"I'm sure there is none."

"I'd give half I've got in all the world," said the wretched man, "just to get it out of my head. I know what it will come to." Though he paused, Lady Chiltern could ask no question respecting Mr.

Spooner's future prospects. "It'll be two bottles of champagne at dinner, and two bottles of claret afterwards, every day. I only hope she'll know that she did it. Good-bye, Lady Chiltern. I thought that perhaps you'd have helped me."

"I cannot help you."

"Good-bye." So he went down to his trap, and drove himself violently home,--without, however, achieving the ruin which he desired. Let us hope that as time cures his wound that threat as to increased consumption of wine may fall to the ground unfulfilled.

In the meantime Gerard Maule had arrived at Matching Priory.

"We have quarrelled," Adelaide had said when the d.u.c.h.ess told her that her lover was to come. "Then you had better make it up again,"

the d.u.c.h.ess had answered,--and there had been an end of it. Nothing more was done; no arrangement was made, and Adelaide was left to meet the man as best she might. The quarrel to her had been as the disruption of the heavens. She had declared to herself that she would bear it; but the misfortune to be borne was a broken world falling about her own ears. She had thought of a nunnery, of Ophelia among the water-lilies, and of an early death-bed. Then she had pictured to herself the somewhat ascetic and very laborious life of an old maiden lady whose only recreation fifty years hence should consist in looking at the portrait of him who had once been her lover. And now she was told that he was coming to Matching as though nothing had been the matter! She tried to think whether it was not her duty to have her things at once packed, and ask for a carriage to take her to the railway station. But she was in the house of her nearest relative,--of him and also of her who were bound to see that things were right; and then there might be a more pleasureable existence than that which would have to depend on a photograph for its keenest delight. But how should she meet him? In what way should she address him? Should she ignore the quarrel, or recognize it, or take some milder course? She was half afraid of the d.u.c.h.ess, and could not ask for a.s.sistance. And the d.u.c.h.ess, though good-natured, seemed to her to be rough. There was n.o.body at Matching to whom she could say a word;--so she lived on, and trembled, and doubted from hour to hour whether the world would not come to an end.

The d.u.c.h.ess was rough, but she was very good-natured. She had contrived that the two lovers should be brought into the same house, and did not doubt at all but what they would be able to adjust their own little differences when they met. Her experiences of the world had certainly made her more alive to the material prospects than to the delicate aroma of a love adventure. She had been greatly knocked about herself, and the material prospects had come uppermost. But all that had happened to her had tended to open her hand to other people, and had enabled her to be good-natured with delight, even when she knew that her friends imposed upon her. She didn't care much for Laurence Fitzgibbon; but when she was told that the lady with money would not consent to marry the aristocratic pauper except on condition that she should be received at Matching, the d.u.c.h.ess at once gave the invitation. And now, though she couldn't go into the "fal-lallery,"--as she called it, to Madame Goesler,--of settling a meeting between two young people who had fallen out, she worked hard till she accomplished something perhaps more important to their future happiness. "Plantagenet," she said, "there can be no objection to your cousin having that money."

"My dear!"

"Oh come; you must remember about Adelaide, and that young man who is coming here to-day."

"You told me that Adelaide is to be married. I don't know anything about the young man."

"His name is Maule, and he is a gentleman, and all that. Some day when his father dies he'll have a small property somewhere."

"I hope he has a profession."

"No, he has not. I told you all that before."

"If he has nothing at all, Glencora, why did he ask a young lady to marry him?"

"Oh, dear; what's the good of going into all that? He has got something. They'll do immensely well, if you'll only listen. She is your first cousin."

"Of course she is," said Plantagenet, lifting up his hand to his hair.

"And you are bound to do something for her."

"No; I am not bound. But I'm very willing,--if you wish it. Put the thing on a right footing."

"I hate footings,--that is, right footings. We can manage this without taking money out of your pocket."

"My dear Glencora, if I am to give my cousin money I shall do so by putting my hand into my own pocket in preference to that of any other person."

"Madame Goesler says that she'll sign all the papers about the Duke's legacy,--the money, I mean,--if she may be allowed to make it over to the Duke's niece."

"Of course Madame Goesler may do what she likes with her own. I cannot hinder her. But I would rather that you should not interfere.

Twenty-five thousand pounds is a very serious sum of money."

"You won't take it."

"Certainly not."

"Nor will Madame Goesler; and therefore there can be no reason why these young people should not have it. Of course Adelaide being the Duke's niece does make a difference. Why else should I care about it?

She is nothing to me,--and as for him, I shouldn't know him again if I were to meet him in the street."

And so the thing was settled. The Duke was powerless against the energy of his wife, and the lawyer was instructed that Madame Goesler would take the proper steps for putting herself into possession of the Duke's legacy,--as far as the money was concerned,--with the view of transferring it to the Duke's niece, Miss Adelaide Palliser. As for the diamonds, the difficulty could not be solved. Madame Goesler still refused to take them, and desired her lawyer to instruct her as to the form by which she could most thoroughly and conclusively renounce that legacy.

Gerard Maule had his ideas about the meeting which would of course take place at Matching. He would not, he thought, have been asked there had it not been intended that he should marry Adelaide. He did not care much for the grandeur of the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess, but he was conscious of certain profitable advantages which might accrue from such an acknowledgement of his position from the great relatives of his intended bride. It would be something to be married from the house of the d.u.c.h.ess, and to receive his wife from the Duke's hand.

His father would probably be driven to acquiesce, and people who were almost omnipotent in the world would at any rate give him a start.

He expected no money; nor did he possess that character, whether it be good or bad, which is given to such expectation. But there would be encouragement, and the thing would probably be done. As for the meeting,--he would take her in his arms if he found her alone, and beg her pardon for that cross word about Boulogne. He would a.s.sure her that Boulogne itself would be a heaven to him if she were with him,--and he thought that she would believe him. When he reached the house he was asked into a room in which a lot of people were playing billiards or crowded round a billiard-table. The Chilterns were gone, and he was at first ill at ease, finding no friend. Madame Goesler, who had met him at Harrington, came up to him, and told him that the d.u.c.h.ess would be there directly, and then Phineas, who had been playing at the moment of his entrance, shook hands with him, and said a word or two about the Chilterns. "I was so delighted to hear of your acquittal," said Maule.

"We never talk about that now," said Phineas, going back to his stroke. Adelaide Palliser was not present, and the difficulty of the meeting had not yet been encountered. They all remained in the billiard-room till it was time for the ladies to dress, and Adelaide had not yet ventured to show herself. Somebody offered to take him to his room, and he was conducted upstairs, and told that they dined at eight,--but nothing had been arranged. n.o.body had as yet mentioned her name to him. Surely it could not be that she had gone away when she heard that he was coming, and that she was really determined to make the quarrel perpetual? He had three quarters of an hour in which to get ready for dinner, and he felt himself to be uncomfortable and out of his element. He had been sent to his chamber prematurely, because n.o.body had known what to do with him; and he wished himself back in London. The d.u.c.h.ess, no doubt, had intended to be good-natured, but she had made a mistake. So he sat by his open window, and looked out on the ruins of the old Priory, which were close to the house, and wondered why he mightn't have been allowed to wander about the garden instead of being shut up there in a bedroom.

But he felt that it would be unwise to attempt any escape now. He would meet the Duke or the d.u.c.h.ess, or perhaps Adelaide herself, in some of the pa.s.sages,--and there would be an embarra.s.sment. So he dawdled away the time, looking out of the window as he dressed, and descended to the drawing room at eight o'clock. He shook hands with the Duke, and was welcomed by the d.u.c.h.ess, and then glanced round the room. There she was, seated on a sofa between two other ladies,--of whom one was his friend, Madame Goesler. It was essentially necessary that he should notice her in some way, and he walked up to her, and offered her his hand. It was impossible that he should allude to what was past, and he merely muttered something as he stood over her. She had blushed up to her eyes, and was absolutely dumb. "Mr. Maule, perhaps you'll take our cousin Adelaide out to dinner," said the d.u.c.h.ess, a moment afterwards, whispering in his ear.

"Have you forgiven me?" he said to her, as they pa.s.sed from one room to the other.

"I will,--if you care to be forgiven." The d.u.c.h.ess had been quite right, and the quarrel was all over without any arrangement.

On the following morning he was allowed to walk about the grounds without any impediment, and to visit the ruins which had looked so charming to him from the window. Nor was he alone. Miss Palliser was now by no means anxious as she had been yesterday to keep out of the way, and was willingly persuaded to show him all the beauties of the place.

"I shouldn't have said what I did, I know," pleaded Maule.

"Never mind it now, Gerard."

"I mean about going to Boulogne."

"It did sound so melancholy."

"But I only meant that we should have to be very careful how we lived. I don't know quite whether I am so good at being careful about money as a fellow ought to be."

"You must take a lesson from me, sir."

"I have sent the horses to Tattersall's, he said in a tone that was almost funereal.

"What!--already?"

"I gave the order yesterday. They are to be sold,--I don't know when.

They won't fetch anything. They never do. One always buys bad horses there for a lot of money, and sells good ones for nothing. Where the difference goes to I never could make out."

"I suppose the man gets it who sells them."

"No; he don't. The fellows get it who have their eyes open. My eyes never were open,--except as far as seeing you went."

"Perhaps if you had opened them wider you wouldn't have to go to--"

"Don't, Adelaide. But, as I was saying about the horses, when they're sold of course the bills won't go on. And I suppose things will come right. I don't owe so very much."

"I've got something to tell you," she said.

"What about?"