It was pretty to see the Duke's reception of Lady Mabel. 'I knew your mother many years ago,' he said, 'when I was young myself.
Her mother and my mother were first cousins and dear friends.' He held her hand as he spoke and looked at her as though he meant to love her. Lady Mabel saw that it was so. could it be possible that the Duke had heard anything;--that he should wish to receive her?
She had told herself and had told Miss Cassewary that though she had spared Silverbridge, yet she knew that she would make him a good wife. If the Duke thought so also, then surely she need not doubt.
'I knew we were cousins,' she said, 'and have been so proud of the connection! Lord Silverbridge does come and see us sometimes.'
Soon after that Silverbridge and Popplecourt came in. If the story of the old woman in the portrait may be taken as evidence of a family connection between Lady Cantrip and Lord Popplecourt, everybody there was more or less connected with everybody else.
Nidderdale had been a first cousin of Lady Glencora, and he had married a daughter of Lady Cantrip. They were manifestly a family party,--thanks to the old woman in the picture.
It is a point of conscience among the--perhaps not ten thousand, but say one thousand of bluest blood,--that everybody should know who everybody is. Our Duke, though he had not given his mind much to the pursuit, had nevertheless learned his lesson. It is a knowledge which the possession of the blue blood itself produces.
There are countries with bluer blood than our own in which to be without such knowledge is a crime.
When the old lady in the portrait had been discussed, Popplecourt was close to Lady Mary. They two had no idea why such vicinity had been planned. The Duke knew of course, and Lady Cantrip. Lady Cantrip had whispered to her daughter that such a marriage would be suitable, and the daughter had hinted it to her husband. Lord Cantrip of course was not in the dark. Lady Mabel had expressed a hint on the matter to Miss Cass, who had not repudiated it. Even Silverbridge had suggested to himself that something of the kind might be in the wind, thinking that, if so, none of them knew very much about his sister Mary. But Popplecourt himself was divinely innocent. His ideas of marriage had as yet gone no farther than a conviction that girls generally were things which would be pressed on him, and against which he must arm himself with some shield.
Marriage would have to come, no doubt, but not the less was it his duty to live as though it were a pit towards which he would be tempted by female allurements. But that a net should be spread over him here he was much too humble-minded to imagine.
'Very hot,' he said to Lady Mary.
'We found it warm in church today.'
'I dare say. I came down here with your brother in his hansom cab.
What a very odd thing to have a hansom cab!'
'I should like one.'
'Should you indeed?'
'Particularly if I could drive it myself. Silverbridge does, at night, when he thinks people won't see him.'
'Drive the cab in the streets! What does he do with his man?'
'Puts him inside. He was out once without the man and took up a fare,--an old woman, he said. And when she was going to pay him he touched his hat and said he never took money from ladies.'
'Do you believe that?'
'Oh yes. I call that good fun, because it did no harm. He had his lark. The lady was taken where she wanted to go, and she saved her money.'
'Suppose he had upset her,' said Lord Popplecourt, looking as an old philosopher might have looked when he had found something clenching answer to another philosopher's argument.
'The real cabman might have upset her worse,' said Lady Mary.
'Don't you feel it odd that we should meet here?' said Lord Silverbridge to his neighbour Lady Mabel.
'Anything unexpected is odd,' said Lady Mabel. It seemed to her to be very odd,--unless certain people had made up their minds as to the expediency of a certain event.
'That is what you call logic;--isn't it? Anything unexpected is odd?'
'Lord Silverbridge, I won't be laughed at. You have been at Oxford and ought to know what logic is.'
'That at any rate is ill-natured,' he replied, turning very red in the face.
'You don't think I meant it. Oh, Lord Silverbridge, say that you don't think I meant it. You cannot think I would willingly wound you. Indeed, indeed, I was not thinking.' It had, in truth been an accident. She could speak aloud because they were closely surrounded by others, but she looked up in his face to see whether he were angry with her. 'Say that you do not think I meant it.'
'I do not think you meant it.'
'I would not say a word to hurt you,--oh for more than I can tell you.'
'It is all bosh of course,' said he laughing, 'but I do not like to hear the old place named. I have always made a fool of myself, some men do it and don't care about it. But I do it, and yet it makes me miserable.'
'If that be so you will soon give over making--what you call a fool of yourself, for my self I like the idea of wild oats. I look upon them like measles. Only you should have a doctor ready when the disease shows itself.'
'What sort of doctor should I have?'
'Ah;--you must find that out for yourself. That sort of feeling which makes you feel miserable;--that is a doctor itself.'
'Or a wife?'
'Or a wife,--if you can find a good one. There are wives, you know, who aggravate the disease. If I had a fast husband I should make him faster by being fast myself. There is nothing I envy so much as the power of doing half-mad things.'
'Woman can do that too.'
'But they go to the dogs. We are dreadfully restricted. If you like champagne you can have a bucketful. I am obliged to pretend that I only want a very little. You can bet thousands. I must confine myself to gloves. You can flirt with any woman you please.
I must wait till somebody comes,--and put up with it if nobody does come.'
'Plenty come no doubt.'