“Ah! that’s impossible. It’s very well as a dream; but there are no such men as you want to see,—men really from the people,—strong enough to take high office. A man can’t drive four horses because he’s a philanthropist,—or rather a philhorseophist, and is desirous that the team should be driven without any hurt to them. A man can’t govern well, simply because he is genuinely anxious that men should be well governed.”
“And will there never be any such men?”
“I won’t say that. I don’t mind confessing to you that it is my ambition to be such a one myself. But a child must crawl before he can walk. Such a one as I, hoping to do something in politics, must spare no chance. It would be something to me that Mr Palliser should become the friend of any dear friend of mine,—especially of a dear friend bearing the same name.”
“I’m afraid, George, you’ll find me a bad hand at making any such friendship.”
“They say he is led immensely by his wife, and that she is very clever. But I mean this chiefly, Alice, that I do hope I shall have all your sympathy in any political career that I may make, and all your assistance also.”
“My sympathy I think I can promise you. My assistance, I fear, would be worthless.”
“By no means worthless, Alice; not if I see you take that place in the world which I hope to see you fill. Do you think women nowadays have no bearing upon the politics of the times? Almost as much as men have.” In answer to which Alice shook her head; but, nevertheless, she felt in some way pleased and flattered.
George left her without saying a word more about her marriage prospects past or future, and Alice as she went to bed felt glad that this explanation between them had been made.
Chapter XXII.
Dandy and Flirt
Alice reached the Matching Road Station about three o’clock in the afternoon without adventure, and immediately on the stopping of the train became aware that all trouble was off her own hands. A servant in livery came to the open window, and touching his hat to her, inquired if she were Miss Vavasor. Then her dressing-bag and shawls and cloaks were taken from her, and she was conveyed through the station by the station-master on one side of her, the footman on the other, and by the railway porter behind. She instantly perceived that she had become possessed of great privileges by belonging even for a time to Matching Priory, and that she was essentially growing upwards towards the light.
Outside, on the broad drive before the little station, she saw an omnibus that was going to the small town of Matching, intended for people who had not grown upwards as had been her lot; and she saw also a light stylish-looking cart which she would have called a Whitechapel had she been properly instructed in such matters, and a little low open carriage with two beautiful small horses, in which was sitting a lady enveloped in furs. Of course this was Lady Glencora. Another servant was standing on the ground, holding the horses of the carriage and the cart.
“Dear Alice, I’m so glad you’ve come,” said a voice from the furs. “Look here, dear; your maid can go in the dog-cart with your things,”—it wasn’t a dog-cart, but Lady Glencora knew no better;—”she’ll be quite comfortable there; and do you get in here. Are you very cold?”
“Oh, no; not cold at all.”
“But it is awfully cold. You’ve been in the stuffy carriage, but you’ll find it cold enough out here, I can tell you.”
“Oh! Lady Glencora, I am so sorry that I’ve brought you out on such a morning,” said Alice, getting in and taking the place assigned her next to the charioteer.
“What nonsense! Sorry! Why I’ve looked forward to meeting you all alone, ever since I knew you were coming. If it had snowed all the morning I should have come just the same. I drive out almost every day when I’m down here,—that is, when the house is not too crowded, or I can make an excuse. Wrap these things over you; there are plenty of them. You shall drive if you like.” Alice, however, declined the driving, expressing her gratitude in what prettiest words she could find.
“I like driving better than anything, I think. Mr Palliser doesn’t like ladies to hunt, and of course it wouldn’t do as he does not hunt himself. I do ride, but he never gets on horseback. I almost fancy I should like to drive four-in-hand,—only I know I should be afraid.”
“It would look very terrible,” said Alice.
“Yes; wouldn’t it? The look would be the worst of it; as it is all the world over. Sometimes I wish there were no such things as looks. I don’t mean anything improper, you know; only one does get so hampered, right and left, for fear of Mrs Grundy. I endeavour to go straight, and get along pretty well on the whole, I suppose. Baker, you must put Dandy in the bar; he pulls so, going home, that I can’t hold him in the check.” She stopped the horses, and Baker, a very completely-got-up groom of some forty years of age, who sat behind, got down and put the impetuous Dandy “in the bar,” thereby changing the rein, so that the curb was brought to bear on him. “They’re called Dandy and Flirt,” continued Lady Glencora, speaking to Alice. “Ain’t they a beautiful match? The Duke gave them to me and named them himself. Did you ever see the Duke?”
“Never,” said Alice.
“He won’t be here before Christmas, but you shall be introduced some day in London. He’s an excellent creature and I’m a great pet of his; though, after all, I never speak half a dozen words to him when I see him. He’s one of those people who never talk. I’m one of those who like talking, as you’ll find out. I think it runs in families; and the Pallisers are non-talkers. That doesn’t mean that they are not speakers, for Mr Palliser has plenty to say in the House, and they declare that he’s one of the few public men who’ve got lungs enough to make a financial statement without breaking down.”
Alice was aware that she had as yet hardly spoken herself, and began to bethink herself that she didn’t know what to say. Had Lady Glencora paused on the subject of Dandy and Flirt, she might have managed to be enthusiastic about the horses, but she could not discuss freely the general silence of the Palliser family, nor the excellent lungs, as regarded public purposes, of the one who was the husband of her present friend. So she asked how far it was to Matching Priory.
“You’re not tired of me already, I hope,” said Lady Glencora.
“I didn’t mean that,” said Alice. “I delight in the drive. But somehow one expects Matching Station to be near Matching.”
“Ah, yes; that’s a great cheat. It’s not Matching Station at all but Matching Road Station, and it’s eight miles. It is a great bore, for though the omnibus brings our parcels, we have to be constantly sending over, and it’s very expensive, I can assure you. I want Mr Palliser to have a branch, but he says he would have to take all the shares himself, and that would cost more, I suppose.”
“Is there a town at Matching?”
“Oh, a little bit of a place. I’ll go round by it if you like, and in at the further gate.”
“Oh, no!” said Alice.
“Ah, but I should like. It was a borough once, and belonged to the Duke; but they put it out at the Reform Bill. They made some kind of bargain;—he was to keep either Silverbridge or Matching, but not both. Mr Palliser sits for Silverbridge, you know. The Duke chose Silverbridge,—or rather his father did, as he was then going to build his great place in Barsetshire;—that’s near Silverbridge. But the Matching people haven’t forgiven him yet. He was sitting for Matching himself when the Reform Bill passed. Then his father died, and he hasn’t lived there much since. It’s a great deal nicer place than Gatherum Castle, only not half so grand. I hate grandeur; don’t you?”
“I never tried much of it, as you have.”
“Come