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IS HE POPENJOY?
architecture had been reached, and then she caught a word
or two as the Baroness declared that the science was “adaapted only to de æstetic and comprehensive intelligence of de
famale mind.” But the audience applauded throughout as
though every word reached them; and when from time to
time the Baroness wiped her brows with a very large handkerchief, they shook the building with their appreciation of
her energy. Then came a loud rolling sentence, with the old
words as an audible termination — “de manifest infairiority of
de tyrant saix!” As she said this she waved her handkerchief in
the air and almost threw herself over the desk. “She is very
great to-night, — very great indeed,” whispered Miss Doctor
Olivia Q. Fleabody to Lady George. Lady George was afraid to
ask her neighbour whether she understood one word out of
ten that were being spoken.
Great as the Baroness was, Lady George became very tired of
it all. The chair was hard and the room was full of dust, and she
could not get up. It was worse than the longest and the worst
sermon she had ever heard. It seemed to her at last that there
was no reason why the Baroness should not go on for ever.
The woman liked it, and the people applauded her. The poor
victim had made up her mind that there was no hope of cessation, and in doing so was very nearly asleep, when, on a sudden,
the Baroness had finished and had thrown herself violently
back into her chair. “Baroness, believe me,” said Dr. Fleabody,
stretching across Lady George, “it is the greatest treat I ever
had in my life.” The Baroness hardly condescended to answer
the compliment. She was at this moment so great a woman,
at this moment so immeasurably the greatest human being
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
at any rate in London, that it did not become her to acknowledge single compliments. She had worked hard and was very
hot, but still she had sufficient presence of mind to remember
her demeanour.
When the tumult was a little subsided, Lady Selina Protest
got up to move a vote of thanks. She was sitting on the lefthand side of the Chair, and rose so silently that Lady George
had at first thought that the affair was all over, and that they
might go away. Alas, alas! there was more to be borne yet! Lady
Selina spoke with a clear but low voice, and though she was
quite audible, and an earl’s sister, did not evoke any enthusiasm. She declared that the thanks of every woman in England were due to the Baroness for her exertions, and of every
man who wished to be regarded as the friend of women. But
Lady Selina was very quiet, making no gestures, and was indeed somewhat flat. When she sat down no notice whatever
was taken of her. Then very quickly, before Lady George had
time to look about her, the Doctor was on her feet. It was her
task to second the vote of thanks, but she was far too experienced an occupant of platforms to waste her precious occasion
simply on so poor a task. She began by declaring that never in
her life had a duty been assigned to her more consonant to her
taste than that of seconding a vote of thanks to a woman so
eminent, so humanitarian, and at the same time so essentially
a female as the Baroness Banmann. Lady George, who knew
nothing about speaking, felt at once that here was a speaker
who could at any rate make herself audible and intelligible.
Then the Doctor broke away into the general subject, with
special allusions to the special matter of female architecture,
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IS HE POPENJOY?
and went on for twenty minutes without dropping a word.
There was a moment in which she had almost made Lady
George think that women ought to build houses. Her dislike to the American twang had vanished, and she was almost
sorry when Miss Doctor Fleabody resumed her seat.
But it was after that, — after the Baroness had occupied another ten minutes in thanking the British public for
the thanks that had been given to herself, — that the supreme
emotion of the evening came to Lady George. Again she had
thought, when the Baroness a second time rolled back to her
chair, that the time for departure had come. Many in the hall,
indeed, were already going, and she could not quite understand why no one on the platform had as yet moved. Then
came that bald-headed old gentleman to her, to her very self,
and suggested to her that she, — she, Lady George Germain,
who the other day was Mary Lovelace, the Brotherton girl, —
should stand up and make a speech! “There is to be a vote of
thanks to Miss Mildmay as Chairwoman,” said the bald-headed old man, “and we hope, Lady George, that you will favour
us with a few words.”
Her heart utterly gave way and the blood flew into her
cheeks, and she thoroughly repented of having come to this
dreadful place. She knew that she could not do it, though
the world were to depend upon it; but she did not know whether the bald-headed old gentleman might not have the right of
insisting on it. And then all the people were looking at her as
the horrible old man was pressing his request over her shoulder. “Oh,” she said; “no, I can’t. Pray don’t. Indeed I can’t, —
and I won’t.” The idea had come upon her that it was necessary
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
that she should be very absolute. The old man retired meekly,
and himself made the speech in honour of Aunt Ju.
As they were going away Lady George found that she was to
have the honour of conveying the Baroness to her lodgings in
Conduit Street. This was all very well, as there was room for
three in the brougham, and she was not ill-pleased to hear
the ecstasies of Aunt Ju about the lecture. Aunt Ju declared
that she had agreed with every word that had been uttered.
Aunt Ju thought that the cause was flourishing. Aunt Ju was of
opinion that women in England would before long be able to
sit in Parliament and practice in the Law Courts. Aunt Ju was
thoroughly in earnest; but the Baroness had expended her
energy in the lecture, and was more inclined to talk about
persons. Lady George was surprised to hear her say that this
young man was a very handsome young man, and that old man
a very nice old man. She was almost in love with Mr. Spuffin,
the bald-headed gentleman usher; and when she was particular in asking whether Mr. Spuffin was married, Lady George
could hardly think that this was the woman who had been so
eloquent on the “infairiority of de tyrant saix.”
But it was not till Aunt Ju had been dropped in Green
Street, and the conversation fell upon Lady George herself,
that the difficulty began. “You no speak?” asked the Baroness.
“What, in public! Not for the world!”
“You wrong dere. Noting so easy. Say just as you please,
only say it vera loud. And alvays abuse somebody or someting.
You s’ould try.”
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“I would sooner die,” said Lady George. “Indeed, I should
be dead before I could utter a word. Isn’t it odd how that lady
Doctor could speak like that.”
“De American young woman! Dey have de impudence of — of — of everything you please; but it come to
noting.”
“But she spoke well.”
“Dear me, no; noting at all. Dere was noting but vords,
vords, vords. Tank you; here I am. Mind you come again, and
you shall learn to speak.”
Lady George, as she was driven home, was lost in her inability to understand it all. She had thought that the Doctor
spoke the best of all, and now she was told that it was nothing.
She did not yet understand that even people so great as female
orators, so nobly humanitarian as the Baroness Banmann, can
be jealous of the greatness of others.
CHAPTER XVIII
LORD GEORGE UP IN LONDON
Lord George returned to town the day after the lecture,
and was not altogether pleased that his wife should have
gone to the Disabilities. She thought, indeed, that he did not
seem to be in a humour to be pleased with anything. His mind
was thoroughly disturbed by the coming of his brother, and
perplexed with the idea that something must be done though
he knew not what. And he was pervaded by a feeling that in
the present emergency it behoved him to watch his own steps,
and more especially those of his wife. An anonymous letter
had reached Lady Sarah, signed, “A Friend of the Family,” in
which it was stated that the Marquis of Brotherton had allied
himself to the highest blood that Italy knew, marrying into
a family that had been noble before English nobility had existed, whereas his brother had married the granddaughter of
a stable-keeper and a tallow chandler. This letter had, of
course, been shown to Lord George; and, though he and his
sisters agreed in looking upon it as an emanation from their
enemy, the new Marchioness, it still gave them to understand
that she, if attacked, would be prepared to attack again. And
Lord George was open to attack on the side indicated. He was,
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on the whole, satisfied with his wife. She was ladylike, soft,
pretty, well-mannered, and good to him. But her grandfathers
had been stable-keepers and tallow-chandlers. Therefore it
was specially imperative that she should be kept from injurious influences. Lady Selina Protest and Aunt Ju, who were both
well-born, might take liberties; but not so his wife. “I don’t
think that was a very nice place to go to, Mary.”
“It wasn’t nice at all, but it was very funny. I never saw such
a vulgar creature as the Baroness, throwing herself about and
wiping her face.”
“Why should you go and see a vulgar creature throw herself about and wipe her face?”
“Why should anybody do it? One likes to see what is going on, I suppose. The woman’s vulgarity could not hurt me,
George.”
“It could do you no good.”
“Lady Selina Protest was there, and I went with Miss
Mildmay.”
“Two old maids who have gone crazy about Woman’s
Rights because nobody has married them. The whole thing is
distasteful to me, and I hope you will not go there again.”
“That I certainly shall not, because it is very dull,” said
Mary.
“I hope, also, that, independently of that, my request would
be enough.”
“Certainly it would, George; but I don’t know why you
should be so cross to me.”
“I don’t think that I have been cross; but I am anxious, specially anxious. There are reasons why I have to be very anx-
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
ious in regard to you, and why you have to be yourself more
particular than others.”
“What reasons?” She asked this with a look of bewildered
astonishment. He was not prepared to answer the question,
and shuffled out of it, muttering some further words as to
the peculiar difficulty of their position. Then he kissed her
and left her, telling her that all would be well if she would be
careful.
If she would be careful! All would be well if she would be
careful! Why should there be need of more care on her part
than on that of others? She knew that all this had reference in
some way to that troublesome lady and troublesome baby who
were about to be brought home; but she could not conceive
how her conduct could be specially concerned. It was a sorrow to her that her husband should allow himself to be ruffled
about the matter at all. It was a sorrow also that her father
should do so. As to herself, she had an idea that if Providence
chose to make her a Marchioness, Providence ought to be allowed to do it without any interference on her part. But it
would be a double sorrow if she were told that she mustn’t do
this and mustn’t do that because there was before her a dim
prospect of being seated in a certain high place which was
claimed and occupied by another person. And she was aware,
too, that her husband had in very truth scolded her. The ladies at Manor Cross had scolded her before, but he had never
done so. She had got away from Manor Cross, and had borne
the scolding because the prospect of escape had been before
her. But it would be very bad indeed if her husband should
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take to scold her. Then she thought that if Jack De Baron were
married he would never scold his wife.
The Dean had not yet gone home, and in her discomfort
she had recourse to him. She did not intend to complain of her
husband to her father. Had any such idea occurred to her, she
would have stamped it out at once, knowing that such a course
would be both unloyal and unwise. But her father was so pleasant with her, so easy to be talked to, so easy to be understood,
whereas her husband was almost mysterious, — at any rate,
gloomy and dark. “Papa,” she said, “what does George mean by
saying that I ought to be more particular than other people?”
“Does he say so?”
“Yes; and he didn’t like my going with that old woman to
hear the other women. He says that I ought not to do it though
anybody else might.”
“I think you misunderstood him.”
“No; I didn’t, papa.”
“Then you had better imagine that he was tired with his
journey, or that his stomach was a little out of order. Don’t fret
about such things, and whatever you do, make the best of your
husband.”
“But how am I to know where I may go and where I mayn’t?
Am I to ask him everything first?”
“Don’t be a child, whatever you do. You will soon find out
what pleases him and what doesn’t, and, if you manage well,
what you do will please him. Whatever his manner may be, he
is soft-hearted and affectionate.”
“I know that, papa.”
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
“If he says a cross word now and again just let it go by. You
should not suppose that words always mean what they seem to
mean. I knew a man who used to tell his wife ever so often
that he wished she were dead.”
“Good heavens, papa!”
“Whenever he said so she always put a little magnesia into
his beer, and things went on as comfortably as possible. Never
magnify things, even to yourself. I don’t suppose Lord George
wants magnesia as yet, but you will understand what I mean.”
She said that she did; but she had not, in truth, quite comprehended the lesson as yet, nor could her father as yet teach it to
her in plainer language.
On that same afternoon Lord George called in Berkeley
Square and saw Mrs. Houghton. At this time the whole circle of people who were in any way connected with the Germain family, or who, by the circumstances of their lives were
brought within the pale of the Germain influence, were agog
with the marriage of the Marquis. The newspapers had already
announced the probable return of the Marquis and the coming of a new Marchioness and a new Lord Popenjoy. Occasion
had been taken to give some details of the Germain family, and
public allusion had even been made to the marriage of Lord
George. These are days in which, should your wife’s grandfather have ever been insolvent, some newspaper, in its catering
for the public, will think it proper to recall the fact. The Dean’s
parentage had been alluded to, and the late Tallowax will, and
the Tallowax property generally. It had also been declared that
the Marchesa Luigi, — now the present Marchioness, — had
been born an Orsini; and also, in another paper, the other fact
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