must be
less than nothing to you. Tell me now frankly, do you believe one word he
has told you? Is he really named as Minister to Turkey?’
‘That much I can answer for--he is.’
‘What of the daughter--is there a daughter?’
‘I suspect there may be. However, the matter admits of an easy proof. He
has given me names and addresses in Ireland of relatives with whom she
is living. Now, I am thoroughly conversant with Ireland, and, by the
indications in my power, I can pledge myself to learn all, not only about
the existence of this person, but of such family circumstances as might
serve to guide you in your resolve. Time is what is most to be thought of
here. Kostalergi requires a prompt answer--first of all, your assurance
that you will support his claim to be received by the Sultan. Well, my
lord, if you refuse, Mouravieff will do it. You know better than me how
impolitic it might be to throw those Turks more into Russian influence--’
‘Never mind _that_, Atlee. Don’t distress yourself about the political
aspect of the question.’
‘I promised a telegraphic line to say, would you or would you not sustain
his nomination. It was to be Yes or No--not more.’
‘Say Yes. I’ll not split hairs about what Greek best represents his nation.
Say Yes.’
‘I am sure, my lord, you do wisely. He is evidently a man of ability, and,
I suspect, not morally much worse than his countrymen in general.’
‘Say Yes; and then’--he mused for some minutes before he continued--‘and
then run over to Ireland--learn something, if you can, of this girl, with
whom she is staying, in what position, what guarantees, if any, could be
had for the due employment and destination of a sum of money, in the event
of our agreeing to pay it. Mind, it is simply as a gauge of the fellow’s
veracity that this story has any value for us. Daughter or no daughter, is
not of any moment to me; but I want to test the problem--can he tell one
word of truth about anything? You are shrewd enough to see the bearing of
this narrative on all he has told you--where it sustains, where it accuses
him.’
‘Shall I set out at once, my lord?’
‘No. Next week will do. We’ll leave him to ruminate over your telegram.
_That_ will show him we have entertained his project; and he is too
practised a hand not to know the value of an opened negotiation. Cradock
and Mellish, and one or two more, wish to talk with you about Turkey.
Graydon, too, has some questions to ask you about Suez. They dine here on
Monday. Tuesday we are to have the Hargraves and Lord Masham, and a couple
of Under-Secretaries of State; and Lady Maude will tell us about Wednesday,
for all these people, Atlee, are coming to meet _you_. The newspapers have
so persistently been keeping you before the world, every one wants to see
you.’
Atlee might have told his lordship--but he did not--by what agency it
chanced that his journeys and his jests were so thoroughly known to the
press of every capital in Europe.