Part 73 (2/2)

”Well, Mr. Stistick,” said the baron; ”if Sir Henry will allow us, we'll drink Lord Boanerges.”

”With all my heart,” said Mr. Stistick. ”He is a man of whom it may be said--”

”That no man knew better on which side his bread was b.u.t.tered.”

”He is b.u.t.tering the bread of millions upon millions,” said Mr.

Stistick.

”Or doing better still,” said Bertram; ”enabling them to b.u.t.ter their own. Lord Boanerges is probably the only public man of this day who will be greater in a hundred years than he is now.”

”Let us at any rate hope,” said the baron, ”that he will at that time be less truculent.”

”I can't agree with you, Bertram,” said Sir Henry. ”I consider we are fertile in statesmen. Do you think that Peel will be forgotten in a hundred years?” This was said with the usual candour of a modern turncoat. For Sir Henry had now deserted Peel.

”Almost, I should hope, by that time,” said Bertram. ”He will have a sort of a niche in history, no doubt; as has Mr. Perceval, who did so much to a.s.sist us in the war; and Lord Castlereagh, who carried the Union. They also were heaven-sent ministers, whom Acheron has not as yet altogether swallowed up.”

”And Boanerges, you think, will escape Libitina?”

”If the spirit of the age will allow immortality to any man of these days, I think he will. But I doubt whether public opinion, as now existing, will admit of hero-wors.h.i.+p.”

”Public opinion is the best safeguard for a great man's great name,”

said Mr. Stistick, with intense reliance on the civilization of his own era.

”Quite true, sir; quite true,” said the baron,--”for the s.p.a.ce of twenty-four hours.”

Then followed a calm, and then coffee. After that, the solicitor-general, looking at his watch, marched off impetuous to the House. ”Judge,” he said, ”I know you will excuse me; for you, too, have been a slave in your time: but you will go up to Lady Harcourt; Bertram, you will not be forgiven if you do not go upstairs.”

Bertram did go upstairs, that he might not appear to be unmanly, as he said to himself, in slinking out of the house. He did go upstairs, for one quarter of an hour.

But the baron did not. For him, it may be presumed, his club had charms. Mr. Stistick, however, did do so; he had to hand Mrs.

Stistick down from that elysium which she had so exquisitely graced.

He did hand her down; and then for five minutes George Bertram found himself once more alone with Caroline Waddington.

”Good-night, Lady Harcourt,” he said, again essaying to take her hand. This and his other customary greeting was all that he had yet spoken to her.

”Good-night, Mr. Bertram.” At last her voice faltered, at last her eye fell to the ground, at last her hand trembled. Had she stood firm through this trial all might have been well; but though she could bear herself right manfully before stranger eyes, she could not alone support his gaze; one touch of tenderness, one sign of weakness was enough--and that touch was there, that sign she gave.

”We are cousins still, are we not?” said he.

”Yes, we are cousins--I suppose so.”

”And as cousins we need not hate each other?”

”Hate each other!” and she shuddered as she spoke; ”oh, no, I hope there is no hatred!”

He stood there silent for a moment, looking, not at her, but at the costly ornaments which stood at the foot of the huge pier-gla.s.s over the fireplace. Why did he not go now? why did he stand there silent and thoughtful? why--why was he so cruel to her?

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