LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Yes, that’s what’s so charming. And he could do anything then, couldn’t he?”

      “Well, your father had no fortune to speak of.”

      “Yes, but didn’t Uncle Percy help him?”

      “His wife helped him,” said Lady Agnes.

      “Dear mamma!”— the girl was prompt. “There’s one thing,” she added: “that Mr. Carteret will always help Nick.”

      “What do you mean by ‘always’?”

      “Why whether he marries Julia or not.”

      “Things aren’t so easy,” Lady Agnes judged. “It will all depend on Nick’s behaviour. He can stop it tomorrow.”

      Grace Dormer stared; she evidently thought Mr. Carteret’s beneficence a part of the scheme of nature. “How could he stop it?”

      “By not being serious. It isn’t so hard to prevent people giving you money.”

      “Serious?” Grace repeated. “Does he want him to be a prig like Lord Egbert?”

      “Yes — that’s exactly what he wants. And what he’ll do for him he’ll do for him only if he marries Julia.”

      “Has he told you?” Grace inquired. And then, before her mother could answer, “I’m delighted at that!” she cried.

      “He hasn’t told me, but that’s the way things happen.” Lady Agnes was less optimistic than her daughter, and such optimism as she cultivated was a thin tissue with the sense of things as they are showing through. “If Nick becomes rich Charles Carteret will make him more so. If he doesn’t he won’t give him a shilling.”

      “Oh mamma!” Grace demurred.

      “It’s all very well to say that in public life money isn’t as necessary as it used to be,” her ladyship went on broodingly. “Those who say so don’t know anything about it. It’s always intensely necessary.”

      Her daughter, visibly affected by the gloom of her manner, felt impelled to evoke as a corrective a more cheerful idea. “I daresay; but there’s the fact — isn’t there? — that poor papa had so little.”

      “Yes, and there’s the fact that it killed him!”

      These words came out with a strange, quick, little flare of passion. They startled Grace Dormer, who jumped in her place and gasped, “Oh mother!” The next instant, however, she added in a different voice, “Oh Peter!” for, with an air of eagerness, a gentleman was walking up to them.

      “How d’ye do, Cousin Agnes? How d’ye do, little Grace?” Peter Sherringham laughed and shook hands with them, and three minutes later was settled in his chair at their table, on which the first elements of the meal had been placed. Explanations, on one side and the other, were demanded and produced; from which it appeared that the two parties had been in some degree at cross-purposes. The day before Lady Agnes and her companions travelled to Paris Sherringham had gone to London for forty-eight hours on private business of the ambassador’s, arriving, on his return by the night-train, only early that morning. There had accordingly been a delay in his receiving Nick Dormer’s two notes. If Nick had come to the embassy in person — he might have done him the honour to call — he would have learned that the second secretary was absent. Lady Agnes was not altogether successful in assigning a motive to her son’s neglect of this courteous form; she could but say: “I expected him, I wanted him to go; and indeed, not hearing from you, he would have gone immediately — an hour or two hence, on leaving this place. But we’re here so quietly — not to go out, not to seem to appeal to the ambassador. Nick put it so —‘Oh mother, we’ll keep out of it; a friendly note will do.’ I don’t know definitely what he wanted to keep out of, unless anything like gaiety. The embassy isn’t gay, I know. But I’m sure his note was friendly, wasn’t it? I daresay you’ll see for yourself. He’s different directly he gets abroad; he doesn’t seem to care.” Lady Agnes paused a moment, not carrying out this particular elucidation; then she resumed: “He said you’d have seen Julia and that you’d understand everything from her. And when I asked how she’d know he said, ‘Oh she knows everything!’”

      “He never said a word to me about Julia,” Peter Sherringham returned. Lady Agnes and her daughter exchanged a glance at this: the latter had already asked three times where Julia was, and her ladyship dropped that they had been hoping she would be able to come with Peter. The young man set forth that she was at the moment at an hotel in the Rue de la Paix, but had only been there since that morning; he had seen her before proceeding to the Champs Elysées. She had come up to Paris by an early train —— she had been staying at Versailles, of all places in the world. She had been a week in Paris on her return from Cannes — her stay there had been of nearly a month: fancy! — and then had gone out to Versailles to see Mrs. Billinghurst. Perhaps they’d remember her, poor Dallow’s sister. She was staying there to teach her daughters French — she had a dozen or two! — and Julia had spent three days with her. She was to return to England about the twenty-fifth. It would make seven weeks she must have been away from town — a rare thing for her; she usually stuck to it so in summer.

      “Three days with Mrs. Billinghurst — how very good-natured of her!” Lady Agnes commented.

      “Oh they’re very nice to her,” Sherringham said.

      “Well, I hope so!” Grace Dormer exhaled. “Why didn’t you make her come here?”

      “I proposed it, but she wouldn’t.” Another eye-beam, at this, passed between the two ladies and Peter went on: “She said you must come and see her at the Hôtel de Hollande.”

      “Of course we’ll do that,” Lady Agnes declared. “Nick went to ask about her at the Westminster.”

      “She gave that up; they wouldn’t give her the rooms she wanted, her usual set.”

      “She’s delightfully particular!” Grace said complacently. Then she added: “She does like pictures, doesn’t she?”

      Peter Sherringham stared. “Oh I daresay. But that’s not what she has in her head this morning. She has some news from London — she’s immensely excited.”

      “What has she in her head?” Lady Agnes asked.

      “What’s her news from London?” Grace added.

      “She wants Nick to stand.”

      “Nick to stand?” both ladies cried.

      “She undertakes to bring him in for Harsh. Mr. Pinks is dead — the fellow, you know, who got the seat at the general election. He dropped down in London — disease of the heart or something of that sort. Julia has her telegram, but I see it was in last night’s papers.”

      “Imagine — Nick never mentioned it!” said Lady Agnes.

      “Don’t you know, mother? — abroad he only reads foreign papers.”

      “Oh I know. I’ve no patience with him,” her ladyship continued. “Dear Julia!”

      “It’s a nasty little place, and Pinks had a tight squeeze — 107 or something of that sort; but if it returned a Liberal a year ago very likely it will do so again. Julia at any rate believes it can be made to — if the man’s Nick — and is ready to take the order to put him in.”

      “I’m sure if she can do it she will,” Grace pronounced.

      “Dear, dear Julia! And Nick can do something for himself,” said the mother of this candidate.

      “I’ve no doubt he can do anything,” Peter Sherringham returned good-naturedly. Then, “Do you mean in expenses?” he inquired.

      “Ah I’m afraid he can’t do much in expenses, poor dear boy! And it’s dreadful how little we can look to Percy.”

      “Well, I daresay you may look to Julia.

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