CHAPTER I.
"Don't suppose that I feel enthusiastic or sentimental about the 'claimsof Labour,'" said Wharton, smiling to the lady beside him. "You may getthat from other people, but not from me. I am not moral enough to be afanatic. My position is simplicity itself. When things are inevitable, Iprefer to be on the right side of them, and not on the wrong. There isnot much more in it than that. I would rather be on the back of the'bore' for instance, as it sweeps up the tidal river, than the swimmercaught underneath it."
"Well, that is intelligible," said Lady Selina Farrell, looking at herneighbour, as she crumbled her dinner-roll. To crumble your bread atdinner is a sign of nervousness, according to Sydney Smith, who did itwith both hands when he sat next an Archbishop; yet no one for a goodmany years past had ever suspected Lady Selina of nervousness, thoughher powers had probably been tried before now by the neighbourhood ofmany Primates, Catholic and Anglican. For Lady Selina went much intosociety, and had begun it young.
"Still, you know," she resumed after a moment's pause--"you _play_enthusiasm in public--I suppose you must."
"Oh! of course," said Wharton, indifferently. "That is in the game."
"Why should it be--always? If you are a leader of the people, why don'tyou educate them? My father says that bringing feeling into politics islike making rhymes in one's account book."
"Well, when you have taught the masses how _not_ to feel," said Wharton,laughing, "we will follow your advice. Meanwhile it is our brains andtheir feelings that do the trick. And by the way, Lady Selina, are _you_always so cool? If you saw the Revolution coming to-morrow into thegarden of Alresford House, would you go to the balcony and argue?"
"I devoutly hope there would be somebody ready to do something more tothe point," said Lady Selina, hastily. "But of course _we_ haveenthusiasms too."
"What, the Flag--and the Throne--that kind of thing?"
The ironical attention which Wharton began at this moment to devote tothe selection of an olive annoyed his companion.
"Yes," she repeated emphatically, "the Flag and the Throne--all that hasmade England great in the past. But we know very well that they are not_your_ enthusiasms."
Wharton's upper lip twitched a little.
"And you are quite sure that Busbridge Towers has nothing to do withit?" he said suddenly, looking round upon her.
Busbridge Towers was the fine ancestral seat which belonged to LadySelina's father, that very respectable and ancient peer, Lord Alresford,whom an ungrateful party had unaccountably omitted--for the firsttime--from the latest Conservative administration.
"Of course we perfectly understand," replied Lady Selina, scornfully,"that your side--and especially your Socialist friends, put down allthat _we_ do and say to greed and selfishness. It is ourmisfortune--hardly our fault."
"Not at all," said Wharton, quietly, "I was only trying to convince youthat it is a little difficult to drive feeling out of politics. Do yousuppose our host succeeds? You perceive?--this is a Radical house--and aRadical banquet?"
He pushed the _menu_ towards her significantly. Then his eye travelledwith its usual keen rapidity over the room, over the splendiddinner-table, with its display of flowers and plate, and over theassembled guests. He and Lady Selina were dining at the hospitable boardof a certain rich manufacturer, who drew enormous revenues from thewest, had formed part of the Radical contingent of the last Liberalministry, and had especially distinguished himself by a series ofuncompromising attacks on the ground landlords of London.
Lady Selina sighed.
"It is all a horrible tangle," she said, "and what the next twenty yearswill bring forth who can tell? Oh! one moment, Mr. Wharton, before Iforget. Are you engaged for Saturday week?"
He drew a little note-book out of his pocket and consulted it. Itappeared that he was not engaged.
"Then will you dine with us?" She lightly mentioned the names of four orfive distinguished guests, including the Conservative Premier of theday. Wharton made her a little ceremonious bow.
"I shall be delighted. Can you trust me to behave?"
Lady Selina's smile made her his match for the moment.
"Oh! we can defend ourselves!" she said. "By the way I think you told methat Mr. Raeburn was not a friend of yours."
"No," said Wharton, facing her look with coolness. "If you have askedMr. Raeburn for the 23rd, let me crave your leave to cancel that note inmy pocket-book. Not for my sake, you understand, at all."
She had difficulty in concealing her curiosity. But his face betrayednothing. It always seemed to her that his very dark and straighteyebrows, so obtrusive and unusual as compared with the delicacy of thefeatures, of the fair skin and light brown curls, made it easy for himto wear any mask he pleased. By their mere physical emphasis they drewattention away from the subtler and more revealing things of expression.
"They say," she went on, "that he is sure to do well in the House, ifonly he can be made to take interest enough in the party. But one of hisadmirers told me that he was not at all anxious to accept this post theyhave just given him. He only did it to please his grandfather. My fatherthinks Lord Maxwell much aged this year. He is laid up now, with a chillof some sort I believe. Mr. Raeburn will have to make haste if he is tohave any career in the Commons. But you can see he cares very littleabout it. All his friends tell me they find him changed since thatunlucky affair last year. By the way, did you ever see that girl?"
"Certainly. I was staying in her father's house while the engagementwas going on."
"Were you!" said Lady Selina, eagerly, "and what did you think of her?"
"Well, in the first place," said Wharton, slowly, "she is beautiful--youknew that?"
Lady Selina nodded.
"Yes. Miss Raeburn, who has told me most of what I know, always throwsin a shrug and a 'but' when you ask about her looks. However, I haveseen a photograph of her, so I can judge for myself. It seemed to me abeauty that men perhaps would admire more than women."
Wharton devoted himself to his green peas, and made no reply. LadySelina glanced at him sharply. She herself was by no means a beauty. Butneither was she plain. She had a long, rather distinguished face, with amarked nose and a wide thin-lipped mouth. Her plentiful fair hair, alittle dull and ashy in colour, was heaped up above her forehead ininfinitesimal curls and rolls which did great credit to her maid, andgave additional height to the head and length to a thin white neck. Herlight blue eyes were very direct and observant. Their expression impliedboth considerable knowledge of the world and a natural inquisitiveness.Many persons indeed were of opinion that Lady Selina wished to know toomuch about you and were on their guard when she approached.
"You admired her very much, I see," she resumed, as Wharton stillremained silent.
"Oh, yes. We talked Socialism, and then I defended her poacher for her."
"Oh, I remember. And it is really true, as Miss Raeburn says, that shebroke it off because she could not get Lord Maxwell and Mr. Raeburn tosign the petition for the poacher?"
"Somewhere about true," said Wharton, carelessly.
"Miss Raeburn always gives the same account; you can never get anythingelse out of her. But I sometimes wonder whether it is the _whole_ truth._You_ think she was sincere?"
"Well, she gave up Maxwell Court and thirty thousand a year," he replieddrily. "I should say she had at least earned the benefit of the doubt."
"I mean," said Lady Selina, "was she in love with anybody else, and wasthe poacher an excuse?"
She turned upon him as she spoke--a smiling, self-possessed person--alittle spoilt by those hard, inquisitive eyes.
"No, I think not," said Wharton, throwing his head back to meet herscrutiny. "If so, nothing has been heard of him yet. Miss Boyce has beenat St. Edward's Hospital for the last year."
"To learn nursing? It is what all the women do nowadays, they tell me,who can't get on with their relations or their lovers. Do you suppose itis such a very hard life?"
"I don't want to try!" said Wha
rton. "Do you?"
She evaded his smile.
"What is she going to do when she has done her training?"
"Settle down and nurse among the poor, I believe."
"Magnificent, no doubt, but hardly business, from her point of view. Howmuch more she might have done for the poor with thirty thousand a year!And any woman could put up with Aldous Raeburn."
Wharton shrugged his shoulders.
"We come back to those feelings, Lady Selina, you think so badly of."
She laughed.
"Well, but feelings must be intelligible. And this seems so small acause. However, were you there when it was broken off?"
"No; I have never seen her since the day of the poacher's trial."
"Oh! So she has gone into complete seclusion from all her friends?"
"That I can't answer for. I can only tell you my own experience."
Lady Selina bethought herself of a great many more questions to ask, butsomehow did not ask them. The talk fell upon politics, which lasted tillthe hostess gave the signal, and Lady Selina, gathering up her fan andgloves, swept from the room next after the Countess at the head of thetable, while a host of elderly ladies, wives of ministers and the like,stood meekly by to let her pass.
As he sat down again, Wharton made the entry of the dinner at AlresfordHouse, to which he had just promised himself, a little plainer. It wasthe second time in three weeks that Lady Selina had asked him, and hewas well aware that several other men at this dinner-table, of about thesame standing and prospects as himself, would be very glad to be in hisplace. Lady Selina, though she was unmarried, and not particularlyhandsome or particularly charming, was a personage--and knew it. As themistress of her father's various fine houses, and the kinswoman of halfthe great families of England, she had ample social opportunities, andmade, on the whole, clever use of them. She was not exactly popular, butin her day she had been extremely useful to many, and her invitationswere prized. Wharton had been introduced to her at the beginning ofthis, his second session, had adopted with her the easy, aggressive,"personal" manner--which, on the whole, was his natural manner towardswomen--and had found it immediately successful.
When he had replaced his pocket-book, he found himself approached by aman on his own side of the table, a member of Parliament like himself,with whom he was on moderately friendly terms.
"Your motion comes on next Friday, I think," said the new-comer.
Wharton nodded.
"It'll be a beastly queer division," said the other--"a precious lot ofcross-voting."
"That'll be the way with that kind of question for a good while tocome--don't you think"--said Wharton, smiling, "till we get a completereorganisation of parties?"
As he leaned back in his chair, enjoying his cigarette, his half-shuteyes behind the curls of smoke made a good-humoured but contemptuousstudy of his companion.
Mr. Bateson was a young manufacturer, recently returned to Parliament,and newly married. He had an open, ruddy face, spoilt by an expressionof chronic perplexity, which was almost fretfulness. Not that thecountenance was without shrewdness; but it suggested that the man hadambitions far beyond his powers of performance, and already knew himselfto be inadequate.
"Well, I shouldn't wonder if you get a considerable vote," he resumed,after a pause; "it's like women's suffrage. People will go on voting forthis kind of thing, till there seems a chance of getting it. _Then_!"
"Ah, well!" said Wharton, easily, "I see we shan't get _you_."
"_I_!--vote for an eight-hours day, by local and trade option! In myopinion I might as well vote for striking the flag on the British Empireat once! It would be the death-knell of all our prosperity."
Wharton's artistic ear disliked the mixture of metaphor, and he frownedslightly.
Mr. Bateson hurried on. He was already excited, and had fallen uponWharton as a prey.
"And you really desire to make it _penal_ for us manufacturers--for mein my industry--in spite of all the chances and changes of the market,to work my men more than eight hours a day--_even_ if they wish it!"
"We must get our decision, our majority of the adult workers in anygiven district in favour of an eight-hours day," said Wharton, blandly;"then when they have voted for it, the local authority will put the Actin motion."
"And my men--conceivably--may have voted in the minority, against anysuch tomfoolery; yet, when the vote is given, it will be a punishableoffence for them, and me, to work overtime? You _actually_ mean that;how do you propose to punish us?"
"Well," said Wharton, relighting his cigarette, "that is a much debatedpoint. Personally, I am in favour of imprisonment rather than fine."
The other bounded on his chair.
"You would imprison me for working overtime--with _willing men!_"
Wharton eyed him with smiling composure. Two or three other men--an oldgeneral, the smart private secretary of a cabinet minister, and awell-known permanent official at the head of one of the great spendingdepartments--who were sitting grouped at the end of the table a few feetaway, stopped their conversation to listen.
"Except in cases of emergency, which are provided for under the Act,"said Wharton. "Yes, I should imprison you, with the greatest pleasure inlife. Eight hours _plus_ overtime is what we are going to stop, _at allhazards!_"
A flash broke from his blue eyes. Then he tranquilly resumed hissmoking.
The young manufacturer flushed with angry agitation.
"But you must know, it is inconceivable that you should not know, thatthe whole thing is stark staring lunacy. In our business, trade isdeclining, the export falling every year, the imports from Francesteadily advancing. And you are going to make us fight a country wheremen work eleven hours a day, for lower wages, with our hands tied behindour backs by legislation of this kind? Well, you know," he threwhimself back in his chair with a contemptuous laugh, "there can be onlyone explanation. You and your friends, of course, have banishedpolitical economy to Saturn--and you suppose that by doing so you getrid of it for all the rest of the world. But I imagine it will beat you,all the same!"
He stopped in a heat. As usual what he found to say was not equal towhat he wanted to say, and beneath his anger with Wharton was thefamiliar fuming at his own lack of impressiveness.
"Well, I dare say," said Wharton, serenely. "However, let's take your'political economy' a moment, and see if I can understand what you meanby it. There never were two words that meant all things to all men sodisreputably!"
And thereupon to the constant accompaniment of his cigarette, and withthe utmost composure and good temper, he began to "heckle" hiscompanion, putting questions, suggesting perfidious illustrations,extracting innocent admissions, with a practised shrewdness and malice,which presently left the unfortunate Bateson floundering in a sea of hisown contradictions, and totally unable for the moment to attach anyrational idea whatever to those great words of his favourite science,wherewith he was generally accustomed to make such triumphant play, bothon the platform and in the bosom of the family.
The permanent official round the corner watched the unequal fight withattentive amusement. Once when it was a question of Mill's doctrine ofcost of production as compared with that of a leading moderncollectivist, he leant forward and supplied a correction of somethingWharton had said. Wharton instantly put down his cigarette and addressedhim in another tone. A rapid dialogue passed between them, the dialogueof experts, sharp, allusive, elliptical, in the midst of which the hostgave the signal for joining the ladies.
"Well, all I know is," said Bateson, as he got up, "that these kinds ofquestions, if you and your friends have your way, will _wreck_ theLiberal party before long--far more effectually than anything Irish hasever done. On these things some of us will fight, if it must come tothat."
Wharton laughed.
"It would be a national misfortune if you didn't give us a stiff job,"he said, with an airy good-humour which at once made the other'sblustering look ridiculous.
"I wonder what that f
ellow is going to do in the House," said thepermanent official to his companion as they went slowly upstairs,Wharton being some distance ahead. "People are all beginning to talk ofhim as a coming man, though nobody quite knows why, as yet. They tell mehe frames well in speaking, and will probably make a mark with hisspeech next Friday. But his future seems to me very doubtful. He canonly become a power as the head of a new Labour party. But where is theparty? They all want to be kings. The best point in his favour is thatthey are likely enough to take a gentleman if they must have a leader.But there still remains the question whether he can make anything out ofthe material."
"I hope to God he can't!" said the old general, grimly; "it is thesetown-chatterers of yours that will bring the Empire about our headsbefore we've done. They've begun it already, wherever they saw achance."
* * * * *
In the drawing-room Wharton devoted himself for a few minutes to hishostess, a little pushing woman, who confided to his apparentlyattentive ear a series of grievances as to the bad manners of the greatladies of their common party, and the general evil plight of Liberalismin London from the social point of view.
"Either they give themselves airs--_rediculous_ airs!--or they admiteverybody!" she said, with a lavish use of white shoulders and scarletfan by way of emphasis. "My husband feels it just as much as I do. It isa real misfortune for the party that its social affairs should be sovillainously managed. Oh! I dare say _you_ don't mind, Mr. Wharton,because you are a Socialist. But, I assure you, those of us who stillbelieve in the influence of the best people don't like it."
A point whence Wharton easily led her through a series of spitefulanecdotes bearing on her own social mishaps and rebuffs, which were nonethe less illuminating because of the teller's anxious effort to givethem a dignified and disinterested air. Then, when neither she nor herplight were any longer amusing, he took his leave, exchanging anotherskirmishing word or two on the staircase with Lady Selina, who itappeared was "going on" as he was, and to the same house.
In a few minutes his hansom landed him at the door of a great mansionin Berkeley Square, where a huge evening party was proceeding, given byone of those Liberal ladies whom his late hostess had been so freelydenouncing. The lady and the house belonged to a man who had held highoffice in the late Administration.
As he made his way slowly to the top of the crowded stairs, the statelywoman in white satin and diamonds who was "receiving" on the landingmarked him, and when his name was announced she came forward a step ortwo. Nothing could have been more flattering than the smile with whichshe gave him her gloved hand to touch.
"Have you been out of town all these Sundays?" she said to him, with theslightest air of soft reproach. "I am always at home, you know--I toldyou so!"
She spoke with the ease of one who could afford to make whatever socialadvances she pleased. Wharton excused himself, and they chatted a littlein the intervals of her perpetual greetings to the mounting crowd. Sheand he had met at a famous country house in the Easter recess, and heraristocrat's instinct for all that gives savour and sharpness to thedish of life had marked him at once.
"Sir Hugh wants you to come down and see us in Sussex," she said,stretching her white neck a little to speak after him, as he was at lastcarried through the drawing-room door by the pressure behind him. "Willyou?"
He threw back an answer which she rather took for granted than heard,for she nodded and smiled through it--stiffening her delicate-face themoment afterwards to meet the timid remarks of one of her husband'sconstituents--asked by Sir Hugh in the streets that afternoon--whohappened to present her with the next hand to shake.
Inside, Wharton soon found himself brought up against the ex-Secretaryof State himself, who greeted him cordially, and then bantered him alittle on his coming motion.
"Oh, I shall be interested to see what you make of it. But, you know, ithas no _actuality_--never can have--till you can agree among yourselves.You _say_ you want the same thing--I dare say you'll all swear it onFriday--but _really_--"
The statesman shook his head pleasantly.
"The details are a little vague still, I grant you," said Wharton,smiling.
"And you think the principle matters twopence without the details? Ihave always found that the difficulty with the Christian command, 'Be yeperfect.' The principle doesn't trouble me at all!"
The swaying of the entering throng parted the two speakers, and for asecond or two the portly host followed with his eye the fair profile andlightly-built figure of the younger man as they receded from him in thecrowd. It was in his mind that the next twenty years, whether this manor that turned out to be important or no, must see an enormousquickening of the political pace. He himself was not conscious of anyjealousy of the younger men; but neither did he see among them anycommanding personality. This young fellow, with his vivacity, hisenergy, and his Socialist whims, was interesting enough; and hisproblem was interesting--the problem of whether he could make a partyout of the heterogeneous group of which he was turning out to beindisputably the ablest member. But what was there _certain_ or_inevitable_ about his future after all? And it was the same with allthe rest. Whereas the leaders of the past had surely announcedthemselves beyond mistake from the beginning. He was inclined to think,however, that we were levelling up rather than levelling down. The worldgrew too clever, and leadership was more difficult every day.
Meanwhile Wharton found his progress through these stately roomsextremely pleasant. He was astonished at the multitude of people heknew, at the numbers of faces that smiled upon him. Presently, afterhalf an hour of hard small talk, he found himself for a moment withoutan acquaintance, leaning against an archway between two rooms, and freeto watch the throng. Self-love, "that froward presence, like achattering child within us," was all alert and happy. A feeling ofsurprise, too, which had not yet worn away. A year before he had toldMarcella Boyce, and with conviction, that he was an outcast from hisclass. He smiled now at that past _naivete_ which had allowed him totake the flouts of his country neighbours and his mother's unpopularitywith her aristocratic relations for an index of the way in which"society" in general would be likely to treat him and his opinions. Henow knew, on the contrary, that those opinions had been his bestadvertisement. Few people, it appeared, were more in demand among thegreat than those who gave it out that they would, if they could, abolishthe great.
"It's because they're not enough afraid of us--yet," he said to himself,not without spleen. "When we really get to business--if we ever do--Ishall not be coming to Lady Cradock's parties."
"Mr. Wharton, do you ever do such a frivolous thing as go to thetheatre?" said a pretty, languishing creature at his elbow, the wife ofa London theatrical manager. "Suppose you come and see us in 'TheMinister's Wooing,' first night next Saturday. I've got _one_ seat in mybox, for somebody _very_ agreeable. Only it must be somebody who canappreciate my frocks!"
"I should be charmed," said Wharton. "Are the frocks so adorable?"
"Adorable! Then I may write you a note? You don't have your horridParliament that night, do you?" and she fluttered on.
"I think you don't know my younger daughter, Mr. Wharton?" said a severevoice at his elbow.
He turned and saw an elderly matron with the usual matronly cap andcareworn countenance putting forward a young thing in white, to whom hebowed with great ceremony. The lady was the wife of a north-countrymagnate of very old family, and one of the most exclusive of her kind inLondon. The daughter, a vision of young shyness and bloom, looked at himwith frightened eyes as he leant against the wall beside her and beganto talk. She wished he would go away and let her get to the girl friendwho was waiting for her and signalling to her across the room. But in aminute or two she had forgotten to wish anything of the kind. Themixture of audacity with a perfect self-command in the manner of her newacquaintance, that searching half-mocking look, which saw everything indetail, and was always pressing beyond the generalisations of talk andmanners, the lightness and brig
htness of the whole aspect, of the curls,the eyes, the flexible determined mouth, these things arrested her. Shebegan to open her virgin heart, first in protesting against attack, thenin confession, till in ten minutes her white breast was heaving underthe excitement of her own temerity and Wharton knew practically allabout her, her mingled pleasure and remorse in "going out," herastonishment at the difference between the world as it was this year,and the world as it had been last, when she was still in theschool-room--her Sunday-school--her brothers--her ideals--for she was alittle nun at heart--her favourite clergyman--and all the rest of it.
"I say, Wharton, come and dine, will you, Thursday, at the House--smallparty--meet in my room?"
So said one of the party whips, from behind into his ear. The speakerwas a popular young aristocrat who in the preceding year had treated themember for West Brookshire with chilliness. Wharton turned--to considera moment--then gave a smiling assent.
"All right!" said the other, withdrawing his hand from Wharton'sshoulder--"good-night!--two more of these beastly crushes to fightthrough till I can get to my bed, worse luck! Are any of your fellowshere to-night?"
Wharton shook his head.
"Too austere, I suppose?"
"A question of dress coats, I should think," said Wharton, drily.
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"And this calls itself a party gathering--in a radical and democratichouse--what a farce it all is!"
"Agreed! good-night."
And Wharton moved on, just catching as he did so the eyes of his newgirl acquaintance looking back at him from a distant door. Their shyowner withdrew them instantly, coloured, and passed out of sight.
At the same moment a guest entered by the same door, a tall grave man inthe prime of life, but already grey haired. Wharton, to his surprise,recognised Aldous Raeburn, and saw also that the master of the house hadhim by the arm. They came towards him, talking. The crowd prevented himfrom getting effectually out of their way, but he turned aside and tookup a magazine lying on a bookcase near.
"And you really think him a trifle better?" said the ex-minister.
"Oh, yes, better--certainly better--but I am afraid he will hardly getback to work this session--the doctors talk of sending him away atonce."
"Ah, well," said the other, smiling, "we don't intend it seems to letyou send anything important up to the Lords yet awhile, so there will betime for him to recruit."
"I wish I was confident about the recruiting," said Raeburn, sadly. "Hehas lost much strength. I shall go with them to the Italian lakes at theend of next week, see them settled and come back at once."
"Shall you miss a sitting of the commission?" asked his host. Both heand Raeburn were members of an important Labour Commission appointed theyear before by the new Conservative government.
"Hardly, I think," said Raeburn, "I am particularly anxious not to missD----'s evidence."
And they fell talking a little about the Commission and the witnessesrecently examined before it. Wharton, who was wedged in by a group ofladies, and could not for the moment move, heard most of what they weresaying, much against his will. Moreover Raeburn's tone of quiet andmasterly familiarity with what he and his companion were discussingannoyed him. There was nothing in the world that he himself would moreeagerly have accepted than a seat on that Commission.
"Ah! there is Lady Cradock!" said Raeburn, perceiving his hostess acrossa sea of intervening faces, and responding to her little wave of thehand. "I must go and get a few words with her, and then take my auntaway."
As he made his way towards her, he suddenly brushed against Wharton, whocould not escape. Raeburn looked up, recognised the man he had touched,flushed slightly and passed on. A bystander would have supposed themstrangers to each other.