The Marriage of William Ashe. Mrs. Humphry Ward

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      "He would sooner have an hour with Madame d'Estrées than a week with the prettiest miss in London. That's quite true, but I vow it's the girls' own fault! They should stand on their dignity—snub the creatures more! In my young days—"

       LADY TRANMORE AND MARY LYSTER

      "Ah, there wasn't a glut of us then," said Mary, calmly. "Listen!"—she held up her hand.

      "Yes," said Lady Tranmore, springing up. "There he is."

      She stood waiting. The door flew open, and in came a tall young man.

      "William, how late you are!" said Lady Tranmore, as she flew into his arms.

      "Well, mother, are you pleased?"

      Her son held her at arm's-length, smiling kindly upon her.

      "Of course I am," said Lady Tranmore. "And you—are you horribly tired?"

      "Not a bit. Ah, Mary!—how do you do?"

      Miss Lyster had risen, and the cousins shook hands.

      "But I don't deny it's very jolly to come back—out of all that beastly scrimmage," said the new member, as he threw himself into an arm-chair by the fire with his hands behind his head, while Lady Tranmore prepared him a cup of tea.

      "I expect you've enjoyed it," said Miss Lyster, also moving towards the fire.

      "Well, when you're in it there's a certain excitement in wondering how you're going to come out of it! But one might say that, of course, of the infernal regions."

      "Not quite," said Mary Lyster, smiling demurely.

      "Polly! you are a Tory. Everybody else's hell has moved—but yours! Thank you, mother," as Lady Tranmore gave him tea. Then, stretching out his great frame in lazy satisfaction, he turned his brown eyes from one lady to the other. "I say, mother, I haven't seen anything as good-looking as you—or Polly there, if she'll forgive me—for weeks."

      "Hold your tongue, goose," said his mother, as she replenished the teapot. "What—there were no pretty girls—not one?"

      "Well, they didn't come my way," said William, contentedly munching at bread-and-butter. "I have gone through all the usual humbug—and perjured my soul in all the usual ways—without any consolation worth speaking of."

      "Don't talk nonsense, sir," said Lady Tranmore. "You know you like speaking—and you like compliments—and you've had plenty of both."

      "You didn't read me, mother!"

      "Didn't I?" she said, smiling. He groaned, and took another piece of tea-cake.

      "My own family at least, don't you think, might omit that?"

      "H'm, sir—So you didn't believe a word of your own speeches?" said Lady Tranmore, as she stood behind him and smoothed his hair back from his forehead.

      "Well, who does?" He looked up gayly and kissed the tips of her fingers.

      "And it's in that spirit you're going back into the House?" Mary Lyster threw him the question—with a slight pinching of the lips—as she resumed her work.

      "Spirit? What do you mean, Polly? One plays the game, of course—and it has its moments—its hot corners, so to speak—or I suppose no one would play it!"

      "And the goal?" She lifted a gently disapproving face, in a movement which showed anew the large comeliness of head and neck.

      "Why—to keep the other fellows out, of course!" He lifted an arm and drew his mother down to sit on the edge of his chair.

      "William, you're not to talk like that," said Lady Tranmore, decidedly, laying her cheek, however, against his hand the while. "It was all very well when you were quite a free-lance—but now—Oh! never mind Mary—she's discreet—and she knows all about it."

      "What—that they're thinking of giving me Hickson's place? Parham has just written to me—I found the letter down-stairs—to ask me to go and see him."

      "Oh! it's come?" said Lady Tranmore, with a start of pleasure. Lord Parham was the Prime Minister. "Now don't be a humbug, William, and pretend you're not pleased. But you'll have to work, mind!" She held up an admonishing finger. "You'll have to answer letters, mind!—you'll have to keep appointments, mind!"

      "Shall I? … Ah!—Hudson—"

      He turned. The butler was in the room.

      "His lordship, my lady, would like to see Mr. William before dinner if he could make it convenient."

      "Certainly, Hudson, certainly," said the young man. "Tell his lordship I'll be with him in ten minutes."

      Then, as the butler departed—"How's father, mother?"

      "Oh! much as usual," said Lady Tranmore, sadly.

      "And you?"

      He laid his arm boyishly round her waist, and looked up at her, his handsome face all affection and life. Mary Lyster, observing them, thought them a remarkable pair—he in the very prime and heyday of brilliant youth, she so beautiful still, in spite of the filling-out of middle life—which, indeed, was at the moment somewhat toned and disguised by the deep mourning, the sweeping crape and dull silk in which she was dressed.

      "I'm all right, dear," she said, quietly, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Now, go on with your tea. Mary—feed him! I'll go and talk to father till you come."

      She disappeared, and William Ashe approached his cousin.

      "She is better?" he said, with an anxiety that became him.

      "Oh yes! Your election has been everything to her—and your letters. You know how she adores you, William."

      Ashe drew a long breath.

      "Yes—isn't it bad luck?"

      "William!"

      "For her, I mean. Because, you know—I can't live up to it. I know it's her doing—bless her!—that old Parham's going to give me this thing. And it's a perfect scandal!"

      "What nonsense, William!"

      "It is!" he maintained, springing up and standing before her, with his hands in his pockets. "They're going to offer me the Under-Secretaryship for Foreign Affairs, and I shall take it, I suppose, and be thankful. And do you know"—he dropped out the words with emphasis—"that I don't know a word of German—and I can't talk to a Frenchman for half an hour without disgracing myself. There—that's how we're governed!"

      He stood staring at her with his bright large eyes—amused, yet strangely detached—as though he had very little to do with what he was talking about.

      Mary Lyster met his look in some СКАЧАТЬ