CHAPTER XIV.
For some hours after he reached his own room, Wharton sat in front ofhis open window, sunk in the swift rushing of thought, as a bramblesways in a river. The July night first paled, then flushed into morning;the sun rose above the empty street and the light mists enwrapping thegreat city, before he threw himself on his bed, exhausted enough at lastto fall into a restless sleep.
The speculation of those quick-pulsed hours was in the end about equallydivided between Marcella and the phrases and turns of his interview withMr. Pearson. It was the sudden leap of troubled excitement stirred inhim by that interview--heightened by the sight of Raeburn--that haddriven him past recall by the most natural of transitions, into hisdeclaration to Marcella.
But he had no sooner reached his room than, at first with iron will, heput the thought of Marcella, of the scene which had just passed, awayfrom him. His pulses were still quivering. No matter! It was the brainhe had need of. He set it coolly and keenly to work.
Mr. Pearson? Well!--Mr. Pearson had offered him a _bribe_; there couldbe no question as to that. His clear sense never blinked the matter foran instant. Nor had he any illusions as to his own behaviour. Even nowhe had no further right to the sleep of the honest man.
Let him realise, however, what had happened. He had gone to LadyMasterton's party, in the temper of a man who knows that ruin is uponhim, and determined, like the French criminal, to exact his cigar and_eau de vie_ before the knife falls. Never had things looked sodesperate; never had all resource seemed to him so completely exhausted.Bankruptcy must come in the course of a few weeks; his entailed propertywould pass into the hands of a receiver; and whatever recovery might beultimately possible, by the end of August he would be, for the moment,socially and politically undone.
There could be no question of his proposing seriously to Marcella Boyce.Nevertheless, he had gone to Lady Masterton's on purpose to meet her;and his manner on seeing her had asserted precisely the same intimateclaim upon her, which, during the past six weeks, had alternatelyattracted and repelled her.
Then Mr. Pearson had interrupted.
Wharton, shutting his eyes, could see the great man lean against thewindow-frame close to the spot where, a quarter of an hour later,Marcella had sat among the flowers--the dapper figure, the long, fairmoustaches, the hand playing with the eye-glass.
"I have been asked--er--er--" What a conceited manner the fellowhad!--"to get some conversation with you, Mr. Wharton, on the subject ofthe Damesley strike. You give me leave?"
Whereupon, in less than ten minutes, the speaker had executed animportant commission, and, in offering Wharton a bribe of the mostbare-faced kind, had also found time for supplying him with a number ofthe most delicate and sufficient excuses for taking it.
The masters, in fact, sent an embassy. They fully admitted the power ofthe _Clarion_ and its owner. No doubt, it would not be possible for thepaper to keep up its strike fund indefinitely; there were perhapsalready signs of slackening. Still it had been maintained for aconsiderable time; and so long as it was reckoned on, in spite of thewide-spread misery and suffering now prevailing, the men would probablyhold out.
In these circumstances, the principal employers concerned had thought itbest to approach so formidable an opponent and to put before himinformation which might possibly modify his action. They had authorisedMr. Pearson to give him a full account of what was proposed in the wayof re-organisation of the trade, including the probable advantages whichthe work-people themselves would be likely to reap from it in thefuture.
Mr. Pearson ran in a few sentences through the points of the scheme.Wharton stood about a yard away from him, his hands in his pockets, alittle pale and frowning--looking intently at the speaker.
Then Mr. Pearson paused and cleared his throat.
Well!--that was the scheme. His principals believed that, when both itand the employers' determination to transfer their business to theContinent rather than be beaten by the men were made fully known to theowner of the _Clarion_, it must affect his point of view. Mr. Pearsonwas empowered to give him any details he might desire. Meanwhile--soconfident were they in the reasonableness of the case that they evensuggested that the owner of the _Clarion_ himself should take part inthe new Syndicate. On condition of his future co-operation--it beingunderstood that the masters took their stand irrevocably on theaward--the men at present responsible for the formation of the Syndicateproposed to allot Mr. Wharton ten Founder's Shares in the newundertaking.
Wharton, sitting alone, recalling these things, was conscious again ofthat start in every limb, that sudden rush of blood to the face, asthough a lash had struck him.
For in a few seconds his mind took in the situation. Only the daybefore, a city acquaintance had said to him, "If you and your confoundedpaper were out of the way, and this thing could be placed properly onthe market, there would be a boom in it at once. I am told that intwenty-four hours the Founder's Shares would be worth 2,000 _l._apiece!"
There was a pause of silence. Then Wharton threw a queer dark look atthe solicitor, and was conscious that his pulse was thumping.
"There can be no question I think, Mr. Pearson--between you and me--asto the nature of such a proposal as that!"
"My dear sir," Mr. Pearson had interrupted hastily, "let me, above all,ask you to take _time_--time enough, at any rate, to turn the matterwell over in your mind. The interests of a great many people, besidesyourself, are concerned. Don't give me an answer to-night; it is thelast thing I desire. I have thrown out my suggestion. Consider it.To-morrow is Sunday. If you are disposed to carry it further, come andsee me Monday morning--that's all. I will be at your service at anyhour, and I can then give you a much more complete outline of theintentions of the Company. Now I really must go and look for Mrs.Pearson's carriage."
Wharton followed the great man half mechanically across the little room,his mind in a whirl of mingled rage and desire. Then suddenly he stoppedhis companion:
"Has George Denny anything to do with this proposal, Mr. Pearson?"
Mr. Pearson paused, with a little air of vague cogitation.
"George Denny? Mr. George Denny, the member for Westropp? I have had nodealings whatever with that gentleman in the matter."
Wharton let him pass.
Then as he himself entered the tea-room, he perceived the bending formof Aldous Raeburn chatting to Lady Winterbourne on his right, and thattall whiteness close in front, waiting for him.
His brain cleared in a flash. He was perfectly conscious that a bribehad just been offered him, of the most daring and cynical kind, and thathe had received the offer in the tamest way. An insult had been put uponhim which had for ever revealed the estimate held of him by certainshrewd people, for ever degraded him in his own eyes.
Nevertheless, he was also conscious that the thing was done. The bribewould be accepted, the risk taken. So far as his money-matters wereconcerned he was once more a free man. The mind had adjusted itself,reached its decision in a few minutes.
And the first effect of the mingled excitement and self-contempt whichthe decision brought with it had been to drive him into the scene withMarcella. Instinctively he asked of passion to deliver him quickly fromthe smart of a new and very disagreeable experience.
* * * * *
Well! why should he not take these men's offer?
He was as much convinced as they that this whole matter of the strikehad of late come to a deadlock. So long as the public would give, theworkers, passionately certain of the justice of their own cause, andfilled with new ambitions after more decent living, would hold out. Onthe other hand, he perfectly understood that the masters had also inmany ways a strong case, that they had been very hard hit by the strike,and that many of them would rather close their works or transfer thembodily to the Continent than give way. Some of the facts Pearson hadfound time to mention had been certainly new and striking.
At the same time he never disguised from himself for an ins
tant that butfor a prospective 20,000 _l._ the facts concerned would not haveaffected him in the least. Till to-night it had been to his interest toback the strike, and to harass the employers. Now things were changed;and he took a curious satisfaction in the quick movements of his ownintelligence, as his thought rapidly sketched the "curve" the _Clarion_would have to take, and the arguments by which he would commend it.
As to his shares, they would be convertible of course into immediatecash. Some man of straw would be forthcoming to buy what he wouldpossess in the name of another man of straw. It was not supposed--hetook for granted--by the men who had dared to tempt him, that he wouldrisk his whole political reputation and career for anything less than abird in the hand.
Well! what were the chances of secrecy?
Naturally _they_ stood to lose less by disclosure, a good deal, than hedid. And Denny, one of the principal employers, was his personal enemy.He would be likely enough for the present to keep his name out of theaffair. But no man of the world could suppose that the transaction wouldpass without his knowledge. Wharton's own hasty question to Mr. Pearsonon the subject seemed to himself now, in cold blood, a remarkablyfoolish one.
He walked up and down thinking this point out. It was the bitter pill ofthe whole affair.
In the end, with a sudden recklessness of youth and resource, heresolved to dare it. There would _not_ be much risk. Men of business donot as a rule blazon their own dirty work, and public opinion would beimportant to the new Syndicate.
_Some_ risk, of course, there would be. Well! his risks, as they stood,were pretty considerable. He chose the lesser--not without something ofa struggle, some keen personal smart. He had done a good many mean andquestionable things in his time, but never anything as gross as this.The thought of what his relation to a certain group of men--to Dennyespecially--would be in the future, stung sharply. But it is the partof the man of action to put both scruple and fear behind him onoccasion. His career was in question.
Craven? Well, Craven would be a difficulty. He would telegraph to himfirst thing in the morning before the offices closed, and see him onMonday. For Marcella's sake the man must be managed--somehow.
And--Marcella! How should she ever know, ever suspect! She alreadydisliked the violence with which the paper had supported the strike. Hewould find no difficulty whatever in justifying all that she or thepublic would see, to her.
Then insensibly he let his thoughts glide into thinking of the money.Presently he drew a sheet of paper towards him and covered it withcalculations as to his liabilities. By George! how well it worked out!By the time he threw it aside, and walked to the window for air, healready felt himself a _bona-fide_ supporter of the Syndicate--thepromoter in the public interest of a just and well-considered scheme.
Finally, with a little joyous energetic movement which betrayed theinner man, he flung down his cigarette, and turned to write an ardentletter to Marcella, while the morning sun stole into the dusty room.
Difficult? of course! Both now and in the future. It would take him halfhis time yet--and he could ill afford it--to bring her bound andcaptive. He recognised in her the southern element, so strangely matedwith the moral English temper. Yet he smiled over it. The subtleties ofthe struggle he foresaw enchanted him.
And she would be mastered! In this heightened state of nerve his man'sresolution only rose the more fiercely to the challenge of herresistance.
Nor should she cheat him with long delays. His income would be his ownagain, and life decently easy. He already felt himself the vain showmanof her beauty.
A thought of Lady Selina crossed his mind, producing amusement andcompassion--indulgent amusement, such as the young man is apt to feeltowards the spinster of thirty-five who pays him attention. A certainsense of re-habilitation, too, which at the moment was particularlywelcome. For, no doubt, he might have married her and her fortune had heso chosen. As it was, why didn't she find some needy boy to take pity onher? There were plenty going, and she must have abundance of money. OldAlresford, too, was fast doddering off the stage, and then where wouldshe be--without Alresford House, or Busbridge, or those various otherpedestals which had hitherto held her aloft?
* * * * *
Early on Sunday morning Wharton telegraphed to Craven, directing him to"come up at once for consultation." The rest of the day the owner of the_Clarion_ spent pleasantly on the river with Mrs. Lane and a party ofladies, including a young Duchess, who was pretty, literary, andsocialistic. At night he went down to the _Clarion_ office, and produceda leader on the position of affairs at Damesley which, to the practisedeye, contained one paragraph--but one only--wherein the dawn of a newpolicy might have been discerned.
Naturally the juxtaposition of events at the moment gave himconsiderable anxiety. He knew very well that the Damesley bargain couldnot be kept waiting. The masters were losing heavily every day, and werenot likely to let him postpone the execution of his part of the contractfor a fortnight or so to suit his own convenience. It was like the saleof an "old master." His influence must be sold now--at the ripemoment--or not at all.
At the same time it was very awkward. In one short fortnight the meetingof the party would be upon him. Surrender on the Damesley question wouldgive great offence to many of the Labour members. It would have to bevery carefully managed--very carefully thought out.
By eleven o'clock on Monday he was in Mr. Pearson's office. After thefirst involuntary smile, concealed by the fair moustaches, and instantlydismissed, with which the eminent lawyer greeted the announcement of hisvisitor's name, the two augurs carried through their affairs withperfect decorum. Wharton realised, indeed, that he was being firmlyhandled. Mr. Pearson gave the _Clarion_ a week in which to accomplishits retreat and drop its strike fund. And the fund was to be "checked"as soon as possible.
A little later, when Wharton abruptly demanded a guarantee of secrecy,Mr. Pearson allowed himself his first--visible--smile.
"My dear sir, are such things generally made public property? I cangive you no better assurance than you can extract yourself from thecircumstances. As to writing--well!--I should advise you very stronglyagainst anything of the sort. A long experience has convinced me that inany delicate negotiation the less that is _written_ the better."
Towards the end Wharton turned upon his companion sharply, and asked:
"How did you discover that I wanted money?"
Mr. Pearson lifted his eyebrows pleasantly.
"Most of the things in this world, Mr. Wharton, that one wants to know,can be found out. Now--I have no wish to hurry you--not in the least,but I may perhaps mention that I have an important appointment directly.Don't you think--we might settle our business?"
Wharton was half-humorously conscious of an inward leap of fury with thenecessities which had given this man--to whom he had taken aninstantaneous dislike--the power of dealing thus summarily with themember for West Brookshire. However, there was no help for it; hesubmitted, and twenty minutes afterwards he left Lincoln's Inn carryingdocuments in the breast-pocket of his coat which, when brought under hisbankers' notice, would be worth to him an immediate advance of someeight thousand pounds. The remainder of the purchase-money for his"shares" would be paid over to him as soon as his part of the contracthad been carried out.
He did not, however, go to his bank, but straight to the _Clarion_office, where he had a mid-day appointment with Louis Craven.
At first sight of the tall, narrow-shouldered form and anxious facewaiting for him in his private room, Wharton felt a movement ofill-humour.
Craven had the morning's _Clarion_ in his hand.
"This _cannot_ mean"--he said, when they had exchanged a briefsalutation--"that the paper is backing out?"
He pointed to the suspicious paragraph in Wharton's leader, his delicatefeatures quivering with an excitement he could ill repress.
"Well, let us sit down and discuss the thing," said Wharton, closing thedoor, "that's what I wired to you for."
> He offered Craven a cigarette, which was refused, took one himself, andthe two men sat confronting each other with a writing-table betweenthem. Wharton was disagreeably conscious at times of the stiff papers inhis coat-pocket, and was perhaps a little paler than usual. Otherwise heshowed no trace of mental disturbance; and Craven, himself jaded andsleepless, was struck with a momentary perception of his companion'sboyish good looks--the tumbling curls, that Wharton straightened now andthen, the charming blue eyes, the athlete's frame. Any stranger wouldhave taken Craven for the older man; in reality it was the other way.
The conversation lasted nearly an hour. Craven exhausted both argumentand entreaty, though when the completeness of the retreat resolved uponhad been disclosed to him, the feeling roused in him was so fierce thathe could barely maintain his composure. He had been living among scenesof starvation and endurance, which, to his mind, had all the characterof martyrdom. These men and women were struggling for two objects--thepower to live more humanly, and the free right of combination--to bothof which, if need were, he would have given his own life to help themwithout an instant's hesitation. Behind his blinking manner he saweverything with the idealist's intensity, the reformer's passion. To befair to an employer was not in his power. To spend his last breath, wereit called for, in the attempt to succour the working-man against hiscapitalist oppressors, would have seemed to him the merest matter ofcourse.
And his mental acuteness was quite equal to his enthusiasm, and far moreevident. In his talk with Wharton, he for a long time avoided, asbefore, out of a certain inner disdain, the smallest touch of sentiment.He pointed out--what, indeed, Wharton well knew--that the next two orthree weeks of the strike would be the most critical period in itshistory; that, if the work-people could only be carried through them,they were almost sure of victory. He gave his own reasons for believingthat the employers could ultimately be coerced, he offered proof ofyielding among them, proof also that the better men in their ranks werefully alive to and ashamed of the condition of the workers. As to theSyndicate, he saw no objection to it, _provided_ the workers' claimswere first admitted. Otherwise it would only prove a more powerfulengine of oppression.
Wharton's arguments may perhaps be left to the imagination. He wouldhave liked simply to play the proprietor and the master--to say, "Thisis my decision, those are my terms--take my work or leave it." ButCraven was Miss Boyce's friend; he was also a Venturist. Chafing underboth facts, Wharton found that he must state his case.
And he did state it with his usual ability. He laid great stress on"information from a private source which I cannot disregard," to theeffect that, if the resistance went on, the trade would be broken up;that several of the largest employers were on the point of makingarrangements for Italian factories.
"I know," he said finally, "that but for the _Clarion_ the strike woulddrop. Well! I have come to the conclusion that the responsibility is tooheavy. I shall be doing the men themselves more harm than good. There isthe case in a nutshell. We differ--I can't help that. The responsibilityis mine."
Craven rose with a quick, nervous movement. The prophet spoke at last.
"You understand," he said, laying a thin hand on the table, "that thecondition of the workers in this trade is _infamous_!--that the awardand your action together plunge them back into a state of things whichis a _shame_ and a _curse_ to England!"
Wharton made no answer. He, too, had risen, and was putting away somepapers in a drawer. A tremor ran through Craven's tall frame; and for aninstant, as his eye rested on his companion, the idea of foul playcrossed his mind. He cast it out, that he might deal calmly with his ownposition.
"Of course, you perceive," he said, as he took up his hat, "that I canno longer on these terms remain the _Clarion's_ correspondent. Somebodyelse must be found to do this business."
"I regret your decision, immensely," said Wharton, with perfectsuavity, "but of course I understand it. I trust, however, that you willnot leave us altogether. I can give you plenty of work that will suityou. Here, for instance"--he pointed to a pile of Blue Books from theLabour Commission lying on the table--"are a number of reports that wantanalysing and putting before the public. You could do them in town atyour leisure."
Craven struggled with himself. His first instinct was to fling the offerin Wharton's face. Then he thought of his wife; of the tiny newhousehold just started with such small, happy, self-denying shifts; ofthe woman's inevitable lot, of the hope of a child.
"Thank you," he said, in a husky voice. "I will consider, I will write."
Wharton nodded to him pleasantly, and he went.
The owner of the _Clarion_ drew a long breath.
"Now I think on the whole it would serve my purpose best to sit down andwrite to _her_--after that. It would be well that _my_ account shouldcome first."
A few hours later, after an interview with his bankers and a furtherspell of letter-writing, Wharton descended the steps of his club in acurious restless state. The mortgage on the _Clarion_ had been arrangedfor, his gambling debts settled, and all his other money matters weresuccessfully in train. Nevertheless, the exhilaration of the morning hadpassed into misgiving and depression.
Vague presentiments hung about him all day, whether in the House ofCommons or elsewhere, and it was not till he found himself on his legsat a crowded meeting at Rotherhithe, violently attacking the GovernmentBill and the House of Lords, that he recovered that easy confidence inthe general favourableness of the universe to Harry Wharton, and HarryWharton's plans, which lent him so much of his power.
A letter from Marcella--written before she had received either ofhis--reached him at the House just before he started for his meeting. Atouching letter!--yet with a certain resolution in it which disconcertedhim.
"Forget, if you will, everything that you said to me last night. Itmight be--I believe it would be--best for us both. But if you willnot--if I must give my answer, then, as I said, I must have time. It isonly quite recently that I have _realised_ the enormity of what I didlast year. I must run no risks of so wrenching my own life--oranother's--a second time. Not to be _sure_ is for me torment. Whyperfect simplicity of feeling--which would scorn the very notion ofquestioning itself--seems to be beyond me, I do not know. That it is sofills me with a sort of shame and bitterness. But I must follow mynature.
"So let me think it out. I believe you know, for one thing, that your'cause,' your life-work, attracts me strongly. I should not any longeraccept all you say, as I did last year. But mere opinion mattersinfinitely less to me than it did. I can imagine now agreeing with afriend 'in everything except opinion.' All that would matter to me nowwould be to feel that _your_ heart was wholly in your work, in yourpublic acts, so that I might still admire and love all that I mightdiffer from. But there--for we must be frank with each other--is just mydifficulty. _Why_ do you do so many contradictory things? Why do youtalk of the poor, of labour, of self-denial, and live whenever you canwith the idle rich people, who hate all three in their hearts? You talktheir language; you scorn what they scorn, or so it seems; you accepttheir standards. Oh!--to the really 'consecrate' in heart and thought Icould give my life so easily, so slavishly even! There is no one weakerthan I in the world. I must have strength to lean upon--and a strength,pure at the core, that I can respect and follow.
"Here in this nursing life of mine, I go in and out among people to thebest of whom life is very real and simple--and often, of course, verysad. And I am another being in it from what I was at LadyWinterbourne's. Everything looks differently to me. No, no! you mustplease wait till the inner voice speaks so that I can hear itplainly--for your sake at least as much as for mine. If you persisted incoming to see me now, I should have to put an end to it all."
"Strange is the modern woman!" thought Wharton to himself, not withoutsharp pique, as he pondered that letter in the course of his drive homefrom the meeting. "I talk to her of passion, and she asks me in returnwhy I do things inconsistent with my political opinions! puts me througha moral ca
techism, in fact! What is the meaning of it all--confound it!--her state of mind and mine? Is the good old _ars amandi_ perishing outof the world? Let some Stendhal come and tell us why!"
But he sat up to answer her, and could not get free from an inwardpleading or wrestle with her, which haunted him through all theintervals of these rapid days.
Life while they lasted was indeed a gymnast's contest of breath andendurance. The _Clarion_ made its retreat in Wharton's finest style, andthe fact rang through labouring England. The strike-leaders came up fromthe Midlands; Wharton had to see them. He was hotly attacked in theHouse privately, and even publicly by certain of his colleagues. Bennettshowed concern and annoyance. Meanwhile the Conservative papers talkedthe usual employers' political economy; and the Liberal papers, whosesupport of the strike had been throughout perfunctory, and of noparticular use to themselves or to other people, took a lead they wereglad to get, and went in strongly for the award.
Through it all Wharton showed extraordinary skill. The columns of the_Clarion_ teemed with sympathetic appeals to the strikers, flanked bylong statements of "hard fact"--the details of foreign competition andthe rest, the plans of the masters--freely supplied him by Mr. Pearson.With Bennett and his colleagues in the House he took a bold line;admitted that he had endangered his popularity both inside Parliamentand out of it at a particularly critical moment; and implied, though hedid not say, that some men were still capable of doing independentthings to their own hurt. Meanwhile he pushed a number of other mattersto the front, both in the paper and in his own daily doings. He made atleast two important speeches in the provinces, in the course of thesedays, on the Bill before the House of Lords; he asked questions inParliament on the subject of the wages paid to Government employes; andhe opened an attack on the report of a certain Conservative Commissionwhich had been rousing the particular indignation of a large mass ofSouth London working men.
At the end of ten days the strike was over; the workers, sullen andenraged, had submitted, and the plans of the Syndicate were in all thepapers. Wharton, looking round him, realised to his own amazement thathis political position had rather gained than suffered. The generalimpression produced by his action had been on the whole that of a manstrong enough to take a line of his own, even at the risk ofunpopularity. There was a new tone of respect among his opponents, and,resentful as some of the Labour members were, Wharton did not believethat what he had done would ultimately damage his chances on the 10th atall. He had vindicated his importance, and he held his head high,adopting towards his chances of the leadership a strong and carelesstone that served him well.
Meanwhile there were, of course, clever people behind the scenes wholooked on and laughed. But they held their tongues, and Wharton, who hadcarefully avoided the mention of names during the negotiations withPearson, did his best to forget them. He felt uncomfortable, indeed,when he passed the portly Denny in the House or in the street. Denny hada way of looking at the member for West Brookshire out of the corner ofa small, slit-like eye. He did it more than usual during these days,and Wharton had only to say to himself that for all things there is aprice--which the gods exact.
Wilkins, since the first disclosure of the _Clarion_ change of policy,had been astonishingly quiet. Wharton had made certain of violent attackfrom him. On the contrary, Wilkins wore now in the House a subdued andpre-occupied air that escaped notice even with his own party in thegeneral fulness of the public mind. A few caustic north-countryisms onthe subject of the _Clarion_ and its master did indeed escape him nowand then, and were reported from mouth to mouth; but on the whole he layvery low.
Still, whether in elation or anxiety, Wharton seemed to himselfthroughout the whole period to be a _fighter_, straining every muscle,his back to the wall and his hand against every man. There at the end ofthe fortnight stood the three goal-posts that must be passed, in victoryor defeat; the meeting that would for the present decide hisparliamentary prospects, his interview with Marcella, and--theconfounded annual meeting of the "People's Banking Company," with allits threatened annoyances.
He became, indeed, more and more occupied with this latter business asthe days went on. But he could see no way of evading it. He would haveto fight it; luckily, now, he had the money.
The annual meeting took place two days before that fixed for thecommittee of the Labour party. Wharton was not present at it, and inspite of ample warning he gave way to certain lively movements ofdisgust and depression when at his club he first got hold of theevening papers containing the reports. His name, of course, figuredamply in the denunciations heaped upon the directors of all dates; thesums which he with others were supposed to have made out of the firstdealings with the shares on the Stock Exchange were freely mentioned;and the shareholders as a body had shown themselves most uncomfortablyviolent. He at once wrote off a letter to the papers disclaiming allresponsibility for the worst irregularities which had occurred, andcourting full enquiry--a letter which, as usual, both convinced andaffected himself.
Then he went, restless and fuming, down to the House. Bennett passed himin the lobby with an uneasy and averted eye. Whereupon Wharton seizedupon him, carried him into the Library, and talked to him, till Bennett,who, in spite of his extraordinary shrewdness and judgment in certaindepartments, was a babe in matters of company finance, wore a somewhatcheered countenance.
They came out into the lobby together, Wharton holding his head veryhigh.
"I shall deal with the whole thing in my speech on Thursday!" he saidaloud, as they parted.
Bennett gave him a friendly nod and smile.
There was in this little man, with his considerable brain and his poet'sheart, something of the "imperishable child." Like a wholesome child, hedid not easily "think evil"; his temper towards all men--even the ownersof "way-leaves" and mining royalties--was optimist. He had the mostnaive admiration for Wharton's ability, and for the academicattainments he himself secretly pined for; and to the young complexpersonality itself he had taken from the beginning an unaccountableliking. The bond between the two, though incongruous and recent, wasreal; Wharton was as glad of Bennett's farewell kindness as Bennett hadbeen of the younger man's explanations.
So that during that day and the next, Bennett went about contradicting,championing, explaining; while Wharton, laden with parliamentarybusiness, vivid, unabashed, and resourceful, let it be known to all whomit concerned that in his solicitor's opinion he had a triumphant answerto all charges; and that meanwhile no one could wonder at the sorenessof those poor devils of shareholders.
The hours passed on. Wednesday was mainly spent by Wharton in a seriesof conferences and intrigues either at the House or at his club; when hedrove home exhausted at night he believed that all was arranged--thetrain irrevocably laid, and his nomination to the chairmanship of theparty certain.
Wilkins and six or seven others would probably prove irreconcilable; butthe vehemence and rancour shown by the great Nehemiah during the summerin the pursuit of his anti-Wharton campaign had to some extent defeatedthemselves. A personal grudge in the hands of a man of his type is not aformidable weapon. Wharton would have felt perfectly easy on the subjectbut for some odd bits of manner on Wilkins's part during the lastforty-eight hours--whenever, in fact, the two men had run across eachother in the House--marked by a sort of new and insolent good humour,that puzzled him. But there is a bravado of defeat. Yes!--he thoughtWilkins was disposed of.
From his present point of ease--debts paid, banker propitiated, incomeassured--it amazed him to look back on his condition of a fortnightbefore. Had the Prince of Darkness himself offered such a bargain itmust have been accepted. After all his luck had held! Once get throughthis odious company business--as to which, with a pleasingconsciousness of turning the tables, he had peremptorily instructed Mr.Pearson himself--and the barque of his fortunes was assured.
Then, with a quick turn of the mind, he threw the burden of affairs fromhim. His very hopefulness and satisfaction had softened his mood. Therestole upon h
im the murmurs and voices of another world of thought--aworld well known to his versatility by report, though he had as a rulesmall inclination to dwell therein. But he was touched and shakento-night by his own achievement. The heavenly powers had beenunexpectedly kind to him, and he was half moved to offer them somethingin return.
"Do as you are done by"--that was an ethic he understood. And in momentsof feeling he was as ready to apply it to great Zeus himself as to hisfriends or enemies in the House of Commons. He had done this doubtfulthing--but why should it ever be necessary for him to do another? Vaguephilosophic yearnings after virtue, moderation, patriotism, crossed hismind. The Pagan ideal sometimes smote and fired him, the Christiannever. He could still read his Plato and his Cicero, whereas gulfs ofunfathomable distaste rolled between him and the New Testament. Perhapsthe author of all authors for whom he had most relish was Montaigne. Hewould have taken him down to-night had there been nothing more kindlingto think of.
_Marcella_!--ah! Marcella! He gave himself to the thought of her with anew and delightful tenderness which had in it elements of compunction.After those disagreeable paragraphs in the evening papers, he hadinstantly written to her. "Every public man"--he had said to her,finding instinctively the note of dignity that would appeal to her--"isliable at some period of his career to charges of this sort. They are atonce exaggerated and blackened, because he is a public man. To you I oweperfect frankness, and you shall have it. Meanwhile I do not ask--Iknow--that you will be just to me, and put the matter out of yourthoughts till I can discuss it with you. Two days more till I see yourface! The time is long!"
To this there had been no answer. Her last letter indeed had rung sadlyand coldly. No doubt Louis Craven had something to do with it. It wouldhave alarmed him could he simply have found the time to think about it.Yet she was ready to see him on the 11th; and his confidence in his ownpowers of managing fate was tougher than ever. What pleasant lies he hadtold her at Lady Masterton's! Well! What passion ever yet but had itssubterfuges? One more wrestle, and he would have tamed her to his wish,wild falcon that she was. Then--pleasure and brave living! And she alsoshould have her way. She should breathe into him the language of thosegreat illusions he had found it of late so hard to feign with her; andthey two would walk and rule a yielding world together. Action, passion,affairs--life explored and exploited--and at last--"_que la mort metreuve plantant mes choulx--mais nonchalant d'elle!--et encore plus demon jardin imparfaict_!"
He declaimed the words of the great Frenchman with something of the sametemper in which the devout man would have made an act of faith. Then,with a long breath and a curious emotion, he went to try and sleephimself into the new day.