The scene which followed this motion was truly deplorable. The following of Lady Carlyon consisted of all the younger members of the House—a minority, but full of life and vigour; on the opposite side were the old and middle-aged Peeresses, who had been brought up in the doctrine of woman’s divine right of authority, and of man’s divine rule of obedience. The elders had a tremendous majority, of course; but not the less, the fact that such a motion could be made was disquieting. The debate was not reported, but it got abroad; and while the tracts circulated more widely than ever, no more were seized, because they were all kept hidden, and circulated underhand.
From end to end of the country, the talk was of nothing but of the old times. Was it true, the girls asked, that formerly the women ruled at home, while the men did all the work? If that was so, would no one find a compromise by which they could restore that part, at least, of the former régime? Oh, to end these weary struggles,—these studies, which led to examinations; these examinations, which led to diplomas; these diplomas which led to nothing; these agonising endeavours to trample upon each other, to push themselves into notoriety, to snatch the scraps of work from each other’s hands! Oh, to rest, to lie still, to watch the men work! Oh—but this they whispered with clasping of hands—oh, to be worshipped by a lover young and loyal! What did the tract say? Happy women of old, when there was no Perfect Woman, but each was the goddess of one man!
CHAPTER X
THE FIRST SPARK
IN the early autumn the Cambridge party broke up. Clarence Veysey was the first to go. His sisters wanted him at home, they said.
‘They are good girls,’ he sighed, ‘and less unsexed than most of their sex. Thanks to my reputation for ill health, they do not interfere with my pursuits, and I can read and meditate. Writing is, of course, dangerous.’
Lord Chester had not been long at the Professor’s before he discovered two of those open secrets which are known by everybody. They were naturally affairs of the heart. It was pleasant to find that the young priest, the ardent apostle of the old Faith, was in love, and with Grace Ingleby. The courtship was cold, yet serious; he loved her with the selfish affection of men who have but one absorbing interest in life, and yet want a wife in whom to confide, and from whom to receive undivided care and worship. This he would find in Grace Ingleby,—one of those fond and faithful women who are born full of natural religion, to whom love, faith, and enthusiasm are as the air which they breathe.
The other passion was of a less spiritual kind. Algy Dunquerque, in fact, was in love with Faith Ingleby,—head over ears in love, madly in love,—and she with him. He would break off the most absorbing conversation—even a speculative discussion as to how they would carry themselves, and what they would say, when riding in the cart to execution—in order to walk about under the trees with the girl.
‘The fact is,’ he explained, ‘that if it were not for Faith and for you, I doubt if I should have been secured at all for the Revolution. One more good head would have been saved.’
Another complication made his case serious, and added fresh reasons for despatch in the work before them. His mother addressed him, while he was at Cambridge, a long and serious letter—that kind of letter which must be attended to.
After compliments of the usual kind to the Professor and to Lord Chester,—- it was for the sake of this young man’s friendship, and its possible social advantages, that Algy, as well as Jack Kennion, was permitted to stay so long from home,—Lady Dunquerque opened upon business of a startling nature. She reminded her son that he was now two-and-twenty years of age, a time when many young men of position are already established. ‘I have been willing,’ she said, ‘to give you a long run of freedom,—partly, I confess, because of your friendship for Lord Chester, who, though in many respects not quite the model for quiet and home-loving boys’—here Algy read the passage over again, and nodded his head in approbation—‘will be quite certainly the Duke of Dunstanburgh, and in that position will be the first gentleman of England. But an event has occurred, an event of such good fortune, that I am compelled to recall you without delay. You have frequently met the great lawyer Frederica Roe, Q.C. You will, I am sure, be pleased to learn’—here Algy took the hand of Faith Ingleby, and held it, reading aloud—‘that she has asked for your hand.’