“I do not know what you mean by having the world at my feet. It seems to me that I have no power whatever—I can do nothing. I am vexed about this business of your brother. Our people are so stupid. They have no resource. When I go to them and ask for a seat, I expect a seat, as I would a shawl at Howell and James’ if I asked for one. Instead of that they only make difficulties. What our party wants is a Mr. Tadpole; he out-manoeuvres them in every corner.”
“Well, I shall be deeply disappointed—deeply pained,” said Lady Roehampton, “if Endymion is not in this parliament, but if we fail I will not utterly despair. I will continue to do what I have done all my life, exert my utmost will and power to advance him.”
“I thought I had will and power,” said Lady Montfort, “but the conceit is taken out of me. Your brother was to me a source of great interest, from the first moment that I knew him. His future was an object in life, and I thought I could mould it. What a mistake! Instead of making his fortune I have only dissipated his life.”
“You have been to him the kindest and the most valuable of friends, and he feels it.”
“It is no use being kind, and I am valuable to no one. I often think if I disappeared to-morrow no one would miss me.”
“You are in a morbid mood, dear lady. To-morrow perhaps everything will be right, and then you will feel that you are surrounded by devoted friends, and by a husband who adores you.”
Lady Montfort gave a scrutinising glance at Lady Roehampton as she said this, then shook her head. “Ah! there it is, dear Myra. You judge from your own happiness; you do not know Lord Montfort. You know how I love him, but I am perfectly convinced he prefers my letters to my society.”
“You see what it is to be a Madame de Sevigne,” said Lady Roehampton, trying to give a playful tone to the conversation.
“You jest,” said Lady Montfort; “I am quite serious. No one can deceive me; would that they could! I have the fatal gift of reading persons, and penetrating motives, however deep or complicated their character, and what I tell you about Lord Montfort is unhappily too true.”
In the meantime, while this interesting conversation was taking place, the gentleman who had been the object of Lady Montfort’s eulogium, the gentleman who always out-manoeuvred her friends at every corner, was, though it was approaching midnight, walking up and down Carlton Terrace with an agitated and indignant countenance, and not alone.