CHAPTER X.

IN HARLEY STREET.

By the end of the first week in February Sir Thomas Dudgeon and his family were comfortably settled in Harley Street.

Sir Thomas, having no permanent residence in London, had been obliged to take a furnished house for the season. Since the early years of their marriage, the baronet and his wife had never spent more than three weeks, or, at the most, a month, of each season in town; neither had they travelled much abroad. Their adoption of a quiet country life all these years had not been without good and sufficient reasons. The chief reason of all was a laudable desire to economize in money matters. The estate had come to Sir Thomas considerably burdened, and till every penny of mortgage upon it should be cleared off, both Sir Thomas and his wife were determined to cut down every expense as much as possible. The establishment at Stammars was kept up with due regard to comfort, as well as to the family's position in society; but no luxuries were indulged in, and all extravagances were carefully eschewed. A whole season in town, and an autumn on the Continent, however much she might have enjoyed them, would certainly have been set down by Lady Dudgeon as needless extravagances: and she had sufficient heroism in her disposition to give them up without a word of repining. But all this now belonged to the past. Every penny of incumbrance had been cleared off the estate some two years ago, and matters of late had been still further assisted by a handsome legacy from a distant relative. Then, just in the nick of time, had come the opportunity for Sir Thomas to offer himself as member for Pembridge. Lady Dudgeon had been the first to seize the occasion. From the first, she had seen in her mind's eye all the brilliant results that might be made to follow "in sequence due" this one bold step. As in a vision, she had seen the whole glittering pageant. No longer would she be compelled to content herself with a miserable three weeks in London: she would have a whole glorious season to flutter through. She would have a new brougham, and there should be no handsomer horses than hers seen in the Park. As for garden parties and flower shows, as for the opera and the theatre--she would simply do her best to make up for lost time. Poor Sir Thomas, when he allowed himself; very much against his will, to be nominated at the hustings in place of the late lamented Mr. Rackstraw, had not the faintest notion of the splendid conceptions which even then were fermenting in his wife's brain. But he had not been many days in London before he got some glimmering of what was in store for him.

"I feel, dear, as if we had been buried all these years--as if we had never really begun to enjoy life till now," said her ladyship to him one morning at breakfast.

"And yet it seems to me that we have spent many happy days at Stammars," returned Sir Thomas.

"Happy after a fashion, of course; but so different from life here!" continued her ladyship.

"Different indeed!" echoed Sir Thomas, with a sigh.

"To-morrow is my birthday, Thomas; and as you always make me a present on that occasion, I want you, this year, to let me choose for myself what it shall be."

"Certainly, Matilda. I shall be most happy for you to do so."

"That noble heart of yours! What I want is that you shall take me to Long Acre, and buy me a new carriage."

"Good gracious, Matilda!"

"As the wife of the member for Pembridge, I could not think of being seen about London in a hired brougham; neither, I am sure, would you wish me to do anything so paltry."

"But the landau at Stammars--if painted and furbished up----"

"A market-cart, my dear--neither more nor less than a market-cart," cried Lady Dudgeon. "I should be the laughing-stock of the Park. No; if you cannot afford me a new brougham out of your legacy, why, I'll go about in a hansom. I'd far rather do that than be seen in one of those horrid livery-stable abominations, which always put me in mind of fevers and other dreadful things."

When in London, Sir Thomas was always one of the most wretched of men; indeed, a town of any kind was to him a place to be escaped from as quickly as possible. To him it was ever a mystery how people could be found to dwell contentedly for years among acres of brick and mortar, inhaling diluted smoke, and leading lives that were one perpetual round of noise, turmoil, and confusion. He had not been in London more than three days before there came over him a longing, that was almost painful in its intensity, to get clean away out of sight of it--out of hearing of it--if only for a few hours. Taking advantage of a visit of his wife to her milliner, he stole out of the house--and he really felt as if he were doing something that he ought not to do--and a swift hansom soon set him down at "Jack Straw's Castle." A long stretch through the valley on the other side of the Hampstead hills, amid the sights and sounds of country life, sent him back to Harley Street a happier man for the time being.

But the watch which her ladyship kept over him did not allow of a too frequent indulgence in such forbidden luxuries.

"I hope, my dear, that you will not be long before you decide as to the particular question that you intend to make your own this session," she said to her husband one morning, about a fortnight after the opening of Parliament.

"Really, my dear," said Sir Thomas, insinuatingly, "everything is so strange to me just at present--the forms of the House, and all that, you know--that I have hardly had time to give my mind to anything else."

"Just so, my love. Of course, every allowance must be made for that. But still I think you ought to be preparing--working up a subject, mastering the details, and so on. What do you say to the Sugar Duties, now? That is a topic about which the public are likely to be greatly interested before long. Or Indian Finance? That is a fruitful subject."

"But, then, I know absolutely nothing about either of them."

"So much the better. You will bring to the study and discussion of these great questions a mind fresh and unprejudiced--a mind unfettered by the bonds of tradition or the obligations of party."

"But, in addition to not knowing anything about the Sugar Duties or Indian Finance, I don't care about them--no, not a brass farthing."

"All the more will you be able to discuss them with impartiality. Your capacious intellect will enable you to look at a question from several different points of view, and to give to each its proper value."

"But, even supposing I had the inclination--which I certainly have not," persisted poor Sir Thomas, "I have not the remotest idea how to set about working up any such subjects as those mentioned by your ladyship."

"My dear, you surprise me! What is Mr. Pomeroy for? It cannot, of course, be expected that you should waste your time in picking out a lot of dreary statistics, or in wading through a heap of dry, mechanical details. All that forms part of the duties of your secretary. It is his place to bring to a common focus all the various facts and figures that may have any bearing on the subject in hand. Such a summary of facts and figures could be readily mastered by you in the course of a morning's study. You would then have to consider the line of argument which you would adopt in stating your case to the House; and having divided your subject into two or three heads, you would have, finally, to work up the various points in the most effective manner possible, taking care to conclude with one of those glowing perorations--one of those spontaneous bursts of eloquence--for which you are so justly famed."

Sir Thomas sat staring at his wife in speechless dismay. After a little while he got up and walked to the window, and stood there jingling his loose silver.

"What a pity it is, Matilda, that you are not the member for Pembridge instead of me! You would have done far more justice to the position than I can ever hope to do."

"Tut! tut! my dear. You must not talk so foolishly," said her ladyship, complacently. "I know your abilities far better than you do yourself. All that you lack is confidence, and that will come to you in due time."

"I suppose those worthy people down at Pembridge wouldn't feel satisfied unless I made some sort of an attempt at a speech some time before the session's over, eh?"

"Certainly not. So the sooner you take the plunge, the better for everyone. How would you like to meet your constituents in the autumn, if the sound of your voice had never been heard in the House?"

Sir Thomas stood without speaking for a minute or two. At last he said, "I think I'll go and have a little talk with Pomeroy."

"Do so, my dear. I have no doubt that his views will coincide with mine. Mr. Pomeroy is a very clever young man--and so exemplary too! I am highly pleased with him."

Sir Thomas found Jack in the library, where, having nothing to do for his employer, he was trying to hammer out a few verses for one of the magazines; only, as the fair face of Eleanor Lloyd would keep coming between his muse and him, it is to be feared that he was not making very satisfactory progress.

Sir Thomas gave a little sigh, and sat down at the opposite side of the table. "Pomeroy," he began presently, "her ladyship seems to think that it's about time I made a little bit of a splash in the House. Rather out of my line, you know; but I suppose it has to be done, and the sooner it's got over the better. So what I want you to do for me is this: there's to be a big debate on the Sugar Duties in about a month's time, and I want you to work the subject up, and write out a bit of a speech for me that I can get off by heart. I know that's a sort of thing that comes easy enough to a clever young chap like you, but it would be deuced difficult to me; just as difficult, I daresay, as it would be for you to buy half a score bullocks at a fair, and make sure at the same time that you were getting full value for your money."

"I shall be glad to have a little more to do, Sir Thomas. At present I don't feel as if I were earning my salary."

"You mustn't make the speech too long, you know, or else I shall be sure to forget some of it--and you mustn't even hint to her ladyship that it's not my own composition."

"You may rely implicitly upon my discretion, sir."

"And then I want you to write out a second speech, which must be simply an amplification of the first, with a few fine words and big phrases dropped in here and there, like plums in a dumpling. This second speech is for my constituents, and you must arrange with the editor for its appearance in the _Pembridge Gazette_ on the Saturday following my delivery of speech number one in the House."

"I comprehend perfectly, sir," said Jack.

"You are a good fellow, Pomeroy--a very good fellow," added Sir Thomas. "I like you much. Her ladyship likes you much. She quite values you. But not a word to her about our little arrangement--and don't forget the plums in the dumpling."

Sir Thomas had hardly been gone five minutes, when there came a discreet tap at the door, and in walked Olive Deane.

"Good morning, Mr. Pomeroy," she said. "I hear that the box has arrived from Mudie's. Her ladyship gave me the privilege of ordering two or three books on my own account, and I am anxious to see whether they have come."

"Here is the box," said Jack, "unopened as yet; so that you will have the pleasure of being the first to explore its contents."

"You seem to understand our sex--a little," said Olive, as she turned over the books. "It is singular, but true, but I should not derive half so much pleasure from turning over the contents of this box had anyone, especially another woman, done it before me. But we women are full of contrarieties."

"It is precisely those contrarieties which make your sex so charming. You are so full of surprises. No woman, it seems to me, can ever be altogether commonplace."

"Oh, I grant you that we are full of surprises," said Olive. "A man, for instance, has only one or two ways of showing his temper, whereas we have fifty ways, all different from each other: which prevents monotony. If we cannot startle you with a wise or a witty remark, we prefer to try an inane one, rather than not startle you at all. We are melodramatic to the backbone, and are always studying a climax or a surprise, if it be only in the petty details of everyday life."

"I feel that I ought to say something pretty here, in deprecation of the severity of your judgment," said Jack, with a smile, "but nothing worthy of the occasion occurs to me at present. I fear that I am even more stupid than usual this morning."

"Stupidity is certainly the great failing of your sex," said Olive, with candour. "How seldom one meets with a man who has anything to say worth listening to; or if he has, how rarely he knows how to say it. No; in comparison of your sex as against ours, it seems to me that there is only one point wherein we fail--only one grand faculty that men possess and that we have no idea of."

"And that is----?"

"The faculty of silence. The want of that, and of that alone, has lost us the supremacy of the world."

Jack laughed, and Olive went on with her examination of the books.

It had been a debatable point with Lady Dudgeon whether or not she should take her children to London with her; but Sophy's earnest pleading not to be left behind had at last won a half-reluctant consent from her ladyship. But there was another reason, of which Sophy knew nothing, why the young ladies should accompany their mamma. The truth was that her ladyship found Miss Deane's services so useful to her in many ways, that she could by no means make up her mind to let Olive stay behind at Stammars. By so doing she would have to take on herself again a number of duties of which Miss Deane had of late relieved her; and how would it be possible for her to do that, with all the extra demands on her time which a residence in town necessarily implied? If Miss Deane had been useful to her in the country, in London she would be invaluable: so to London Olive and the young ladies were transferred in due course.

Lady Dudgeon was one of those people who delight in keeping an elaborate series of housekeeping books, in which every item of domestic expenditure is carefully tabulated, and against which the tradespeople's accounts can be minutely checked. During the last few months, however, her ladyship's eyesight had begun to fail her, whereupon her medical man had threatened her with spectacles unless she would consent to give her eyes a little more rest. The threat frightened her. She could not afford to give up her diary; she could not find in her heart to curtail her correspondence; she must perforce give up her housekeeping accounts, or delegate the labour connected with them into other hands.

When, some three months later, Olive Deane arrived at Stammars, her ladyship's book-keeping had got terribly into arrear. She was greatly perturbed in her mind thereby, feeling perfectly sure that her tradespeople were all aware that she no longer checked their accounts, and that they were leagued together to overreach her in every possible way. Olive had not been many days at Stammars before she found out what was amiss, whereupon she begged so earnestly that the books and accounts might be put into her hands, that her ladyship, not without a considerable degree of reluctance, agreed at last to entrust them to her. And she had never had cause to regret having done so. Everything was done almost--not quite, but almost--as well as she could have done it herself; and her ladyship was not slow to sing the praises of Olive.

If there was one thing on which Lady Dudgeon prided herself in secret more than another, it was upon her epistolary talents. She was, indeed, a most voluminous and untiring correspondent. However trivial might be the subject about which she was writing, she had a copious stream of words at command--a stream that never ran itself dry. The involution of her sentences was only equalled by the ambiguity of their meaning. Because her correspondents acknowledged that they had to read her letters two or three times over before they could thoroughly comprehend all that was intended to be conveyed by them, she--and in some cases they also--came to look upon it as a sign of profundity, of deep thought, clothed with the fine flowers of rhetoric, that such a difficulty should be so generally admitted to exist. To have written out a plain statement of facts in a few plain words, was a feat of which her ladyship was quite incapable, and one which, to do her justice, she would have despised herself for even attempting. She had been so often complimented on her letter-writing (and knowing for a fact, as she did, that several of her correspondents carefully preserved her epistles) that there had grown up in her mind a sort of vague idea that, after her demise, some one would certainly be found who would look upon it as an act of pious duty to awaken the world to a sense of its loss, to let it see for itself what a genius had dwelt for years in its midst, save by a few choice spirits, unappreciated and unknown. There was only one way by which a heedless world could be thus enlightened, and that was by publishing--posthumously, of course--a selection of her ladyship's correspondence. The fame denied to her during her lifetime would be hers after death. After this fashion it was that Lady Dudgeon fed her imagination: and yet there were not wanting people who denied her the possession of any such commodity, and who mentally catalogued her as one of the most prosaic and commonplace of her sex.

"I hope you have not forgotten our conversation in my cousin's office at Pembridge?" said Olive suddenly to Jack, as she shut down the lid of the box and put her own two particular volumes under her arm, preparatory to leaving the room.

"There are some conversations that I can never forget: that is one of them."

"I have sometimes thought since how very foolish it was of me to talk to you in the way I did on that occasion. But you had only yourself to blame."

"I am not aware that there was any foolishness in the matter: quite the contrary. But tell me in what way I was to blame."

"In causing my aunt to feel such an interest in you. Me, too, you interested. We were both anxious to assist you, if it were possible to do so."

"And you have assisted me, and I thank both you and Mrs. Kelvin very heartily for it."

"Is not Miss Lloyd charming?"

"Thoroughly charming."

"You seem to have succeeded in interesting her, as you interested my aunt and me," said Olive, with one of her wintry smiles.

"Miss Lloyd has seen so little of the world, and is so fresh and untutored, that anyone could interest her whose conversation was not absolutely stupid."

"John Pomeroy, the Hesperian fruit is within your grasp!" said Miss Deane, changing her manner in a moment to one of intense earnestness. "Put forth your hand and seize it. Be not slow to make it your own. If you are, be sure that some one else will quickly claim the golden prize." Her black eyes, fixed steadily on his face, seemed full of some hidden meaning. With a grave inclination of the head, she turned and slowly left the room.

"I _will_ seize the golden fruit, chere demoiselle; I _will_ make it my own!" muttered Pomeroy to himself, as Olive closed the door. "Though why you should feel so strange an interest in my fortunes is more than I can comprehend. A crooked brain and a dark heart are yours, Olive Deane, or else my reading of your character is altogether a wrong one."