Books: He Knew He Was Right

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He was brought to this strongly marital resolution by the length of the
man's present visit; by that and by the fact that, during the latter
portion of it, his wife was alone with Colonel Osborne. Nora had been
there when the man came, but Mrs Fairfax had called, not getting out of
her carriage, and Nora had been constrained to go down to her. She had
hesitated a moment, and Colonel Osborne had observed and partly
understood the hesitation. When he saw it, had he been perfectly
well-minded in the matter, he would have gone too. But he probably told
himself that Nora Rowley was a fool, and that in such matters it was
quite enough for a man to know that he did not intend any harm.

'You had better go down, Nora,' said Mrs Trevelyan; 'Mrs Fairfax will
be ever so angry if you keep her waiting.'

Then Nora had gone and the two were alone together. Nora had gone, and
Trevelyan had heard her as she was going and knew that Colonel Osborne
was alone with his wife.

'If you can manage that it will be so nice,' said Mrs Trevelyan,
continuing the conversation.

'My dear Emily,' he said, 'you must not talk of my managing it, or you
will spoil it all.'

He had called them both Emily and Nora when Sir Marmaduke and Lady
Rowley were with them before the marriage, and, taking the liberty of a
very old family friend, had continued the practice. Mrs Trevelyan was
quite aware that she had been so called by him in the presence of her
husband and that her husband had not objected. But that was now some
months ago, before baby was born; and she was aware also that he had
not called her so latterly in presence of her husband. She thoroughly
wished that she knew how to ask him not to do so again; but the matter
was very difficult, as she could not make such a request without
betraying some fear on her husband's part. The subject which they were
now discussing was too important to her to allow her to dwell upon this
trouble at the moment, and so she permitted him to go on with his
speech.

'If I were to manage it, as you call it which I can't do at all it
would be a gross job.'

'That's all nonsense to us, Colonel Osborne. Ladies always like
political jobs, and think that they and they only make politics
bearable. But this would not be a job at all. Papa could do it better
than anybody else. Think how long he has been at it!'

The matter in discussion was the chance of an order being sent out to
Sir Marmaduke to come home from his islands at the public expense, to
give evidence, respecting colonial government in general, to a
committee of the House of Commons which was about to sit on the
subject. The committee had been voted, and two governors were to be
brought home for the purpose of giving evidence. What arrangement could
be so pleasant to a governor living in the Mandarin Islands, who had
had a holiday lately, and who could but ill afford to take any holidays
at his own expense? Colonel Osborne was on this committee, and,
moreover, was on good terms at the Colonial Office. There were men in
office who would be glad to do Colonel Osborne a service, and then if
this were a job, it would be so very little of a job! Perhaps Sir
Marmaduke might not be the very best man for the purpose. Perhaps the
government of the Mandarins did not afford the best specimen of that
colonial lore which it was the business of the committee to master. But
then two governors were to come, and it might be as well to have one of
the best sort, and one of the second best. No one supposed that
excellent old Sir Marmaduke was a paragon of a governor, but then he
had an infinity of experience! For over twenty years he had been from
island to island, and had at least steered clear of great scrapes.

'We'll try it, at any rate,' said the Colonel.

'Do, Colonel Osborne. Mamma would come with him, of course?'

'We should leave him to manage all that. It's not very likely that he
would leave Lady Rowley behind.'

'He never has. I know he thinks more of mamma than he ever does of
himself. Fancy having them here in the autumn! I suppose if he came for
the end of the session, they wouldn't send him back quite at once?'

'I rather fancy that our foreign and colonial servants know how to
stretch a point when they find themselves in England.'

'Of course they do, Colonel Osborne; and why shouldn't they? Think of
all that they have to endure out in those horrible places. How would
you like to live in the Mandarins?'

'I should prefer London, certainly.'

'Of course you would; and you mustn't begrudge papa a month or two when
he comes. I never cared about your being in parliament before, but I
shall think so much of you now if you can manage to get papa home.'

There could be nothing more innocent than this nothing more innocent at
any rate as regarded any offence against Mr Trevelyan. But just then
there came a word which a little startled Mrs Trevelyan, and made her
feel afraid that she was doing wrong.

'I must make one stipulation with you, Emily,' said the Colonel.

'What is that?'

'You must not tell your husband.'

'Oh, dear! and why not?'

'I am sure you are sharp enough to see why you should not. A word of
this repeated at any club would put an end at once to your project, and
would be very damaging to me. And, beyond that, I wouldn't wish him to
know that I had meddled with it at all. I am very chary of having my
name connected with anything of the kind; and, upon my word, I wouldn't
do it for any living human being but yourself. You'll promise me,
Emily?'

She gave the promise, but there were two things in the matter, as it
stood at present, which she did not at all like. She was very averse to
having any secret from her husband with Colonel Osborne; and she was
not at all pleased at being told that he was doing for her a favour
that he would not have done for any other living human being. Had he
said so to her yesterday, before those offensive words had been spoken
by her husband, she would not have thought much about it. She would
have connected the man's friendship for herself with his very old
friendship for her father, and she would have regarded the assurance as
made to the Rowleys in general, and not to herself in particular. But
now, after what had occurred, it pained her to be told by Colonel
Osborne that he would make, specially on her behalf, a sacrifice of his
political pride which he would make for no other person living. And
then, as he had called her by her Christian name, as he had exacted the
promise, there had been a tone of affection in his voice that she had
almost felt to be too warm. But she gave the promise; and when he
pressed her hand at parting, she pressed his again, in token of
gratitude for the kindness to be done to her father and mother.

Immediately afterwards Colonel Osborne went away, and Mrs Trevelyan was
left alone in her drawing-room. She knew that her husband was still
downstairs, and listened for a moment to hear whether he would now come
up to her. And he, too, had heard the Colonel's step as he went, and
for a few moments had doubted whether or no he would at once go to his
wife. Though he believed himself to be a man very firm of purpose, his
mind had oscillated backwards and forwards within the last quarter of
an hour between those two purposes of being round with his wife, and of
begging her pardon for the words which he had already spoken. He
believed that he would best do his duty by that plan of being round
with her; but then it would be so much pleasanter at any rate, so much
easier, to beg her pardon. But of one thing he was quite certain, he
must by some means exclude Colonel Osborne from his house. He could not
live and continue to endure the feelings which he had suffered while
sitting downstairs at his desk, with the knowledge that Colonel Osborne
was closeted with his wife upstairs. It might be that there was nothing
in it. That his wife was innocent he was quite sure. But nevertheless,
he was himself so much affected by some feeling which pervaded him in
reference to this man, that all his energy was destroyed., and his
powers of mind and body were paralysed. He could not, and would not,
stand it. Rather than that, he would follow Mr Poole, and take his wife
to Naples. So resolving, he put his hat on his head and walked out of
the house. He would have the advantage of the afternoon's consideration
before he took either the one step or the other.

As soon as he was gone Emily Trevelyan went upstairs to her baby. She
would not stir as long as there had been a chance of his coming to her.
She very much wished that he would come, and had made up her mind, in
spite of the fierceness of her assertion to her sister, to accept any
slightest hint at an apology which her husband might offer to her. To
this state of mind she was brought by the consciousness of having a
secret from him, and by a sense not of impropriety on her own part, but
of conduct which some people might have called improper in her mode of
parting from the man against whom her husband had warned her. The
warmth of that hand-pressing, and the affectionate tone in which her
name had been pronounced, and the promise made to her, softened her
heart towards her husband. Had he gone to her now and said a word to
her in gentleness all might have been made right. But he did not go to
her.

'If he chooses to be cross and sulky, he may be cross and sulky,' said
Mrs Trevelyan to herself as she went up to her baby.

'Has Louis been with you?' Nora asked, as soon as Mrs Fairfax had
brought her home.

'I have not seen him since you left me,' said Mrs Trevelyan.

'I suppose he went out before Colonel Osborne?'

'No, indeed. He waited till Colonel Osborne had gone, and then he went
himself; but he did not come near me. It is for him to judge of his own
conduct, but I must say that I think he is very foolish.'

This the young wife said in a tone which clearly indicated that she had
judged her husband's conduct, and had found it to be very foolish
indeed.

'Do you think that papa and mamma will really come?' said Nora,
changing the subject of conversation.

'How can I tell? How am I to know? After all that has passed I am
afraid to say a word lest I should be accused of doing wrong. But
remember this, Nora, you are not to speak of it to any one.'

'You will tell Louis?'

'No; I will tell no one.'

'Dear, dear Emily; pray do not keep anything secret from him.'

'What do you mean by secret? There isn't any secret. Only in such
matters as that about politics no gentleman likes to have his name
talked about!'

A look of great distress came upon Nora's face as she heard this. To
her it seemed to be very bad that there should be a secret between her
sister and Colonel Osborne to be kept from her brother-in-law.

'I suppose you will suspect me next?' said Mrs Trevelyan, angrily.

'Emily, how can you say anything so cruel?'

'You look as if you did.'

'I only mean that I think it would be wiser to tell all this to Louis.'

'How can I tell him Colonel Osborne's private business, when Colonel
Osborne has desired me not to do so. For whose sake is Colonel Osborne
doing this? For papa's and mamma's! I suppose Louis won't be jealous,
because I want to have papa and mamma home. It would not be a bit less
unreasonable than the other.'

CHAPTER III - LADY MILBOROUGH'S DINNER PARTY

Louis Trevelyan went down to his club in Pall Mall, the Acrobats, and
there heard a rumour that added to his anger against Colonel Osborne.
The Acrobats was a very distinguished club, into which it was now
difficult for a young man to find his way, and almost impossible for a
man who was no longer young, and therefore known to many. It had been
founded some twenty years since with the idea of promoting muscular
exercise and gymnastic amusements; but the promoters had become fat and
lethargic, and the Acrobats spent their time mostly in playing whist,
and in ordering and eating their dinners. There were supposed to be, in
some out-of-the-way part of the building, certain poles and sticks and
parallel bars with which feats of activity might be practised, but no
one ever asked for them now-a-days, and a man, when he became an
Acrobat, did so with a view either to the whist or the cook, or
possibly to the social excellences of the club. Louis Trevelyan was an
Acrobat as was also Colonel Osborne.

'So old Rowley is coming home,' said one distinguished Acrobat to
another in Trevelyan's hearing.

'How the deuce is he managing that? He was here a year ago?'

'Osborne is getting it done. He is to come as a witness for this
committee. It must be no end of a lounge for him. It doesn't count as
leave, and he has every shilling paid for him, down to his cab-fares
when he goes out to dinner. There's nothing like having a friend at
Court.'

Such was the secrecy of Colonel Osborne's secret! He had been so chary
of having his name mentioned in connection with a political job, that
he had found it necessary to impose on his young friend the burden of a
secret from her husband, and yet the husband heard the whole story told
openly at his club on the same day! There was nothing in the story to
anger Trevelyan had he not immediately felt that there must be some
plan in the matter between his wife and Colonel Osborne, of which he
had been kept ignorant. Hitherto, indeed, his wife, as the reader
knows, could not have told him. He had not seen her since the matter
had been discussed between her and her friend. But he was angry because
he first learned at his club that which he thought he ought to have
learned at home.

As soon as he reached his house he went at once to his wife's room, but
her maid was with her, and nothing could be said at that moment. He
then dressed himself, intending to go to Emily as soon as the girl had
left her; but the girl remained was, as he believed, kept in the room
purposely by his wife, so that he should have no moment of private
conversation. He went downstairs, therefore, and found Nora standing by
the drawing-room fire.

'So you are dressed first today?' he said. 'I thought your turn always
came last.'

'Emily sent Jenny to me first today because she thought you would be
home, and she didn't go up to dress till the last minute.'

This was intended well by Nora, but it did not have the desired effect.
Trevelyan, who had no command over his own features, frowned, and
showed that he was displeased. He hesitated a moment, thinking whether
he would ask Nora any question as to this report about her father and
mother; but, before he had spoken, his wife was in the room.

'We are all late, I fear,' said Emily.

'You, at any rate, are the last,' said her husband.

'About half a minute,' said the wife.

Then they got into the hired brougham which was standing at the door.

Trevelyan, in the sweet days of his early confidence with his wife, had
offered to keep a carriage for her, explaining to her that the luxury,
though costly, would not be beyond his reach. But she had persuaded him
against the carriage, and there had come to be an agreement that
instead of the carriage there should always be an autumn tour. 'One
learns something from going about; but one learns nothing from keeping
a carriage,' Emily had said. Those had been happy days, in which it had
been intended that everything should always be rose-coloured. Now he
was meditating whether, in lieu of that autumn tour, it would not be
necessary to take his wife away to Naples altogether, so that she might
be removed from the influence of of of of no, not even to himself would
he think of Colonel Osborne as his wife's lover. The idea was too
horrible! And yet, how dreadful was it that he should have, for any
reason, to withdraw her from the influence of any man!

Lady Milborough lived ever so far away, in Eccleston Square but
Trevelyan did not say a single word to either of his companions during
the journey. He was cross and vexed, and was conscious that they knew
that he was cross and vexed. Mrs Trevelyan and her sister talked to
each other the whole way, but they did so in that tone which clearly
indicates that the conversation is made up, not for any interest
attached to the questions asked or the answers given, but because it is
expedient that there should not be silence. Nora said something about
Marshall and Snellgrove and tried to make believe that she was very
anxious for her sister's answer. And Emily said something about the
opera at Covent Garden, which was intended to show that her mind was
quite at ease. But both of them failed altogether, and knew that they
failed. Once or twice Trevelyan thought that he would say a word in
token, as it were, of repentance. Like the naughty child who knew that
he was naughty, he was trying to be good. But he could not do it. The
fiend was too strong within him. She must have known that there was a
proposition for her father's return through Colonel Osborne's
influence. As that man at the club had heard it, how could she not have
known it? When they got out at Lady Milborough's door he had spoken to
neither of them.

There was a large dull party, made up mostly of old people. Lady
Milborough and Trevelyan's mother had been bosom friends, and Lady
Milborough had on this account taken upon herself to be much interested
in Trevelyan's wife. But Louis Trevelyan himself, in discussing Lady
Milborough with Emily, had rather turned his mother's old friend into
ridicule, and Emily had, of course, followed her husband's mode of
thinking. Lady Milborough had once or twice given her some advice on
small matters, telling her that this or that air would be good for her
baby, and explaining that a mother during a certain interesting portion
of her life, should refresh herself with a certain kind of malt liquor.
Of all counsel on such domestic subjects Mrs Trevelyan was impatient as
indeed it was her nature to be in all matters, and consequently,
authorized as she had been by her husband's manner of speaking of his
mother's friend, she had taken a habit of quizzing Lady Milborough
behind her back, and almost of continuing the practice before the old
lady's face. Lady Milborough, who was the most affectionate old soul
alive, and good-tempered with her friends to a fault, had never
resented this, but had come to fear that Mrs Trevelyan was perhaps a
little flighty. She had never as yet allowed herself to say anything
worse of her young friend's wife than that. And she would always add
that that kind of thing would cure itself as the nursery became full.
It must be understood therefore that Mrs Trevelyan was not anticipating
much pleasure from Lady Milborough's party, and that she had accepted
the invitation as a matter of duty.

There was present among the guests a certain Honourable Charles
Glascock, the eldest son of Lord Peterborough, who made the affair more
interesting to Nora than it was to her sister. It had been whispered
into Nora's ears, by more than one person and among others by Lady
Milborough, whose own daughters were all married that she might if she
thought fit become the Honourable Mrs Charles Glascock. Now, whether
she might think fit, or whether she might not, the presence of the
gentleman under such circumstances, as far as she was concerned, gave
an interest to the evening. And as Lady Milborough took care that Mr
Glascock should take Nora down to dinner, the interest was very great.
Mr Glascock was a good-looking man, just under forty, in Parliament,
heir to a peerage, and known to be well off in respect to income. Lady
Milborough and Mrs Trevelyan had told Nora Rowley that should
encouragement in that direction come in her way, she ought to allow
herself to fall in love with Mr Glascock. A certain amount of
encouragement had come in her way, but she had not as yet allowed
herself to fall in love with Mr Glascock.

It seemed to her that Mr Glascock was quite conscious of the advantages
of his own position, and that his powers of talking about other matters
than those with which he was immediately connected were limited. She
did believe that he had in truth paid her the compliment of falling in
love with her, and this is a compliment to which few girls are
indifferent. Nora might perhaps have tried to fall in love with Mr
Glascock, had she not been forced to make comparisons between him and
another. This other one had not fallen in love with her, as she well
knew; and she certainly had not fallen in love with him. But still the
comparison was forced upon her, and it did not result in favour of Mr
Glascock. On the present occasion Mr Glascock as he sat next to her
almost proposed to her.

'You have never seen Monkhams?' he said. Monkhams was his father's
seat, a very grand place in Worcestershire. Of course he knew very well
that she had never seen Monkhams. How should she have seen it?

'I have never been in that part of England at all,' she replied.

'I should so like to show you Monkhams. The oaks there are the finest
in the kingdom. Do you like oaks?'

'Who does not like oaks? But we have none in the islands, and nobody
has ever seen so few as I have.'

'I'll show you Monkhams some day. Shall I? Indeed I hope that some day
I may really show you Monkhams.'

Now when an unmarried man talks to a young lady of really showing her
the house in which it will be his destiny to live, he can hardly mean
other than to invite her to live there with him. It must at least be
his purpose to signify that, if duly encouraged, he will so invite her.
But Nora Rowley did not give Mr Glascock much encouragement on this
occasion.

'I'm afraid it is not likely that anything will ever take me into that
part of the country,' she said. There was something perhaps in her tone
which checked Mr Glascock, so that he did not then press the
invitation.

When the ladies were upstairs in the drawing-room, Lady Milborough
contrived to seat herself on a couch intended for two persons only,
close to Mrs Trevelyan. Emily, thinking that she might perhaps hear
some advice about Guinness's stout, prepared herself to be saucy. But
the matter in hand was graver than that. Lady Milborough's mind was
uneasy about Colonel Osborne.

'My dear,' said she, 'was not your father very intimate with that
Colonel Osborne?'

'He is very intimate with him, Lady Milborough.'

'Ah, yes; I thought I had heard so. That makes it of course natural
that you should know him.'

'We have known him all our lives,' said Emily, forgetting probably that
out of the twenty-three years and some months which she had hitherto
lived, there had been a consecutive period of more than twenty years in
which she had never seen this man whom she had known all her life.

'That makes a difference, of course; and I don't mean to say anything
against him.'

'I hope not, Lady Milborough, because we are all especially fond of
him.' This was said with so much of purpose, that poor, dear old Lady
Milborough was stopped in her good work. She knew well the terrible
strait to which Augustus Poole had been brought with his wife, although
nobody supposed that Poole's wife had ever entertained a wrong thought
in her pretty little heart. Nevertheless he had been compelled to break
up his establishment, and take his wife to Naples, because this horrid
Colonel would make himself at home in Mrs Poole's drawing-room in
Knightsbridge. Augustus Poole, with courage enough to take any man by
the beard, had taking by the beard been possible, had found it
impossible to dislodge the Colonel. He could not do so without making a
row which would have been disgraceful to himself and injurious to his
wife; and therefore he had taken Mrs Poole to Naples. Lady Milborough
knew the whole story, and thought that she foresaw that the same thing
was about to happen in the drawing-room in Curzon Street. When she
attempted to say a word to the wife, she found herself stopped. She
could not go on in that quarter after the reception with which the
beginning of her word had been met. But perhaps she might succeed
better with the husband. After all, her friendship was with the
Trevelyan side, and not with the Rowleys.

'My dear Louis,' she said, 'I want to speak a word to you. Come here.'
And then she led him into a distant corner, Mrs Trevelyan watching her
all the while, and guessing why her husband was thus carried away. 'I
just want to give you a little hint, which I am sure I believe is quite
unnecessary,' continued Lady Milborough. Then she paused, but Trevelyan
would not speak. She looked into his face, and saw that it was black.
But the man was the only child of her dearest friend, and she
persevered. 'Do you know I don't quite like that Colonel Osborne coming
so much to your house.' The face before her became still blacker, but
still the man said nothing. 'I dare say it is a prejudice on my part,
but I have always disliked him. I think he is a dangerous friend what I
call a snake in the grass. And though Emily's high good sense, and love
for you, and general feelings on' such a subject, are just what a
husband must desire Indeed, I am quite sure that the possibility of
anything wrong has never entered into her head. But it is the very
purity of her innocence which makes the danger. He is a bad man, and I
would just say a word to her, if I were you, to make her understand
that his coming to her of a morning is not desirable. Upon my word, I
believe there is nothing he likes so much as going about and making
mischief between men and their wives.'