The Duke's Children - Anthony Trollope

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Duke in writing this letter was able for a few moments to forget Mrs. Finn, and to enjoy the work which he had on hand.

       Table of Contents

       Table of Contents

      The new member for Silverbridge, when he entered the House to take the oath, was supported on the right and left by two staunch old Tories. Mr. Monk had seen him a few minutes previously—Mr. Monk who of all Liberals was the firmest and than whom no one had been more staunch to the Duke—and had congratulated him on his election, expressing at the same time some gentle regrets. "I only wish you could have come among us on the other side," he said.

      "But I couldn't," said the young Lord.

      "I am sure nothing but a conscientious feeling would have separated you from your father's friends," said the old Liberal. And then they were parted, and the member for Silverbridge was bustled up to the table between two staunch Tories.

      Of what else was done on that occasion nothing shall be said here. No political work was required from him, except that of helping for an hour or two to crowd the Government benches. But we will follow him as he left the House. There were one or two others quite as anxious as to his political career as any staunch old Liberal. At any rate one other. He had promised that as soon as he could get away from the House he would go to Belgrave Square and tell Lady Mabel Grex all about it. When he reached the square it was past seven, but Lady Mabel and Miss Cassewary were still in the drawing-room.

      "There seemed to be a great deal of bustle, and I didn't understand much about it," said the member.

      "But you heard the speeches?" These were the speeches made on the proposing and seconding of the address.

      "Oh, yes;—Lupton did it very well. Lord George didn't seem to be quite so good. Then Sir Timothy Beeswax made a speech, and then Mr. Monk. After that I saw other fellows going away, so I bolted too."

      "If I were a member of Parliament I would never leave it while the House was sitting," said Miss Cassewary.

      "If all were like that there wouldn't be seats for them to sit upon," said Silverbridge.

      "A persistent member will always find a seat," continued the positive old lady.

      "I am sure that Lord Silverbridge means to do his duty," said Lady Mabel.

      "Oh yes;—I've thought a good deal about it, and I mean to try. As long as a man isn't called upon to speak I don't see why it shouldn't be easy enough."

      "I'm so glad to hear you say so! Of course after a little time you will speak. I should so like to hear you make your first speech."

      "If I thought you were there, I'm sure I should not make it at all."

      Just at this period Miss Cassewary, saying something as to the necessity of dressing, and cautioning her young friend that there was not much time to be lost, left the room.

      "Dressing does not take me more than ten minutes," said Lady Mabel.

      Miss Cassewary declared this to be nonsense, but she nevertheless left the room. Whether she would have done so if Lord Silverbridge had not been Lord Silverbridge, but had been some young man with whom it would not have been expedient that Lady Mabel should fall in love, may perhaps be doubted. But then it may be taken as certain that under such circumstances Lady Mabel herself would not have remained. She had quite realised the duties of life, had had her little romance—and had acknowledged that it was foolish.

      "I do so hope that you will do well," she said, going back to the parliamentary duties.

      "I don't think I shall ever do much. I shall never be like my father."

      "I don't see why not."

      "There never was anybody like him. I am always amusing myself, but he never cared for amusement."

      "You are very young."

      "As far as I can learn he was just as he is now at my age. My mother has told me that long before she married him he used to spend all his time in the House. I wonder whether you would mind reading the letter he wrote me when he heard of my election."

      Then he took the epistle out of his pocket and handed it to Lady Mabel.

      "He means all that he says."

      "He always does that."

      "And he really hopes that you will put your shoulder to the wheel;—even though you must do so in opposition to him."

      "That makes no difference. I think my father is a very fine fellow."

      "Shall you do all that he tells you?"

      "Well;—I suppose not;—except that he advises me to hold my tongue. I think that I shall do that. I mean to go down there, you know, and I daresay I shall be much the same as others."

      "Has he talked to you much about it?"

      "No;—he never talks much. Every now and then he will give me a downright lecture, or he will write me a letter like that; but he never talks to any of us."

      "How very odd."

      "Yes; he is odd. He seems to be fretful when we are with him. A good many things make him unhappy."

      "Your poor mother's death."

      "That first;—and then there are other things. I suppose he didn't like the way I came to an end at Oxford."

      "You were a boy then."

      "Of course I was very sorry for it—though I hated Oxford. It was neither one thing nor another. You were your own master and yet you were not."

      "Now you must be your own master."

      "I suppose so."

      "You must marry, and become a lord of the Treasury. When I was a child I acted as a child. You know all about that."

      "Oh yes. And now I must throw off childish things. You mean that I mustn't paint any man's house? Eh, Lady Mab."

      "That and the rest of it. You are a legislator now."

      "So is Popplecourt, who took his seat in the House of Lords two or three months ago. He's the biggest young fool I know out. He couldn't even paint a house."

      "He is not an elected legislator. It makes all the difference. I quite agree with what the Duke says. Lord Popplecourt can't help himself. Whether he's an idle young scamp or not, he must be a legislator. But when a man goes in for it himself, as you have done, he should make up his mind to be useful."

      "I shall vote with my party of course."

      "More than that; much more than that. If you didn't care for politics you couldn't have taken a line of your own." When she said this she knew that he had been talked into what he had done by Tregear—by Tregear, who had ambition, and intelligence, and capacity for forming an opinion of his own. "If you do not do it for your own sake, you will for the sake of those who—who—who are your friends," she said at last, not feeling quite able to tell him that he must do it for the sake of those who loved him.

      "There are not very many I suppose who care about it."

      "Your father."

      "Oh yes—my father."

      "And Tregear."

      "Tregear has got his own fish to fry."

      "Are there none others? Do you think we care nothing about it here?"

      "Miss Cassewary?"

      "Well;—Miss Cassewary! A man might

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