in the autumn of the year the general election took place, and southwoldshire returned william massarene, whilst limehouse selected a labor member to represent its interests. his majority was smaller than the carlton agent had calculated and the conservative press prophesied, but that made little impression on him, though it disappointed his party. a large portion of the country-folks would not hear of the newcomer, who had turned out the roxhalls. “he’s no more nor us, that chap, and an uncommon ugly jowl he’ve got,” said one old gaffer to another, as they munched their noonday snack under the hedge which they had been cutting down into the hideousness demanded by high farming, or behind which they had been drenching the mosses and lichens of old apple-trees with a solution of lime and sublimate of iron, as scientific experts advise.
he took with the yokels to a certain extent, as the marquis had said, but not in those districts where the roxhalls were beloved, and where the laborers liked a gentleman and knew one when they saw him. moreover, the clergy of the county backed him to a man, and that lost him many votes from the rustic population. “passon knows which side his bread be buttered,” said the old gaffers; and even the influence of lady kenilworth and other primrose dames, who came down to canvass for him, and who did not scruple to plead and to promise everything possible and impossible, could turn them to the side espoused by the established church.
“my cousin roxhall begs you to plump for his friend,” she assured them; but the gaffers smelt the lie, and were not to be caught by chaff. they were corrupted by political bunkum, weakened in their marrow by a tawdry and trumpery civilization, bewildered by the multitude of their teachers and flatterers, but they were still the descendants in direct line of the bowmen of cressy and[212] the king’s troopers of naseby, and they knew good blood when they saw it, and did not like the look of the gold man from ameriky.
however, by the aid of that man in the moon, whose occult and untraceable influence determines all political elections all the world over, these loyal and sturdy rustics were put in the minority, and the clergy and the county people crowded them out at the polls.
“lord save us! how they dawdle over matters here!” thought the successful candidate. “in dakota i’d just have run in thirty thousand miners, and the trick’d been done.” he almost, for an instant, regretted that he had forsaken the congenial country of mug-wamps and roar-backs, where the ten-dollar bill could satisfactorily circulate and settle everything, as the power of the purse should do. he was with difficulty restrained from exercising those feudal rights which he conceived were his through the possession of vale royal, and giving notice to quit to everybody on his estate who had voted against him.
“if my hands had voted against me in the states,” he said, with his blackest frown, “they’d hev known a hotter hole than hell.”
“yes, billy, but we are not in the states,” said his fair guide, philosopher and friend, “and there are a few people here who can’t be bought, and mustn’t be bullied.”
“one don’t meet that sort in society, nor see ’em in church,” he growled under his breath.
“perhaps you don’t,” she replied, not well pleased. “but they are not a quantité négligéable. i mean, you mustn’t set their backs up and their tongues wagging. i don’t know what the carlton wouldn’t do to you if you turned out the lowest tommy trot of them all from one of your cottages, because he voted against you. on the contrary, it is to that particular tommy trot who voted against you that you must send coals and blankets at christmas, and port wine and beef tea when he gets fever.”
he muttered that he couldn’t do more than that for the tommy trots who had voted for him.
“of course you can’t,” she answered. “and for them you may do less.”
[213]william massarene pondered silently on this reply, and came to the conclusion that if political life in england was much less corrupt than in the states—as they all said—it was certainly, also, much more complicated. on the whole, he had preferred limehouse to southwoldshire; the london mechanics had understood him with a wink, and their stomachs had not “riz” at bribery direct or indirect.
“my vote’s my own, ain’t it?” one rivet maker there had said to him. “well, i can do what i like with my own, can’t i? i can wallup my old ’ooman, and my brats, and my dawg, and i can sell my vote, that’s flat. yah!—hand the blunt over, old un.”
that was a practical politician, with whom he had rejoiced to make a deal. but these rural electors, who turned him out of their hovels, and chalked up on their walls “roxhalls for us; not no yankees,” were so abhorrent to his feelings as a county magnate and a future peer that he would have seen them all dead of fen fever with pleasure, and would not have sent them a single drop of port wine, however much lady kenny and the carlton had counseled it. but she and the carlton between them contrived to restrain him from any public or compromising expression of his feelings, and although there was some talk of a petition against his return being made, it never went farther than words, and when the new parliament assembled, william massarene represented in it one of the most aristocratic counties in england, which had been represented by some roxhall’s nominee ever since george the third had ascended the throne.
“one of the infamous results of that inexcusable sale,” said hurstmanceaux, in the smoking-room of the marlborough.
the remark was reported to a lady who did not love roxhall, and who caused it to be reported in turn to him at the french watering-place where he was curing his body and fretting his soul.
“ronnie might guess who was under the sale,” he thought, “who had the gilt off the gingerbread.” his cousin mouse had always done what she chose with him. their families knew it, his wife knew it, his county knew[214] it. he was in other ways a clever and high-spirited man, but she made him a fool, a coward, a tool, a laughing-stock. it seemed to him that ronnie might know that and excuse him.
“well, billy, how do you get on in the house?” asked lady kenilworth one evening after whitsuntide when she had been dining with him.
mr. massarene did not immediately reply. “billy” was always a very hard morsel for him to swallow.
“i hear they’re very pleased with you,” she added graciously.
“indeed, my lady?”
“don’t say ‘my lady.’ surely you might have left that off by this time. yes, you get on there they say. it is very difficult you know.”
she was not pleased that he had become politically successful; she knew that it would make him more independent of her, and that he would now find many to “show him the way” with whom cocky could not compete. she was driven to rely for her influence on his admiration of her, which bored her to extinction but which was a fulcrum she could not neglect. then there was that odious cat, as she called his daughter, though katherine massarene had very little that was feline in her. the presence of katherine massarene was as unpleasant to her as the presence in a card-room of a very calm and intelligent player, who is not playing but looking on with an eye-glass in his eye, is to the man who is cheating at bac’.
“why couldn’t that young woman stay in india and marry one of framlingham’s household?” she thought with great irritation, and william massarene himself began to think the same; his daughter frequently made him feel uncomfortable when her glance dwelt on him where he sat beside lady kenilworth at a race or a ball or an opera; he felt like a boy detected in trying to climb a pear-tree.
“damn it all, if i ever get the pears, i’ve paid precious high for ’em,” he thought; all the same his daughter’s calm, contemplative, contemptuous glance made him feel that at his age he had no business to be tempted by such sweet forbidden fruit.
[215]“what do you watch me for so?” he said savagely one day. “i was not aware that i did,” she replied, and was quite truthful in the reply.
“you are terrible unfilial, my dear!” cried mrs. massarene. “what tens of thousands there is as would give their souls to be in your shoes.”
“possibly,” said katherine with fatigue. the opinions she had expressed to lord framlingham in india were still hers, unaltered, indeed strengthened, by all which she had seen in english society since her return to her parents’ house.
she often thought of the walk across the frozen fields to greater thrope, and when once or twice she saw hurstmanceaux when riding, or at the opera, she felt a sense of shame burn in her heart and warm her cheeks which it required all her serenity and self-control to restrain from outward evidence.
“the hangman’s daughter!” she said to herself, recalling the speech she had overheard at bedlowes. “oh, how right he was!”
when he saw her he bowed to her gravely and courteously, but never attempted to approach her.
“my dear child, if you rile your father he won’t leave you nothing,” said margaret massarene, in her emotion forgetting the syntax of her new sphere.
“so be it,” said katherine; “but why do you speak of him as so sure to die before me? he is a very strong man and he is only fifty-seven.”
“my dear,” whispered her mother in sepulchral tones, “’tis true he’s a very strong man, but the cooking’ll kill him before his time, to say nothing of other things. look ye, kathleen, a man works like a horse and lives like an ox all the best of his years, just beef and bread and bacon and beer, and them only taken in snacks, just to keep the body going. then all at once, when he’s made his pile, he says, says he, ‘now i’ll stuff,’ and he eats like ten princes rolled in one and drinks in proportion, because he’s made his money and why shouldn’t he spend it? and he forgets as he’s a liver, and he forgets as he ain’t as young as he used to be, and he forgets as the fatted hog would die of fat if the butcher didn’t stick him first.”
[216]with which homely illustration she sighed heavily and patted her smart gown in a melancholy reverie.
“i dare say you are right,” said her daughter. “but if my father were temperate by force of will so very long, is it not strange that temperance should not have become his habit, too strong a habit to be ever broken?”
her mother shook her head.
“i don’t suppose, my dear, you’ve watched pigs in the styes and out; i have. they’ll put up with bran when they must, but lord, if they get out amongst the clams and the yams, twist their tails as you will they’ll ne’er leave off. when a man’s made his pile he’s just like a pig in a sweet potato patch.”
with which apologue she sighed again and rose to go and dress for her daily drive behind those immensely tall and always-prancing horses, who always seemed to her as the winged beasts of the apocalypse.
“and as for temperance,” she said as she paused in the doorway, “well, my dear, ’tisn’t temperate as i’d call any man out west. your father could drink deep like the rest; but he had always a very strong head; a very strong head indeed, my dear.”
was his strong head being turned by lady kenilworth? his daughter wondered. would the brain which had never grown dizzy over the poisoned drinks and the delirious speculations of america be whirled out of its orbit by that which is the most intoxicating thing in all creation—a lovely woman who is also a woman of the world? she believed that lady kenilworth would do precisely what she pleased with him. did not she and her roulette-wheel reign in triumph even in the arcana of harrenden house? as far as a woman who is essentially honorable, candid, and single-minded can follow the moves and read the mind of one who is entirely without those qualities, she understood the character and the circumstances of her father’s veneris victrix. she had asked framlingham what his opinion was of her and he had answered: “i never say anything but good of a woman, my dear; but if i had the choice between seeing one of my sons enamored of her, or shot by his own hand, i should choose the revolver, as less prejudicial to his reputation than the lady.”
[217]she was very sensible that her position as the daughter of the house did not permit her in any way to show her own disapprobation of one of its favored guests. she knew also that nothing she could have said or have done would have ever moved her father a hair’s breadth. she remained strictly passive and neutral, but to all the advances of hurstmanceaux’s sister she was adamant; and now and then a caustic hint or phrase escaped her; usually when she saw her mother treated with unconcealed contempt by the lady of her father’s idolatry.
“i am going on to the duchess of parminster’s reception; are you?” said mrs. massarene one evening, satisfied that this time, at least, she was saying the right thing.
“old par’s zoo? not if i know it,” said mouse, in her brusquest tone, and, turning her shoulder on her unfortunate interlocutor, resumed her interrupted flirtation.
“there is no play at the parminsters,” said katherine massarene in a tone, low, but so clear that mouse reddened angrily, and several persons near smiled indiscreetly, despite themselves.
mrs. massarene went crestfallen to her carriage.
if a duchess, daughter, wife, and mother of dukes, was not a distinguished acquaintance, who was? and if a party gathered together to meet princes could be called a menagerie, where was salvation to be found? she was a meek woman, used to endure bullying with patience, but now and then her bile would rise, as she expressed it, under the insolence of that lovely lady who yet exercised over her the fascination of the brilliant-coated snake for the humble barndoor hen.
she resented, but she dare not rebel. she went to the assembly at parminster house sorely exercised in her mind and vaguely wondering what could be amiss with a courtly crowd, in which the first person she saw was her future sovereign, who had dined there.
“well, he comes because there are certain dishes they do so remarkably well in this house,” said daddy gwyllian, of whom she asked for information, as he took her to have an ice. “but lady kenny wouldn’t trouble herself to show here; it’s not her style; it’s deadly respectable.[218] you see she’s too young to bore herself at present for the sake of a sauce.”
mrs. massarene sighed and reflected that the study of society was a service which required to be learned very young.
mouse felt herself read and understood by billy’s daughter, and she did not like it. when she dined at harrenden house or made them give a ball there, the evenings were spoiled to her by the sense that those large, calm, dark violet eyes of the young woman of the house were upon her and all her doings.
who would ever have supposed that such a cockatrice’s egg of irony and insolence could have been laid and hatched in such a nest of respectful subserviency as was harrenden house?
the air, the manner, the style, even the glance of this young woman were odious to her; the idea of billy’s daughter daring to be cold and distant to herself, and pretending to be a gentlewoman in her own right! what possible business had a young woman, so born, to arched insteps, beautiful hands, and a low melodious voice? the thing was preposterous! “born in a garret, in a kitchen bred,” her natural sphere the still-room or the laundry, how could she venture to carry herself with dignity at a drawing-room, and answer patronage with cold disdain?
“i really think,” she reflected, “that she must be a natural daughter of framlingham’s, whom he has got the massarenes to adopt. she has just his caustic way of saying things, and it would account for her going to india.”
this fable seemed so satisfactory to her that she whispered it to one or two persons, who in turn whispered it to two or three others, till it became generally whispered and believed, and was indeed only not heard by the persons whom it immediately concerned, and who alone could have disproved it.
“but if she’s old billy’s heiress, it don’t matter a pin whose daughter she was?” said brancepeth, with admirable common sense, the kind of common sense which is a conspicuous trait of youth at the end of this century.
and it was the general sentiment.
this story came to the ears of hurstmanceaux.
[219]“who told you?” he said to the lady who prattled it to him.
“mouse,” the lady hastened to say. “it is because it came from her that i believed it.”
he went to his sister.
“i hear you are the originator of a story that miss massarene is the daughter of framlingham. what authority have you for such a statement?”
she laughed a little.
“oh, i don’t know! i think so——”
“you think so. is that all?”
“well, yes, i suppose it is. but i am quite sure of it.”
“on what grounds?”
“grounds? what do you mean? it is my idea——”
“ah! it is your idea. and for such ideas, when they are spoken or written, there is a legal phraseology and a legal punishment.”
she looked at him startled, but amused.
“what can you possibly mean? one can say anything one pleases.”
“if it be not libel. this is. you will do well to contradict the report you have set afloat.”
“goodness, ronald! how odd you are! you won’t even know these people. what can it matter to you whether they are talked of or not?”
“it matters nothing to me. but it matters much to me that you should invent and circulate falsehoods, and try to injure by them an entirely blameless person.”
“meaning katherine massarene?”
“certainly, meaning miss massarene.”
she laughed, much diverted.
“are you changing your mind about her?”
“in no way. but she is a person who conducts herself admirably in a most difficult and odious position, and i do not choose to allow you to circulate inventions which may ultimately injure her extremely. you will remember that some time ago i made you retract a calumny; i shall act in the same way now unless you, of your accord, can completely withdraw this tale you have set about.”
she was silent.
she remembered how unpleasant he had been when she[220] had fabricated a pretty web of falsehoods concerning one of her acquaintances, actually forcing her to apologize to all the people concerned.
“i can’t imagine why you should care,” she said sullenly.
“to care for abstract justice is quite unintelligible to you,” he answered. “it is to most people. will you retract this lie or will you not?”
“you make a storm in a teacup. what will you do if i don’t?”
“i shall tell your friend mr. massarene how you return his hospitalities, and i shall make you confess your inventions.”
“how horrid you are, ronald!” she said, while her lips quivered, partly with fear and partly with rage. “you won’t look at the young woman, and yet you set your back up like this. oh, of course i can tell people that i was only joking. but it will be very disagreeable.”
“you should bridle your tongue,” said hurstmanceaux sternly, surprised himself to feel with what extreme irritation this story of hers had awakened in him. he could not and would not know massarene’s heiress, but he admired her conduct in society; he admired most of all what others condemned in her, the contemptuous coldness and indifference of her manner, her brief replies, sometimes so cutting and caustic, her avoidance of all those whose high position made them sought by her parents, the unwavering coldness with which she resented all court paid to her.
when he watched her in the world, he felt inclined to applaud as he would have applauded a fine innings at lord’s or a hard-won race on the thames. it seemed to him monstrous that his sister, because her matrimonial schemes had failed, should pursue with slander anyone so innocent and so much to be praised.
william massarene was in no haste to marry his daughter. his vanity would have impelled him to give her an unusual dower if she had married, and he did not care to cut so huge a slice out of his capital. moreover, his ambitions, growing by what they fed on, became inordinate. no alliance seemed to him great enough.
besides, he thought often, the old woman might go to[221] glory, and he might marry again and have sons. to his strength of purpose and vastness of reach the future—his future—seemed illimitable.
she received a homage which nauseated, a flattery which disgusted, her. she knew that she was seen through the golden haze of her father’s reputation for wealth. “if i were deaf, or blind, or crooked,” she thought, “if i were diseased, or imbecile, or mutilated, there would not be one the less ready to worship and wed me out of all these throngs of wooers.” and very often her brief words cut them like a lash, and in her eyes, which were the hue of the darkest purple of a pansy, there came a flash of scorn whose cause those around her were too self-complacent to attribute aright.
she had but one pleasure—that of bringing together great artists, and causing harrenden house to be renowned for something better than the usual display and expenditure of “new” houses. she had difficulty in making her father pay the singers and musicians as she wished them to be paid, for he who would give two guineas a bottle for a rare comet-wine, or waste many thousands of pounds in receiving a sporting prince at vale royal, grudged their fees to what he contemptuously called “professionals.” but when he saw how greatly these musical entertainments “took on,” and how much they did to raise the tone of his house, he gave her large credit and discretion, and the reputation for the weekly chamber-music at harrenden house soon attracted to it those choicer souls whom millions and richemont could not alone have drawn there.
sometimes she wished she could invite that lover of music who had listened to the sonata in b flat at bedlowes. she would sooner have seen him there than his sister, who showed for an hour at these concerts, and then took herself off to some gayer form of entertainment.
“it is intensely classic and correct, but deadly dull,” said lady kenilworth, although she was, on occasion, a musical composer herself, and wrote little songs which, with many corrections and additions from delkass and other salon-singers and fashionable pianists, passed muster and were published as her own.
[222]once, to please her, massarene bade his daughter have one of these ballads sung at the next harrenden house concert.
“my dear father, get someone else to manage these things,” she answered. “or let us give them up altogether. but bad amateur music i will not have sung or played whilst i am responsible for the selection.”
she was quite resolute on the point, and, as he did not wish concerts which were so admired to be abandoned, he could not please his idol in this matter.
“she says your songs ain’t good enow, my lady,” he announced grimly, with that relish in annoying her which occasionally overcame his submissiveness, at such times as he remembered the diplomatist and the bird rooms, or saw a bevy of men round her as she donned her evening cloak.
the announcement did not lessen the impatient aversion which she felt for his heiress.
“are you afraid of your own daughter, billy?” she asked very contemptuously.
“i ain’t afraid of nobody,” said mr. massarene; and there was an ugly look for a moment on his face.
“what an odious man he was!” she thought. “what a lout, what a bore, and, no doubt, what a bully too where he could be so!”
sometimes a gleam of good sense made her afraid of him; afraid of all the obligations which she was under to him; afraid of some future reprisal he might take for all her insolence. but she was utterly careless and extremely imprudent, and she dismissed the fear as soon as it assailed her.
“you don’t marry your daughter, billy,” she said one day. “it was very provoking that the affair with my brother went off as it did.”
“it was never on that i am aware of,” said william massarene stiffly, with a look like that of a displeased bull on his face.
“well, no, of course it wasn’t. ronald wouldn’t know you. i’m afraid, my good billy, there’ll be people who won’t know you to the very end of your day.”
he looked more displeased still, but he was accustomed to bear her insolence patiently.
[223]“every man has his price, they say,” he answered doggedly. “seems as i haven’t hit on lord hurstmanceaux’s.”
he did not venture to say to her that he was delighted her project had failed.
“what funny things you say, billy,” cried mouse, with a peal of her enchanting laughter.
he was charmed, and began to believe himself a wit.
“i’m coming to hear you to-night,” she added.
he had been asked to speak on the early closing bill; the bill was originally a conservative measure, and so the conservative party was obliged to support it in its radical dress. the prospect made him nervous, but he was a man who knew how to control his nerves; and he had that solid sense of his own powers which when it is allied to good sense is the surest of all support. moreover, mouse knew exactly how to flatter whilst she bullied him; to flatter him enough, to make him happy, never enough to make herself ridiculous, or her kind words cheap.
“it’s darned rot,” thought william massarene. “all this here kind of thing is socialism in disguise. the public is treated like a child, and an idiot child. if it wants shops open late, it’ll pay traders to keep ’em open, and if it wants ’em shut early, it won’t pay traders to keep ’em open. that’s all about it i reckon. ’tis one of them things that should be left to the public. a trader don’t want to sit twiddling his thumbs, and why in hell’s name should the government force him to twiddle his thumbs?”
but this simple common-sense view of the case was not the one taken by the persons he had to support, and so he prepared a very neat speech which argued the case from the opposite point of view to his own.
“awful rot,” he thought, as he jotted down the heads of it. “but this old country takes the cake for rot.”
naturally, he did not care a straw which way the votes went; the time had long gone by when he had kept a shop, and even the time when he had owned many shops with dummy names over their doors and dummy proprietors returned in the census; and whether islington, and notting hill, and camden town, and bethnal green[224] burned gas till midnight, or shut up at twilight, did not matter the least to him.
she had prophesied his success in the house, and he soon justified her prophecy. he spoke on questions of home-legislation, and spoke well, in short but telling sentences without nervousness, but with apparent modesty; to be sure, there was the drawback of his accent, which was at once plebeian and yankee, but of this he was himself unconscious, and the time is passed when the house of commons exacted either education or elegance; it has heard so many dialects and dropped aspirates within the last twenty years that its ear has grown deaf to such offences. what he had to say seemed to him, in its matter, very poor trash, but he said it well; and a sense that this stout, uncouth, unpleasant person would be a tower of strength in their ranks spread itself downward from their chief throughout all the ranks of the conservative party, and made them feel that they had better not call him billy too often.
he was too sagacious a man to be tempted to speak on subjects out of his range of special knowledge; on those of which he had such knowledge, stocks, mining, railways, or finance, he spoke rarely, but with admirable practical astuteness; the house saw that he was an authority not to be despised. in smart society he was embarrassed and ill at ease and conscious of his own deficiencies; but with men on public matters, he was neither daunted nor dazzled. he had a very poor opinion of the house of commons, whether as a talking-shop or a manager of public business, and he felt nothing of the awe which is popularly supposed to be inspired in all new members by the sight of the speaker’s mace.
he had quickly taken the measure of the assembly, and he was not afraid of it. he thought it a very poor affair; wasting all its time in jaw, and timidly endeavoring to conciliate the masses, which, to his knowledge, were best governed with a stock-whip and a six-shooter. but he was too shrewd to let his private opinion leak out; and he contented himself with making both sides of the house feel that a man had come amongst them who, if they liked to listen to them, could teach them the time of day on[225] all subjects which concerned practical politics and the business side of government.
the irish members loathed him because he had turned his back on ireland instead of consecrating his millions to leagues and dynamite. but on the rest of the house the impression he made was favorable. after all, a politician who has richemont at the head of his kitchen, and gives you the great wines of comet years, is a superior companion on the benches to the nonconformist schoolmaster, the hungry barrister, or the professor full of crotchets, whom northern england or eastern london sends to st. stephen’s.
“really, billy, you got on very well,” said mouse, who had come to the speaker’s box to hear him; that little box is much more comfortable than the lady’s gallery.
“’twas all soft sawder,” said mr. massarene, with grim contempt.
she was standing in the corridor twisting a lace wrap round her head, and he had come upstairs after the division to receive her congratulations and take her orders.
“what i’d like to teach ’em is how to do the business of this ’ere house. why, if any private business was carried on for half a year as the business of the nation’s done by these gentlemen, there’d be an almighty smash such as somebody’d go in the docks for——”
“tell the house so,” said mouse, much diverted.
he puffed out his cheeks, which was his equivalent for a smile.
“guess, my lady, ’tain’t the place for truth-telling.”
“you should have gone to the other side.”
he shook his head.
“not me, my lady. what do the radicals say to me? this is what they say: ‘my good fellow, you’ve earned five shillin’s by sweatin’ all day; hand it over here, will ye. we want to buy beer and beefsteaks for tom, dick, and harry, who’ve been sittin’ loafin’ on a wall over there while you was workin’.’ no radicals for me if i know it.”
“you are very delightful, billy,” said his patroness, “and you may come with us to supper at the papillons club. i’m dreadfully hungry, though i have only been[226] ‘loafin’’ behind a grating. i’ve made rendezvous there with carrie.”
he obeyed the permission of his enchantress; and meekly ate some oysters and drank some champagne in company with her and a dozen of her gayest associates; it occurred to no one of them to pay the bill, and the head waiter took it discreetly to the master of harrenden house when no one else was looking.
the papillons was a new and very fashionable supper club, much resorted to after the opera, the theatres, and parliamentary debates.
he felt that it was a place too full of gaiety, frivolity, and youth to be a meet place for a member of parliament and a crœsus of his age and his ambitions. he thought suppers apoplectical, champagnes, even brùt, very poor stuff, and english oysters ridiculous; nevertheless, he went, and was rewarded by seeing his enchantress toss the liliputian bivalves down her rosy throat and turn her shoulder on him as she had done on his wife.
to be sure, he had the privilege of paying the bill, a privilege which he found the english aristocracy always willing to concede to him.
“there’ll always be people too proud to know me, will there?” he thought, as he drove homeward; “but i guess there’ll never be people too proud to let me pay for ’em.”
