[254]
]CHAPTER XI

‘Suppose Reggie and Eric turned out like that young fellow!’ he told himself. ‘What good would my life do me? Next to marrying one of the daughters of Heth (the real, original millstone round a man’s neck), what hope, satisfaction, or comfort should I have in life? Is all my work, thought, self-denial, and drudgery to go for nothing? Shall I see as my male heirs and successors a couple of well-dressed, good-looking “moneyed loungers,” loafing through life with no more interest in the great drama of existence than the supernumerary at a fashion play? Less useful, indeed, than the disregarded “super,” for he works for his humble wage; and these nati consumere fruges don’t even do that.’

These reflections gave so gloomy a tinge to his view of life that he felt inclined to pronounce the whole scheme of human life a joke—a bad one at that. ‘Why, a man might work his powers of mind and body to the extremity of endurance, to reach a well-defined goal, where happiness sat enthroned, and then—when he got there—his [255] ]powers of enjoyment might desert him, or malign occurrences dash the cup from his lips, and the apples of the garden of the Hesperides turn to ashes in his mouth! Why then should mortal man seek to raise himself above the beasts that perish? “Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.”’ Vanitas vanitatum was the verdict with which he concluded this series of enlivening reflections, when a voice which always had power to charm away the demons of despondency fell on his ears.

‘Well, my dear Arnold, what are you looking so serious about? Have you remembered that we are to meet the Liddesdales at luncheon and go with them to Aintree? We have settled to see the great race run, and perhaps the boys will be able to get away and meet us on the course. The girls are so excited about it that their appetites will suffer. There’s an Australian horse in it, or a New Zealander, or something—at any rate an Antipodean, more properly still an Australasian. So we must all back him for the sake of our national honour. What a splendid thing it will be if he wins!’

‘Afraid he hasn’t much chance, my dear! The jumps are not high enough—or stiff enough—for a horse used to three-railed fences. Didn’t some one describe the Grand National as a flat race with a good many low fences in it? Four miles and a half, a trifle over, they say. It wants a fast horse, a thoroughbred and a good stayer. I’ve always held that we—I speak of the South generally—should win it and the Derby some day. [256] ]And so we shall, but there’s a difficulty about the age that complicates the latter race. However, that can be got over, I suppose, in time; but I don’t feel in racing trim, somehow.’

‘Oh, nonsense, my dear! you mustn’t get into low spirits now we’ve got everything we ever wished for, and more besides. It looks like the pilot that weathered the storm breaking up after the ship is safe in harbour. Come along and see the girls’ new dresses. They’re in such good taste, and yet “quite excellent” as to fashion and fit.’

The London season! How often had the words fallen on the ears of the Australian family! What a world of meaning it conveyed to the juvenile section! Vast, mysterious, splendid—the acme of enjoyment—the ne plus ultra of fashion. The pinnacle of perfection in all things desirable, with boundless riches as a substratum, solid, unquestioned, supreme among the nations, what power was like England? And here they were, actually living and breathing in her metropolis—the world’s metropolis, as they had often heard it called. After London there was nothing more to see—nothing more to learn. There were orders of nobility on the continent of Europe—Counts and Princes, Barons and Grafs, in profusion—but what were they to the nobility of England, where only the eldest son was heir to the ancestral title? Not cheapened, as abroad, by the law which gave the rank to every child of the house and to every child of their children—thus multiplying titles, which having little or no means [257] ]upon which to support the dignity, brought contempt upon the order and the race. Day by day as they rode or strolled in the parks they saw magnificent equipages, unsurpassed for beauty and uniformity—such as no other capital could supply—such horses, such carriages!—such equipages generally—as struck them with surprise and admiration. And the number and quality of them! As the sands of the sea—innumerable. They never seemed to come to an end. The private carriages were overpowering enough in all conscience, but by the Four-in-Hand Club—the Coaching Club—on the days of the annual processions, were they wonder-stricken, speechless! Such teams, with such action—in such condition! such coachmen—such footmen—beyond all conception of matching, all imagination of fashion and completeness!

Of course they had not been long in town before they were taken to the theatres and opera houses, where certain performances were in full vogue and acceptation. Here they were entranced by the perfection of the impersonations, the splendour of the staging, the pathos and the majesty of the finest vocal talent of the world, supported by the grandest instrumental harmony. Of this last consummation an Australian compatriot, born and reared to womanhood in a southern metropolis, was a prima donna assoluta during that memorable season.

Heroes too, naval and military, passed in review, in park or street, before these young people. They were evidently desirous to store their minds [258] ]with the exact presentment of the demigods of the race, ‘in their habit’ as they lived, for retrospective meditation. Kitchener was in the Soudan again, but they had sight and heard speech of Lord Roberts—Roberts of Kandahar!

‘Then we put the lances down,