“Do not say such things, dear Lady Montfort. I never can believe what you sometimes intimate on that subject. Do you know, I think it a little hallucination.”
Lady Montfort shook her head with a truly mournful expression, and then suddenly, her beautiful face wreathed with smiles, she said in a gay voice, “We will not think of such sorrows. I wish them to be entombed in my heart, but the spectres will rise sometimes. Now about your brother. I do not mean to say that it would not be a great loss to me if he married, but I wish him to marry if you do. For myself, I must have a male friend, and he must be very clever, and thoroughly understand politics. You know you deprived me of Lord Roehampton,” she continued smilingly, “who was everything I could desire; and the Count of Ferroll would have suited me excellently, but then he ran away. Now Endymion could not easily run away, and he is so agreeable and so intelligent, that at last I thought I had found a companion worth helping—and I meant, and still mean, to work hard—until he is prime minister.”
“I have my dreams too about that,” said Lady Roehampton, “but we are all about the same age, and can wait a little.”
“He cannot be minister too soon,” said Lady Montfort. “It was not being minister soon that ruined Charles Fox.”
The party broke up. The prince made a sign to Waldershare, which meant a confidential cigar, and in a few minutes they were alone together.
“What women!” exclaimed the prince. “Not to be rivalled in this city, and yet quite unlike each other.”
“And which do you admire most, sir?” said Waldershare.
The prince trimmed his cigar, and then he said, “I will tell you this day five years.”