In the garden the question was settled without serious difference of opinion. If Sir Robert Perry really could not go on—and Lady Eynesford was by no means prepared to concede even that—then Mr. Puttock, bourgeois as he was, or Mr. Coxon, conceited and priggish though he might be, must come in. At any rate, the one indisputable fact was the impossibility of Mr. Medland: this was, to Lady Eynesford's mind, axiomatic, and, in the safe privacy of her family circle (for Miss Scaife counted as one of the family, and Captain Heseltine and Mr. Flemyng did not count at all), she went so far as to declare that, let the Governor do as he would (in the inconceivable case of his being so foolish as to do anything of the kind), she at least would not receive Mr. Medland. Having launched this hypothetical thunderbolt, she asked Alicia Derosne to give her another cup of tea. Alicia poured out the tea, handed it to her sister-in-law, and asked,
"But, Mary, what is there so dreadful about Mr. Medland?"
"Everything," said Lady Eynesford.
"Still," suggested Miss Scaife, "if the creatures are bent on having him——"
"My dear Eleanor, what is a Governor for?" demanded Lady Eynesford.
"To do as he's told and subscribe to the Cup," interposed Dick Derosne. And he added, "They are having a palaver. Old Perry's been in an hour and a half."
Captain Heseltine and Mr. Flemyng looked at their watches and nodded gravely.
"Poor Willie!" murmured Lady Eynesford. "He'll miss his ride."
Poor Willie—that is to say, His Excellency William Delaporte, Baron Eynesford, Governor of New Lindsey—deserved all the sympathy his wife's exclamation implied, and even more. For, after a vast amount of fencing and an elaborate disquisition on the state of parties in the colony, Sir Robert Perry decisively refused the dissolution the Governor offered, and ended by saying, with eyebrows raised and the slightest shrug of his shoulders,
"In fact, sir, it's my duty to advise you to send for Mr. Medland."
The Governor pushed his chair back from the table.
"You won't try again?" he asked.
"Impossible, until he has failed."
"You think Puttock out of the question?"
"Quite. He has not following enough: people wouldn't stand Medland being passed over. Really, I don't think you'll find Medland hard to get on with. He's a very able man. For myself, I like him."
The Governor sat silent for a few minutes. Sir Robert, conceiving that his interview was at an end, rose to take leave. Lord Eynesford expressed much regret at being obliged to lose his services: Sir Robert replied suitably, and was at the door before the Governor reverted to Mr. Medland.
"There are queer stories about him, aren't there?" he asked. "I mean about his private life."
"Well, there is some vague gossip of the kind."
"There now! That's very awkward. He must come here, you know, and what shall I say to my wife?"
"She's been dead three or four years now," said Sir Robert, not referring to the Governor's wife. "And it's only rumour after all. Nothing has ever come to light on the subject."
"But there's a girl."
"There's nothing against the girl—except of course——"
"Oh, just so," said the Governor; "but that makes it awkward. Besides, somebody told me he used to get drunk."
"I think you may disregard that," said Sir Robert. "It only means that he likes his glass of wine as most of us do."
Sir Robert retired, and presently Dick Derosne, who acted as his brother's private secretary, came in. The Governor was in an easy-chair, smoking a cigar.
"So you've settled it," said Dick.
"Yes. Perry won't hear of going on."
"Well, he hardly could after being beaten by seventeen on his biggest bill. What's going to happen?"
Now the Governor thought fit to assume that the course he had, after so much hesitation, determined upon was, to every sensible man, the only possible course. Perhaps he fancied that he would thus be in a stronger position for justifying it to a sensible woman.
"Of course," he said, in a tone expressive of some surprise at a question so unnecessary, "I am sending for Medland."
Dick Derosne whistled. The Governor relapsed into sincerity.
"No help for it," he pleaded. "You must back me up, old man, with Mary. Women can't understand constitutional obligations."
"She said she wouldn't have him to the house," remarked Dick.
"Oh, Eleanor Scaife must persuade her. I wish you'd go and tell them, Dick. I'm expecting Medland in half-an-hour. I wish I was out of it. I distrust these fellows, both them and their policy."
"And yet you'll have to be civil to them."
"Civil! I must be just as cordial as I was with Perry. That's why it's so important that Mary should be——"
"Reasonable?" suggested Dick.
"Well, yes," said Lord Eynesford.
"How does Perry take it?"
"Oh, I don't think he minds much. He thinks Medland's gang will soon fall to pieces and he'll come back. Besides, the K.C.M.G. softens the blow."
"Ah! It's the cheap defence of nations now—vice chivalry, out of fashion," laughed Dick.
Hitherto Lord Eynesford and his wife had enjoyed their reign. Everything had gone well. The Governor agreed heartily with the measures introduced by Sir Robert Perry's ministry, and his relations with the members of the government, and especially with its chief, had been based on reciprocal liking and respect: they were most of them gentlemen and all of them respectable men, and, what was hardly less important, their wives and families had afforded no excuse for the exercise of Lady Eynesford's somewhat fastidious nicety as to manners, or her distinctly rigid scrutiny into morals. Under such conditions, the duty and the inclinations of Government House went hand-in-hand. Suddenly, in the midst of an apparently peaceful session, came what the Governor considered an unhallowed combination between a discontented section of Perry's party, and the Opposition under Medland's leadership. The result was the defeat of the Government, the resignation of Sir Robert, and the inevitability of Mr. Medland.
Entering the Legislative Assembly as the representative of an outlying constituency, Medland had speedily made himself the spokesman of the growing Labour Party, and now, after fifteen years of public life, and a secret and subterranean struggle with the old middle-class element, was established as the leader of a united party, so powerful in numbers that the accession of some dozen deserters had placed it in a majority. Mr. Coxon had led the revolt against Sir Robert Perry, and the Governor disliked Coxon even more thoroughly than he distrusted Medland. Miss Scaife said that Medland was the more dangerous, inasmuch as he was sincere and impetuous, while Coxon was neither; but then, the Governor would reply, Coxon was a snob, and Medland, if not exactly a gentleman according to the ideas of Eton and Christchurch—and Lord Eynesford adhered to these ideas—scorned a bad imitation where he could not attain the reality, and by his simplicity and freedom from pretension extorted the admission of good breeding. But why compare the men? He would have to accept both, for Medland must offer Coxon a place, and beyond doubt the offer would be accepted. The Governor was alarmed for the fate of New Lindsey under such ruling, and awaited with apprehension his next interview with his wife.
Dick Derosne had fulfilled his mission, and his tidings had spread dismay on the lawn. Lady Eynesford reiterated her edict of exclusion against the new Premier; Eleanor Scaife smiled and told her she would be forced to receive him. Alicia in vain sought particulars of Mr. Medland's misdeeds, and the aides-de-camp speculated curiously on the composition of the Cabinet, Captain Heseltine betting Mr. Flemyng five to two that it would include Mr. Giles, the leading tailor of Kirton, to whose services the captain had once been driven to resort with immense trepidation and disastrous results. As a fact, the captain lost his bet; the Cabinet did not include Mr. Giles, because that gentleman, albeit an able speaker, and a man of much greater intellect than most of his customers, was suspected of paying low wages to his employés, though, according to the captain, it was impossible that he should pay them as little as their skill deserved.
"I don't think I ever saw Mr. Medland," said Alicia, who had come out from England only a few months before.
"I have seen him," said Eleanor Scaife. "In fact, I had a little talk with him at the Jubilee Banquet."
"Was he sober?" Lady Eynesford, in her bitterness of spirit, allowed herself to ask.
"Mary! Of course he was. He was also rather interesting. He was then in mourning for Mrs. Medland, and he told me he only came because his absence would have been put down to disloyalty."
The mention of Mrs. Medland increased the downward curve of Lady Eynesford's mouth, and she was about to speak, when Dick Derosne exclaimed,
"Well, you can see him now, Al. He's walking up the drive."
The party and their tea-table were screened by trees, and they were able, themselves unseen, to watch Mr. Medland, as, in obedience to the Governor's summons, he walked slowly up to Government House. A girl of about seventeen or eighteen accompanied him to the gate, and left him there with a merry wave of her hand, and he strode on alone, his hands in his trousers pockets and a soft felt hat on the back of his head.
James—or, as his followers called him, "Jimmy"—Medland was forty-one years of age, once an engineer, now a politician, by profession, a tall, loose-limbed, slouching man, with stiff black hair and a shaven face. His features were large and had been clear-cut, but by now they had grown coarser, and his deep-set eyes, under heavy lids and bushy eyebrows, alone survived unimpaired by time and life. Deep lines ran either side from nose to mouth, and the like across his forehead. He had cut himself while shaving that morning, and a large patch of black plaster showed in the centre of his long, prominent chin: as he walked, he now and then lifted a hand to pluck nervously at it; save in this unconscious gesture, he betrayed no sign of excitement or preoccupation, for, as he walked, he looked about him and once, for a minute, he whistled.
"Awful!" said Lady Eynesford in a whisper.
"He wants a new coat," said Captain Heseltine.
"He looks rather interesting, I think," said Alicia.
At this moment a rare and beautiful butterfly fluttered close over Mr. Medland's head. He paused and watched it for a moment. Then he looked carefully round him: no one was in sight: the butterfly settled for a moment on a flowerbed. Mr. Medland looked round again. Then he cautiously lifted his soft hat from his head, wistfully eyed the butterfly, looked round again, suddenly pounced down on his knees, and pressed the hat to the ground. He was very close to the hidden tea-party now, so close that Alicia's suppressed scream of laughter almost betrayed its presence. Mr. Medland put his head down and, raising one corner of the hat, peered under it. Alicia laughed outright, for the butterfly was fluttering in the air above him. Medland did not hear her; he looked up, saw the butterfly, rose to his feet, put on his hat, and exclaimed, in a voice audible by all the listeners——
"Missed it, by heaven!"
"You see the sort of man he is," observed Lady Eynesford.
"An entomologist, I suppose," suggested Miss Scaife.
"He chases butterflies in the Governor's garden, and swears when he doesn't catch them!"
"He fears not God, neither regards the Governor," remarked Dick, with a solemn shake of his head.
"Don't be flippant, Dick," said Lady Eynesford sharply.
"He might at least brush the knees of his trousers," moaned Captain Heseltine.
Meanwhile Mr. Medland walked up to the door and rang the bell. He was received by Jackson, the butler; and Jackson was flanked by two footmen. Jackson politely concealed his surprise at not seeing a carriage and pair, and stated that his Excellency would receive Mr. Medland at once.
"I hope I haven't kept him waiting," answered Medland. "The pony's lame, and I had to walk."
The footmen, who were young, raw, and English, almost smiled. A Premier dependent on one pony! Jackson redoubled his obsequious attention.
The Governor used to say that he wished his wife had imbibed the constitutional spirit as readily as Jackson.
Miss Eleanor Scaife was gouvernante des enfants de New Lindsey; but she found the duty of looking after two small children, shared as it was with a couple of nurses, not enough to occupy her energies. So she organised the hospitality of Government House, and interested herself in the political problems of a young community. In the course of the latter pursuit, a study of Mr. Medland appeared appropriate and needful, and Miss Scaife was minded to engage in it, in spite of the hostility of Lady Eynesford. She had studied Sir Robert Perry for three years, but Sir Robert was disappointing. That he was a charming old gentleman she freely admitted, but he was not in any special way characteristic of a young community. He was just like half-a-hundred members of Parliament whom she had known while she lived with the Eynesfords at home: in fact he was irredeemably European. Accordingly she was glad to see him, but she mentally transferred him to the recreative department, and talked to him about scenery, pictures, and light literature. Lady Eynesford admired Sir Robert because there was no smack of the young community about him; Miss Scaife conceded that point of view, but maintained that there was another: and from that other she ranked Mr. Medland above a thousand Sir Roberts. All this she explained to Alicia Derosne, after Lady Eynesford had retired in dudgeon, and while the Governor was closeted with the new Premier.
"But," objected Alicia, "Captain Heseltine says——"
"Unless," interrupted Eleanor, "it's something about a coat, I don't care what Captain Heseltine says. He's an authority on that subject, but on no other under the sun."
Alicia abandoned Captain Heseltine's authority and fell back on her sister-in-law's; Eleanor, in spite of the unusual relations of intimate friendship, dating from old school-days, between her employer and herself, could not treat Lady Eynesford's opinion with open disrespect. She drew certain distinctions, which resulted in demonstrating that a close acquaintance between Mr. Medland and Alicia was inadvisable, but that as regards herself the case was different.
"In short," said Alicia, summarising the distinctions, "you are thirty and I am twenty-two. But I don't want to know the man, only I liked him for hunting that butterfly. I wonder what Miss Medland is like. Captain Heseltine says she's very pretty."
"I don't know."
"Is she out? Oh, but does one come out in New Lindsey?"
"It will be much more convenient if she isn't out," said Miss Scaife, rising and beginning to walk towards the house.
Alicia accompanied her. Before they had gone far, Mr. Medland and Dick Derosne appeared in the drive. The interview was ended, and Dick was escorting Mr. Medland.
"I'm afraid we can't avoid them," said Miss Scaife.
"I'm afraid not," said Alicia. "I wonder what they're talking about."
Mr. Medland's voice, though not loud in ordinary speech, was distinct and penetrating. In a moment Alicia's wonder was satisfied.
"Only be sure you get the right gin," he said.
"Good gracious!" said Alicia. "Is that characteristic of a young community, Eleanor?"
Miss Scaife made no reply. The two parties met, and Mr. Medland was presented. At this instant, Alicia, glancing at the house, thought she saw a disapproving face at Lady Eynesford's window; but it seemed hardly likely that the Governor's wife would be watching the Premier out of the window. Alicia wondered whether they had met in the house; Miss Scaife felt no doubt that they had not. She knew that Lady Eynesford's surrender would be a matter of time.
"Well," she said, "are we to congratulate you, Mr. Medland?"
"I believe my tongue is supposed to be sealed for the time," he answered, smiling.
"Mine isn't," laughed Dick, "and I think you may offer him your felicitations."
"You think it, yourself, a subject for congratulation?" asked Eleanor, getting to work at once.
"Oh, Eleanor!" protested Alicia. "Poor Mr. Medland!"
Medland glanced from one to the other, smiling again.
"Whatever may be the sacrifice of personal inclination involved," he began solemnly, "when the Governor calls on me I have no——"
"You're making fun of us," said Alicia, seeing the twinkle in his eye.
"I am quoting Mr.—Sir Robert Perry's speech when he last came in."
"Sir Robert is a great friend of mine," declared Alicia.
"Seriously," said Medland, turning to Eleanor, "I am very pleased."
"Why?" she asked. "The responsibility must be frightful."
Alicia and Dick laughed irreverently.
"Eleanor's always talking about responsibility," said the former. "I hate the idea of it, don't you, Mr. Medland?"
"Call it power and try then," he answered.
"Power? Oh, but I have none!"
"No?" he asked, with a look that made Alicia think he might have been "nice" when he was a young man.
"Oh, of course, if it's mere ambition—" began Eleanor impatiently.
"Not altogether," he interposed.
"Then what else?"
"Listen!" he said, holding up his hand.
They were now within twenty or thirty yards of the road, and, listening, they heard the murmur of many voices. Government House stood on the shore of the bay, about half a mile outside the town, and a broad road ran by the gates which, on reaching Kirton, was merged in one of the main thoroughfares, Victoria Street.
Another turn brought the party in the garden in sight of the road. It was thronged with people for a considerable distance, people in a thick mass, surging up against the gate and hardly held back by a cordon of police.
"Whatever can be the matter?" exclaimed Eleanor.
"I am the matter," said Medland. "They have heard about it."
When the crowd saw him, cheer after cheer rang out, caps and handkerchiefs were waved, and even flags made a sudden appearance. Moving a pace in advance of his companions, he lifted his hat, and the enthusiastic cries burst forth with renewed vigour. He signed to them to be still, but they did not heed him. Alicia caught hold of Eleanor's hand, her breath coming and going in sudden gasps. Eleanor looked at Medland. He was moistening his lips, and she saw a little quiver run through his limbs.
"By Jove!" said Dick Derosne.
Medland turned to Eleanor, and pointed to the crowd.
"Yes, I see," she said.
He held out his hand to bid them farewell, and walked on towards the gate. They stood and watched his progress. Suddenly a different cry rose.
"Let her pass! Let her pass! Let her through to him!"
The crowd slowly parted, and down the middle of the road, amid the raising of hats and pretty rough compliments, a young girl came walking swiftly and proudly, with a smile on her lips.
"It's his daughter," whispered Alicia. "Oh!"
Medland opened the gate and went out. The girl, her fair hair blowing out behind her and her cheeks glowing red, ran to meet him, and, as he stooped and kissed her, the crowd, having, as a crowd, but one way to tell its feelings, roared and cheered again. Medland, with one hand on his daughter's shoulder and the other holding his hat, walked down the lane between human walls, and was lost to sight as the walls found motion and closed in behind him.
After some moments' silence Dick Derosne recovered himself, and remarked with a cynical air,
"Neat bit of acting—kissing the girl and all that."
But Alicia would not have it. With a tremulous laugh, she said,
"I should like to have kissed him too. Oh, Eleanor, I didn't know it was like that!"
Perhaps Eleanor did not either, but she would not admit it. What was it but a lot of ignorant people cheering they knew not what? If anything, it was degrading. Yet, in spite of these most reasonable reflections, she knew that her cheeks had flushed and her heart beat at the sight and the sound.
They were still standing and watching the crowd as it retreated towards Kirton, when the Governor, who had come out to get some fresh air after his arduous labour, joined them.
"Extraordinary the popularity of the man in Kirton," he observed, in answer to Alicia's eager description of Mr. Medland's triumph.
"What has he done for them?" asked Eleanor.
"Done? Oh, I don't know. He's done something, I suppose; but it's what he's going to do that they're so keen about."
"Is he a Socialist?" inquired Alicia.
"I can't tell you," replied Lord Eynesford. "I don't know what he is—and I'm not sure I know what a Socialist is. Ask Eleanor."
"A Socialist," began Eleanor, in an authoritative tone, "is——"
But this much-desired definition was unhappily lost, for a footman came up and told Lord Eynesford that his wife would like to see him if he were disengaged.
The Governor smiled grimly, winked imperceptibly, and departed.
"It's been quite an entertaining day," said Miss Scaife. "But I'm very sorry for Sir Robert."
"What was Mr. Medland talking to you about, Dick?" asked Alicia.
"Oh, a new sort of drink. You take a long glass, and some pounded ice and some gin—only you must be careful to get——"
"I don't want to hear about it."
"Well, you asked, you know," retorted Dick, with the air of a man who suffers under the perpetual illogicality of woman.
"I confess to being very much alarmed," said Mr. Kilshaw, "and I think Capital generally shares the feeling."
"If I thought he could last, I should share it myself," said Sir Robert Perry.
"He may easily last long enough to half ruin my business. Large concerns are delicate concerns."
"Come, Kilshaw, Puttock's a capitalist; he'll see Capital isn't wronged."
"Puttock is all very well in his way; but what do you say to Jewell and Norburn?"
"Jewell's an old-style Radical: he won't do you much harm. You hit the nail on the head when you mention Norburn. Norburn would be very pleased to run your factory as a State work-shop for two pound a week."
"And pickings," added Mr. Kilshaw, with scornful emphasis.
A third gentleman, who was sitting near in the large bow-window of the Central Club, an elderly man, with short-clipped white hair and a pleasant face, joined in the talk.
"Norburn? Why, is that the fellow I tried? Is he in Medland's government?"
"That's the man, Sir John," answered Kilshaw; and Sir Robert added,
"You gave him three months for inciting to riot in the strike at the Collieries two years ago. He's made Minister of Public Works; I hear the Governor held out for a long while, but Medland insisted."
"And my works are to be Public Works, I suppose," grumbled Kilshaw, finding some comfort in this epigrammatic statement of the unwelcome prospect before him.
"Red-hot, isn't he?" asked Sir John Oakapple, who, as Chief Justice of the colony, had sent the new Minister to gaol.
Kilshaw nodded.
"Will he and Puttock pull together?" continued the Chief Justice.
"The hopeful part of the situation is," said Sir Robert, "that Puttock is almost bound to fall out with somebody, either with Norburn, for the reason you name, or with Coxon, because Coxon will try to rule the roast, or with Medland himself."
"Why should he quarrel with Medland?"
"Why does the heir quarrel with the king? Besides, there's the Prohibition Question. I doubt if Medland will satisfy Puttock and his people over that."
"Oh, I expect he will," said the Chief Justice. "I asked him once—this is in confidence, you know—if he didn't think it a monstrous proposal, and he only shrugged those slouched shoulders of his, and said, 'We've got Sunday Closing, and we go in the back way: if we have Prohibition the drink'll go in the back way—same principle, my dear Chief Justice'": and that High Officer finished his anecdote with a laugh.
"The odd thing about Medland is," remarked Sir Robert, "that he's utterly indifferent about everything except what he's utterly mad about. He has no moderate sympathies or antipathies."
"Therefore he's a most dangerous man," said Kilshaw.
"Oh, I think he sympathises, in moderation, with morality," laughed Sir John.
"Ay," rejoined Perry quickly, "and that's all. What if Puttock raised the Righteous on him?"
"Oh, then I should stand by Medland," said the Chief Justice decisively. "And young Coxon's to be Attorney-General. He's safe enough."
"A man who thinks only about himself is generally safe," remarked Sir Robert dryly; and he added, with a smile, "That's why lawyers are such a valuable class."
The Chief Justice laughed, and took his revenge by asking,
"How many windows did they break, Perry?"
"Only three," rejoined the Ex-Premier. "Considering the popular enthusiasm I got off cheap."
"You can't stir a people's heart for nothing. All the same, the reception they gave him was a fine sight."
"Extraordinary, wasn't it?"
"I call it most ominous," said Mr. Kilshaw, and he rose and went out gloomily.
"I haven't had my invitation to meet them at Government House yet," said the Chief Justice.
He referred to the banquet which the Governor was accustomed to give to a new Ministry, when the leading officials of the colony were always included in the party.
Sir Robert looked round for possible eavesdroppers.
"There's a hitch," he said in a low voice. "Lady Eynesford makes difficulties about having Medland."
"Oh, that's nonsense!"
"Utter nonsense; but it seems she does. However, I suppose you'll get your card in a day or two."
"And renew my acquaintance with Mr. Norburn under happier circumstances."
"Norburn will feel as one used to when one breakfasted with the school-master—as a peacemaking after another sort of interview."
Sir Robert Perry proved right in supposing that Lady Eynesford's resistance could not last for ever. It was long enough and fierce enough to make the Governor very unhappy and the rest of the family very uncomfortable, but it was foredoomed to failure. Even the Bishop of Kirton, whom she consulted, told her that high place had its peculiar duties, and that however deplorable the elevation of such a man might be, if the Queen's representative invited him to join his counsels, the Queen's representative's wife must invite him to join her dinner-party: and the Bishop proved the sincerity of his constitutional doctrine by accepting an invitation to meet the new Ministry. Lady Eynesford, abandoned by Church and State alike, surrendered, thanking heaven that Daisy Medland's youth postponed another distasteful necessity.
"You'll have to face it in a few months' time," said Eleanor Scaife, who was not always as comforting a companion as a lady in her position is supposed to be.
"Oh, they'll be out in a month," answered Lady Eynesford confidently. "The Bishop says they can't last. Do you know, Eleanor, Mr. Coxon is the only Churchman among them?"
"Shocking!" said Eleanor, with no more suspicion of irony than her reputation as an esprit fort demanded. It really startled her a little: the social significance seemed considerable.
Mr. Medland's invitation to dinner caused him perhaps more perturbation than had his invitation to power. A natural sensitiveness of mind supplied in him the place of an experience of refined society or an impulse of inherited pride. He cared nothing that his advent to office alarmed and displeased many; but it gave him pain to be compelled to dine at the table of a lady who, by notorious report, did not desire his company.
"I don't want to go, and she doesn't want to have me," he protested to his daughter; "yet she must have me and I must go. The great god Sham again, Daisy."
"You'll meet him everywhere now," said Daisy, with a melancholy shake of her young head.
"And rout him somewhere?"
"Oh yes, everywhere—except at Government House."
"I hate going."
"I believe mother would have liked it. Don't you think so, dear?"
"Perhaps. Should you?"
"I should be terribly afraid of Lady Eynesford."
"Just my feeling," said Medland, stroking his chin.
When he entered the drawing-room at Government House, and was presented to his hostess by the Governor, on whose brow rested a little pucker of anxiety, Lady Eynesford was talking to the Bishop and to Mr. Puttock. Puttock had accepted the office of Minister of Trade and Customs, but not without grumbling, for he had aspired to control the finances of the colony as Treasurer, and considered that Medland underrated his influence as a political leader. He was a short man, rather stout, with large whiskers; he wore a blue ribbon in the button-hole of his dress-coat. Lady Eynesford considered him remarkably like a grocer, and the very quintessence of nonconformity; but he at least was indisputably respectable, a devoted husband, and the father of a large family, behind whose ranks he was in the habit of walking to chapel twice every Sunday. Sometimes he preached when he got there. Just to his right, talking briskly to Alicia Derosne, stood Mr. Coxon, the Attorney-General, very smart in English-made clothes, and discussing the doings of people at home whom he had known or seen in the days when he was at Cambridge, and had the run of a rich uncle's house in Park Lane. In the distance the Roman Catholic Archbishop was talking to Eleanor Scaife, and suffering Sir John Oakapple's jests with a polite faint smile. This mixture of the sects ranked high among the trials of Lady Eynesford's position, and contained precious opportunities for Miss Scaife's inquiring mind.
It seems true beyond question that moral estimation counts for more in the likings of women than in those of men. Medland, in spite of the utter insignificance, as he conceived, of the lady's judgment considered as an intellectual process, was too much of a politician, and perhaps a little too much of a man also, not to wish to conciliate the Governor's wife; but his courteous deference, his clever talk, and his search for points of sympathy broke ineffectually on the barriers of Lady Eynesford's official politeness and personal reserve. She was cruel in her clear indication of the footing upon which they met, and the Governor's uneasy glance of appeal would produce nothing better than a cold interest in the scenery of the Premier's constituency. Medland was glad when Lady Eynesford turned to the Chief Justice and released him; his relief was so great that it was hardly marred by finding Mrs. Puttock on his other side. Yet Mrs. Puttock and he were not congenial spirits.
"We are sending a deputation to you," said Mrs. Puttock, directly Medland's change of position gave her an opportunity.
He emptied his glass of champagne, and asked,
"Which of your many 'We's,' Mrs. Puttock?"
"Why, the W.T.A.A."
"I won't affect ignorance—Women's—Total—Abstinence—Association."
"The enthusiasm this afternoon was enormous. Of course Mr. Puttock could not be there; but I told them I felt sure that with the new Ministry an era of real hope had dawned," and Mrs. Puttock looked inquiringly at the Premier, who was in his turn looking at the foaming wine that fell into his glass from Jackson's practised hand.
"A new era?" he answered. "Oh, well, you didn't get much out of Perry. What do you want of me?"
"We want to strengthen your hands in dealing drastically with the problem. Of course, it will be one of your first measures."
"We have at least six first measures already on the list," remarked the Premier, smiling.
"I saw your daughter to-day," Mrs. Puttock continued. "I went to ask her to join us."
"Isn't she rather young to join things?" pleaded Mr. Medland. "Poor child! She would hardly understand what she's giving—I mean, what she's going in for. What did she say?"
"Well, really, Mr. Medland, I think you might speak a word to her. She told me she loved champagne and tipsy-cake. The tipsy-cake doesn't matter, because it can be made without alcohol.—I beg your pardon?"
"I didn't speak," said the Premier.
"But champagne! At her age!"
"She's only tasted it half-a-dozen times."
"Well, I hope every one will have to give it up soon. My husband says that the Cabinet——"
"Here's treason! Has he been telling you our secrets?"
"Secrets! Why, two-thirds of the party are pledged——"
But here Lady Eynesford again claimed the Premier's attention, and he was really glad of it.
Dick Derosne walked home with Mr. Medland. He had intended to go only to the gate, but Medland pressed him to go further, and, engrossed in conversation, they reached Medland's house without separating.
"Come in and see Daisy," said Medland. "She's been alone all the evening, poor girl, and will be glad of better company than mine."
"Oh, come, I expect she likes your society better than any one else's."
"Well, that won't last long, will it?"
They went in and found Daisy supping on the wing of a chicken, and some wine-and-water. Medland led the way, and, as soon as his daughter saw him, she exclaimed,
"Was it very awful, father?"
"Well, was it, Mr. Derosne?" he asked of Dick. "Daisy, this is the Governor's brother, Mr. Derosne."
"It was awful!" said Dick, executing his bow. "Those great feeds always are."
"Why, Daisy," exclaimed Mr. Medland, "you're drinking wine. How about Mrs. Puttock?"
"Oh, she told you? She said it was very wicked."
"And you?"
"Oh, I said it wasn't, because you did it."
"Luckily, a conclusion may be right, though the reason for it is utterly wrong," said the Premier.
"I," said Dick, "always admit things are wicked, you know, and say I do 'em all the same. It saves a lot of argument."
The door opened and Mr. Norburn walked in.
"Is it too late for me to come?" he asked.
"Of course not," said Daisy, greeting him with evident pleasure, and ensconcing him in an armchair. "We expect you to come at all the odd times. That's the part of an intimate friend, isn't it, Mr. Derosne?"
Medland was speaking to Norburn, and Dick took the opportunity of remarking,
"Mayn't I come at an odd time now and then?"
"Oh do. We shall be so pleased."
"Mr. Norburn doesn't come at all of them, does he?"
"At most. Do you mind that?"
"Of course I do. Who wouldn't?"
"I don't."
"No, if you did I shouldn't."
Dick was, it must be admitted, getting along very well, considering that he had only been presented to the young lady ten minutes before. That was Dick's way; and when the young lady is attractive, it is a way that has many recommendations, only sometimes it leads to a pitfall—a cold answer, or a snub.
"But why," asked Daisy, in apparent surprise, "should you mind about what I thought? I'm afraid I should never think about whether you liked it or not, you know."
"Good-night," said Dick. And when he got outside and was lighting his cigar, he exclaimed, "Confound the girl!" And after a pause he added, "Hang the fellow!" and shook his head and went home.
In a short time it happened that Lady Eynesford conceived a high opinion of Mr. Coxon. He was, she declared, the one bright spot in the new Ministry; he possessed ability, principle, sound Churchmanship, and gentlemanly demeanour. A young man thus equipped could hardly fail of success, and Lady Eynesford, in spite of the Governor's decidedly lukewarm approbation, was pleased to take the Attorney-General under her special protection. More than once in the next week or two did Mr. Coxon, tall-hatted, frock-coated, and new-gloved, in obedience to cordial invitations, take tea in the verandah of Government House. He was naturally gratified by these attentions, and, being not devoid of ambition, soon began to look upon his position as the starting-point for a greater prize. Lady Eynesford was, here again, with him—up to a point. She thought (and thoughts are apt to put themselves with a bluntness which would be inexcusable in speech)