"That is just what I was coming to, Lady Caroline. You will allow me to see you sometimes?"
"I shall be always deeply interested in your welfare, Mr. Joyce, and anxious to know how you progress. Oh yes; I hope both to see and hear a great deal of you. Besides, Lord Hetherington may feel inclined to take up the chronicles again; he is rather off them just now, I know; and then you can give your successor some very valuable hints."
When Lady Caroline Mansergh was alone in her own room after this conversation, she reflected long and deeply upon the effect which the receipt of that letter would probably produce upon Walter Joyce, and was sufficiently interested to analyse her own feelings in regard to it. Was she sorry or glad that the intended match had been broken off, and that Joyce was now, so far as his heart was concerned, a free man? That he was free she was certain; that he would never return to the old allegiance she was positive. Lady Caroline in her worldly experience had frequently come across cases of the kind, where the tender regret which at first forbade any harsh mention, scarcely any harsh thought of the false one, had in a very short time given place to a feeling of mortified vanity and baffled desire, which prompted the frankest outpourings, and made itself heard in the bitterest objurgations. The question was, how it affected her. On the whole, she thought that she was pleased at the result. She did not attempt to hide from herself that she had a certain regard for this young man, though of the nature of that regard she had scarcely troubled herself to inquire. One thing she knew, that it was very different from what she had at first intended it should be, from what in the early days of their acquaintance she had allowed it to be. Of course, with such a man, flirtation, in its ordinary sense, was out of the question; she would as soon have thought of flirting with the Great Pyramid as with Walter Joyce. In its place there had existed a kind of friendly interest; but Lady Caroline was fully cognisant that, on her side, that friendly interest had been deepening and strengthening, until, after a little self-examination, she felt forced to confess to herself that it would bear another name. Then came the question, And if it did, what matter? She had never particularly set herself up as a strict observant of the conventionalities or the fetish worship of society; on the contrary, her conduct in that respect had been rather iconoclastic. There need be no surprise, therefore, on the part of the world if she chose to marry out of what was supposed to be her "set" and station in society; and if there had been, she was quite strong-minded enough to laugh at it. But to a woman of Lady Caroline's refinement it was necessary that her husband should be a gentleman, and it was necessary for her pride that, if not her equal in rank, he should not merely be her superior in talent, but should be admitted to be so. Under the fresh disposition of circumstances she saw no reason why this should not be. Walter Joyce would go to London, would there resume his newspaper occupations, and would probably, as she guessed from occasional hints he had recently let fall, turn his attention more to politics than he had hitherto done. He must be clever, she thought. She knew him to be clever, in a woman's notion of cleverness, which was so different to a man's; but he must surely be clever in a man's way too, or they would never have offered him this Berlin appointment, which, according to her notions, required not merely a bright literary style, but, in a far greater degree, the faculty of observation and knowledge of the world. His experience had been very small, but his natural ability and natural keenness must be great. Granted his possession of these gifts, pushed as he would be by her influence--for she intended to give him some excellent introductions--there was little doubt of his success in life, and of his speedily achieving a position which would warrant her in accepting him. In accepting him? Lady Caroline laughed outright, rather a hard bitter laugh, as this idea crossed her mind, at the remembrance that Walter Joyce had never said the slightest word, or shown the smallest sign, that he cared for her as--as she wished to be cared for by him, much less that he ever aspired to her hand. However, let that pass! What was to be, would be, and there was plenty of time to think of such things. Meanwhile, it was decidedly satisfactory that the engagement was broken off between him and that girl, whom Lady Caroline had been accustomed to regard as a simple country wench, a bread-and-butter miss, but who certainly had done her jilting with a coolness and aplomb worthy of a London beauty in her third season. She would have been a drag on Walter's life; for, although ambitious to a degree, and always wanting to rise beyond her sphere, she would have induced him to persevere at his work, and have encouraged him to great efforts; yet, according to Lady Caroline's idea, fame could not be achieved when a man was surrounded by babies requiring to be fed, and other domestic drawbacks, and had not merely himself but a large family to drag up the hill of difficulty, ere eminence was attained. Now Walter would be really free, even from mental ties, Lady Caroline thought, with a half sigh, and if he were ever to do anything worthy of himself, the beginning at least should be now.
The conversation with Lady Caroline Mansergh had not merely the effect of diverting Walter Joyce's thoughts from the contemplation of his own unhappiness for the time being, but rousing within him certain aspirations which he had scarcely ever previously entertained, and which, when they had occasionally arisen in his mind, he had successfully endeavoured to stifle and ignore. No doubt the advice which Lady Caroline had given him was most excellent, and should be followed. There was a future before him, and a brilliant one! He would prove to Marian (already his feelings towards her were beginning to change)--he would prove to Marian that his life was not made utterly blank on account of her cruel treatment; on the contrary, he would try and achieve some end and position, such as he would never have aspired to if he had remained in the calm jog-trot road of life he had planned for himself. He would go to London, to old Byrne, and see whether instead of being sent to Berlin he could not be received on the staff of the paper in London; and he would turn his attention to politics--old Byrne would be of immense use to him there--and he would study and work night and day. Anything to get on, anything to become distinguished, to make a name!
His decision once taken, Joyce lost no time in communicating it to Lord Hetherington. He said that circumstances of great family importance necessitated his immediate return to London, and would require all the attention he could bestow on them for many months to come. Lord Hetherington was a little taken aback by the suddenness of the announcement, but as he had always had a kindly feeling towards Joyce, and since the day of the ice-accident he had regarded him with especial favour, he put the best face he could on the occasion, and expressed his great regret at his secretary's intended departure. His lordship begged that when Mr. Joyce had any leisure time at his disposal he would call upon him at Hetherington House, where they would be always glad to see him; and Joyce trusted that if ever his lordship thought that he (Joyce) could be useful to him in any way, more especially as connected with the chronicles, with which he was so familiar, he would do him the honour to send for him, through Mr. Byrne, who would always know his address. And thus they parted, after the interview, with mutual expressions of goodwill.
This was a little excitement for Lord Hetherington, who at once started off, so soon as Joyce had left him, to tell her ladyship the news.
Lady Hetherington was far more interested in the fact that the secretary had given warning, as she persisted in calling it, than her husband had anticipated. She had always, except when temporarily aroused on the occasion of the accident, been so determined to ignore Mr. Joyce's existence, or had treated him with such marked coldness when compelled to acknowledge it, that his lordship was quite astonished to see how interested she showed herself, how she persisted in cross-questioning him as to what Joyce had stated to be the cause of his leaving, and as to whether he had mentioned it to any other person in the house. On being assured by her husband that he had come straight to her boudoir after parting with the secretary, Lady Hetherington seemed pleased, and strictly enjoined the little lord not to mention it to any one.
They were a very small party at dinner that day, only Mr. Biscoe being present in addition to the members of the family. The conversation was not very brisk, the countess being full of the coming London season, a topic on which Mr. Biscoe, who hated town, and never went near it when he could help it, could scarcely expect to be enthusiastic, Lord Hetherington being always silent, and Lady Caroline on this occasion preoccupied. But when the cloth was removed, and the servants had left the room, Lady Hetherington, in the interval of playing with a few grapes, looked across at her sister-in-law, and said--
"By the way, Caroline, Lord Hetherington's secretary has given warning!"
"You mean that Mr. Joyce is going away, is that it? I thought so, but you have such a curious way of putting things, Margaret!"