That farewell took place on the Friday morning. Tregear as he walked out of the Square knew now that he had been the cause of a great shipwreck. At first when that passionate love had been declared,--he could hardly remember whether with the fullest passion by him or by her,--he had been as a god walking upon air.
That she who seemed to be so much above him should have owned that she was all his own seemed then to be world enough for him. For a few weeks he lived a hero to himself, and was able to tell himself that for him, the glory of a passion was sufficient. In those halcyon moments no common human care is allowed to intrude itself. To one who has thus entered in upon the heroism of romance his own daily work, his dinners, clothes, income, father and mother, sisters and brothers, his own street and house are nothing. Hunting, shooting, rowing, Alpine-climbing, even speeches in Parliament,--if they perchance have been attained to,--all become leather or prunella. The heavens have been opened to him and he walks among them like a god. So it had been with Tregear. Then had come the second phase of his passion,--which is not uncommon young men who soar high in their first assaults. He was told that it would not do; and was not so told by the hard-pressed parent, but by the young lady herself. And she had spoken so reasonably, that he had yielded, and had walked away with the sudden feeling of a vile return to his own mean belongings, to his lodgings, and his income, which not a few ambitious young men have experienced. But she had convinced him. Then had come the journey to Italy, and the reader knows all the rest. He certainly had not derogated in transferring his affections,--but it may be doubted whether in his second love he had walked among the stars as in the first. A man can hardly mount twice among the stars. But he had been as eager,--and as true. And he had succeeded, without any flaw on his conscience. It had been agreed, when that first disruption took place, that he and Mabel should be friends; and, as to friends, he had told her of his hopes. When first she had mingled something of sarcasm in her congratulations, though it had annoyed him, it had hardly made him unhappy. When she called him Romeo and spoke of herself as Rosaline, he took her remark as indicating some petulance rather than an enduring love. That had been womanly and he could forgive it. He had his other great and solid happiness to support him. Then he had believed that she would soon marry, if not Silverbridge, then some other fitting young nobleman, and that all would be well. But now things were very far from well. The storm which was now howling round her afflicted her much.
Perhaps the bitterest feeling of all was that her love should have been so much stronger, so much more enduring than his own. He could not but remember how in his first agony he had blamed her because she had declared that they should be severed. He had then told himself that such severing would be to him impossible, and that her nature been as high as his, it would have been as impossible to her. Which nature must he now regard as the higher?
She had done her best to rid herself of the load of her passion and had failed. But he had freed himself with convenient haste.
All that he had said as the manliness of conquering grief had been wise enough. But still he could not quit himself of some feeling of disgrace in that he had changed and she had not. He tried to comfort himself with reflecting that Mary was all his own,--that in the matter he had been victorious and happy;--but for an hour or two he thought more of Mabel than Mary.
When the time came in which he could employ himself he called for Silverbridge, and they walked together across the park to Westminster. Silverbridge was gay and full of eagerness as to the coming ministerial statement, but Tregear could not turn his mind from the work of the morning. 'I don't seem to care very much about it,' he said at last.
'I do care very much,' said Silverbridge.
'What difference will it make?'
'I breakfasted with the governor this morning, and I have not seen him in such good spirits since,--well for a long time.' The date to which Silverbridge would have referred, had he not checked himself was that of the evening on which it had been agreed between him and his father that Mabel Grex should be promoted to the seat of the highest honour in the house of Palliser,--but that was a matter which must henceforward be buried in silence. 'He did not say much, but I feel perfectly sure that he and Mr Monk have arranged a new government.'
'I don't see any matter for joy in that to Conservatives like you and me.'
'He is my father,--and as he is going to be your father-in-law I should have thought that you would have been pleased.'
'Oh, yes;--if he likes it. But I have heard so often of the crushing cares of office, and I had thought that of all living men he had been the most crushed by them.'