Name and Fame: A Novel

by Adeline Sergeant

Nan's first appearance as a bride was at her brother's house. Lady Pynsent's whole soul was wrapped up in the art and mystery of entertaining, and she hailed this opportunity of welcoming the Campions into her "set" with unfeigned joy. Her gifts as a hostess had been her chief recommendation in Sir John's eyes when he married her; he would never have ventured to espouse a woman who could not play her part in the drawing-room as well as he could play his part in the club.

A few days after the Campions' arrival in town, therefore, the Pynsents gave a dinner at their own house, to which Lady Pynsent had invited a number of men, Sydney Campion amongst the number, whom Sir John desired to assemble together. The Benedicts came with their wives, and Nan made her first entry into the charmed circle of matrons, where Sydney hoped that she would one day lead and rule.

Sir John had an object in gathering these half-dozen congenial spirits round his table. He always had, or invented, an object for his acts, whatever they might be; a dinner party at home would have bored him grievously if he could not have invested it with a distinct political purpose. And, indeed, it was this power of throwing fine dust in his own eyes which first made his party regard him as an important social factor, worthy of being taken seriously at his own valuation. The spirit of the age was just as strong in him, though in a somewhat different sense, as it was in Lord Montagu Plumley, one of his guests on the present occasion, who had shot up like a meteor from the comparative obscurity of cadetship in a ducal family to the front rank of the Tory pretenders, mainly by ticketing his own valuation on his breast, and keeping himself perpetually front foremost to the world. The fault was not so much Lord Montagu's as that of the age in which he lived. He had merit, and he felt his strength, precisely as Sir John felt his strength as a social pioneer, but in a generation of talented mediocrities he had no chance of making his merit known by simply doing his duty. At any rate, he had given up the attempt in despair, and on a memorable evening, of which the history shall one day be written full and fair, he had expounded to a select group of his intimate friends his great theory on the saving of the Commonwealth, and his method of obtaining the sceptre of authority, which implied the dispensation of honors to all who believed in him.

A very good fellow in his way was Montagu Plumley, and Sir John was anxious that Sydney Campion, now a connection as well as a friend, should be brought within the influence of one whom the baronet had always regarded as the Young Man of the future. Sydney had been wont to sneer a little, after his fashion, at the individuals who interpreted the new ideas, though he accepted the ideas themselves as irrefragable. The nation must be saved by its young men—yes, certainly. As a young man he saw that plainly enough, but it was not going to be saved by any young man who could be named in his presence. He had said something like this to Sir John Pynsent, not many days before his marriage, and Sir John, who had taken Sydney's measure to a nicety, had resolved that his promising brother-in-law should be converted at the earliest possible opportunity into a faithful follower and henchman of Lord Montagu Plumley.

Another old friend of the reader was amongst the guests who sat over their wine round Sir John's hospitable board. This was the Honorable Tom Willoughby, whom his host had initiated at the Oligarchy into the art of fishing for men in the troubled waters of Liberalism. Tom Willoughby was, and always would be, a light weight in the political arena, but he was very useful when put to work that he could do. He was the spoiled child of Sir John Pynsent, and was fast earning a character as the chartered libertine of the House of Commons, where his unfailing good humor made him friends on both sides. Sir John told him one day that he was cut out to be an envoy extraordinary from the Conservative to the Liberal ranks, whereupon the Honorable Tom had answered that he did not mind discharging the function for his party to-day if he could see his way to doing the same thing for his country hereafter. Whereat Sir John laughed, and told him that if he wanted a mission of that kind he must bow down to the rising sun; and it was then that he asked his friend to come and dine with Lord Montagu.

Gradually, after the ladies had gone, the conversation shifted round to politics, and Sir John began to draw his guests out. People had been talking a good deal during the last few days about the resignation of Mr. Bright, which, coming in the same session with that of Mr. Forster, had made something of a sensation.

"How long will you give them now, Lord Montagu?" said the baronet. "Two of their strongest men are gone—one over Ireland and the other over Egypt. If the country could vote at this moment, I verily believe that we should get a majority. It almost makes one wish for annual Parliaments."

"I have more than once thought, Sir John, that the Tories would have had a much longer aggregate of power in the past fifty years if there had been a general election every year. When we come into office we make things perfectly pleasant all round for the first twelve month. When they come in, it rarely takes them a year to set their friends at loggerheads. As it is, they will stick in to the last moment—certainly until they have passed a Franchise Act."

"I suppose so. We must not go to the country on the Franchise."

"Rather not."