Can You Forgive Her? (111 page)

‘Vanquished at last!’ said Lady Glencora, as Alice entered the room.

‘Yes, vanquished; if you like to call it so,’ said Alice.

‘It is not what I call it, but what you feel it,’ said the other. Do
you think that I don’t know you well enough to be sure that you regard yourself now as an unfortunate prisoner, – as a captive taken in war, to be led away in triumph, without
any hope of a ransom? I know that it is quite a misery to you that you should be made a happy woman of at last I understand it all, my dear, and my heart bleeds for you.’

‘Of course; I knew that was the way you would treat me.’

‘In what way would you have me treat you? If I were to hug you with joy, and tell you how good he is, and how fortunate you are, – if I were to praise him, and bid you
triumph in your success, as might be expected on such an occasion, – you would put on a long face at once, and tell me that though the thing is to be, it would be much better that the thing shouldn’t be. Don’t I know you, Alice?’

‘I shouldn’t have said that; – not now.’

‘I believe in my heart you would; – that, or something like it But I do wish you joy all the same, and you may say what you
please. He has got you in his power now, and I don’t think even you can go back.’

‘No; I shall not go back again.’

‘I would join with Lady Midlothian in putting you into a madhouse, if you did. But I am so glad; I am, indeed. I was afraid to the last, – terribly afraid; you are so hard and so proud. I don’t mean hard to me, dear. You have never been half hard enough to me. But you are hard to
yourself, and, upon my word, you have been hard to him. What a deal you will have to make up to him!’

‘I feel that I ought to stand before him always as a penitent, – in a white sheet.’

‘He will like it better, I dare say, if you will sit upon his knee. Some penitents do, you know. And how happy you will be! He’ll never explain the sugar-duties
²
to you, and there’ll be no Mr Bott at Nethercoats.’
They sat together the whole morning, – while Mr Palliser was seeing to the springs and cushions, – and by degrees Alice began to enjoy her happiness. As she did so her friend enjoyed it with her, and at last they had something of the comfort and excitement which such an occasion should give. ‘I’ll tell you
what, Alice; you shall come and be married at Matching, in August, or perhaps September.
That’s the only way in which I can be present; and if we can bespeak some sun, we’ll have the breakfast out in the ruins.’

On the following morning they all started together, a first-class compartment having been taken for the Palliser family, and a second-class compartment close to them for the Palliser servants. Mr Palliser, as he slowly handed his wife in, was a triumphant man; as was also
Mr Grey, as he handed in his lady-love, though, in a manner, much less manifest. We may say that both the gentlemen had been very fortunate while at Lucerne. Mr Palliser had come abroad with a feeling that all the world had been cut from under his feet A great change was needed for his wife, and he had acknowledged at once that everything must be made to yield to that necessity. He certainly had
his reward, – now in his triumphant return. Terrible troubles had afflicted him as he went, which seemed now to have dissipated themselves altogether. When he thought of Burgo Fitzgerald he remembered him only as a poor, unfortunate fellow, for whom he should be glad to do something, if the doing of anything were only in his power; and he had in his pocket a letter which he had that morning received
from the Duke of St Bungay, marked private and confidential, which was in its nature very private and confidential, and in which he was told that Lord Brock and Mr Finespun were totally at variance about French wines
³
. Mr Finespun wanted to do something, now in the recess, – to send some political agent over to France, – to which Lord Brock would not agree; and no one knew what would be the consequence
of this disagreement Here might be another chance, – if only Mr Palliser could give up his winter in Italy! Mr Palliser, as he took his place opposite his wife, was very triumphant.

And Mr Grey was triumphant, as he placed himself gently in his seat opposite to Alice. He seemed to assume no right, as he took that position apparently because it was the one which came naturally to his lot No one
would have been made aware that Alice was his own simply by seeing his arrangements for her comfort. He made no loud assertion as to his property and his rights, as
some men do. He was quiet and subdued in his joy, but not the less was he triumphant. From the day on which Alice had accepted his first offer, – nay, from an earlier day than that; from the day on which he had first resolved to make
it, down to the present hour, he had never been stirred from his purpose. By every word that he had said, and by every act that he had done, he had shown himself to be unmoved by that episode in their joint lives, which Alice’s other friends had regarded as so fatal. When she first rejected him, he would not take his rejection. When she told him that she intended to marry her cousin, he silently
declined to believe that such marriage would ever take place. He had never given her up for a day, and now the event proved that he had been right. Alice was happy, very happy; but she was still disposed to regard her lover as Fate, and her happiness as an enforced necessity.

They stopped a night at Basle, and again she stood upon the balcony. He was close to her as she stood there, – so close
that, putting out her hand for his, she was able to take it and press it closely. You are thinking of something, Alice,’ he said. ‘What is it?’

‘It was here,’ she said – ‘here, on this very balcony, that I first rebelled against you, and now you have brought me here that I should confess and submit on the same spot. I do confess. How am I to thank you for forgiving me?’

On the following morning
they went on to Baden-Baden, and there they stopped for a couple of days. Lady Glencora had positively refused to stop a day at Basle, making so many objections to the place that her husband had at last yielded. ‘I could go from Vienna to London without feeling it,’ she said, with indignation; ‘and to tell me that I can’t do two easy days’ journey running!’ Mr Palliser had been afraid to be imperious,
and therefore, immediately on his arrival at one of the stations in Basle, he had posted across the town, in the heat and the dust, to look after the cushions and the springs at the other.

‘I’ve a particular favour to ask of you,’ Lady Glencora said to her husband, as soon as they were alone together in their rooms at Baden. Mr Palliser declared that he would grant her any particular
favour,
– only premising that he was not to be supposed to have thereby committted himself to any engagement under which his wife should have authority to take any exertion upon herself. ‘I wish I were a milkmaid,’ said Lady Glencora.

‘But you are not a milkmaid, my dear. You haven’t been brought up like a milkmaid.’

But what was the favour? If she would only ask for jewels, – though they were the Grand
Duchess’s diamond eardrops, he would endeavour to get them for her. If she would have quaffed molten pearls, like Cleopatra, he would have procured the beverage, – having first fortified himself with a medical opinion as to the fitness of the drink for a lady in her condition. There was no expenditure that he would not willingly incur for her, nothing costly that he would grudge. But when she
asked for a favour, he was always afraid of an imprudence. Very possibly she might want to drink beer in an open garden.

And her request was, at last, of this nature: ‘I want you to take me up to the gambling-rooms!’ said she.

‘The gambling-rooms!’ said Mr Palliser in dismay.

‘Yes, Plantagenet; the gambling-rooms. If you had been with me before, I should not have made a fool of myself by putting
my piece of money on the table. I want to see the place; but then I saw nothing, because I was so frightened when I found that I was winning.’

Mr Palliser was aware that all the world of Baden, – or rather the world of the strangers at Baden, – assembles itself in those salons. It may be also that he himself was curious to see how men looked when they lost their own money, or won that of others.
He knew how a Minister looked when he lost or gained a tax. He was familiar with millions and tens of millions in a committee of the whole House. He knew the excitement of a near division upon the estimates. But he had never yet see a poor man stake his last napoleon, and rake back from off the table a small hatful of gold. A little exercise after an early dinner was, he had been told, good for
his wife; and he agreed therefore that, on their second evening at Baden, they would all walk up and see the play.

‘Perhaps I shall get back my napoleon,’ said Glencora to Alice.

‘And perhaps I shall be forgiven when somebody sees how difficult it is to manage you,’ said Alice, looking at Mr Palliser.

‘She isn’t in earnest,’ said Mr Palliser, almost fearing the result of the experiment

‘I
don’t know that,’ said Lady Glencora.

They started together, Mr Palliser with his wife, and Mr Grey with Alice on his arm, and found all the tables at work. They at first walked through the different rooms, whispering to each other their comments on the people that they saw, and listening to the quick, low, monotonous words of the croupiers as they arranged and presided over the games. Each table
was closely surrounded by its own crowd, made up of players, embryo players, and simple lookers-on, so that they could not see much as they walked. But this was not enough for Lady Glencora. She was anxious to know what these men and women were doing, – to see whether the croupiers wore horns on their heads and were devils indeed, – to behold the faces of those who were wretched and and of those
who were triumphant, – to know how the thing was done, and to learn something of that lesson in life. ‘Let us stand here a moment,’ she said to her husband, arresting him at one corner of the table which had the greatest crowd. ‘We shall be able to see in a few minutes.’ So he stood with her there, giving way to Alice, who went in front with his wife; and in a minute or two an aperture was made,
so that they could all see the marked cloth, and the money lying about, and the rakes on the table, and the croupier skilfully dealing his cards, and, – more interesting than all the rest, the faces of those who were playing. Grey looked on, over Alice’s shoulder, very attentively, – as did Palliser also, – but both of them kept their eyes upon the ministers of the work. Alice and Glencora did
the same at first, but as they gained courage they glanced round upon the gamblers.

It was a long table, having, of course, four corners, and at the corner appropriated by them they were partly opposite to the man who dealt the cards. The corner answering to theirs at the other end was the part of the table most removed from their sight, and that on which their eyes fell last. As Lady Glencora
stood she could hardly see, – indeed, at first she could not see, – one or two
who were congregated at this spot Mr Palliser, who was behind her, could not see them at all. But to Alice, – and to Mr Grey, had he cared about it, – every face at the table was visible except the faces of those who were immediately close to them. Before long Alice’s attention was riveted on the action and countenance
of one young man who sat at that other corner. He was leaning, at first listlessly, over the table, dressed in a velveteen jacket, and with his round-topped hat brought far over his eyes, so that she could not fully see his face. But she had hardly begun to observe him before he threw back his hat, and taking some pieces of gold from under his left hand, which lay upon the table, pushed three
or four of them on to one of the divisions marked on the cloth. He seemed to show no care, as others did, as to the special spot which they should occupy. Many were very particular in this respect, placing their ventures on the lines, so as to share the fortunes of two compartments, or sometimes of four; or they divided their coins, taking three or four numbers, selecting the numbers with almost grotesque
attention to some imagined rule of their own. But this man let his gold go all together, and left it where his half-stretched rake deposited it by chance. Alice could not but look at his face. His eyes she could see were bloodshot, and his hair, when he pushed back his hat, was rough and dishevelled; but still there was that in his face which no woman could see and not regard. It was a face
which at once prepossessed her in his favour, – as it had always prepossessed all others. On this occasion he had won his money, and Alice saw him drag it in as lazily as he had pushed it out.

‘Do you see that little Frenchman?’ said Lady Glencora. ‘He has just made half a napoleon, and has walked off with it Isn’t it interesting? I could stay here all the night’ Then she turned round to whisper
something to her husband, and Alice’s eyes again fell on the face of the man at the other end of the table. After he had won his money, he had allowed the game to go on for a turn without any action on his part The gold again went under his hand, and he lounged forward with his hat over his eyes. One of the croupiers had said a word, as though calling his attention to the game, but he had merely
shaken his head. But when the fate of the next turn had been decided, he again roused himself, and on
this occasion, as far as Alice could see, pushed his whole stock forward with the rake. There was a little mass of gold, and, from his manner of placing it, all might see that he left its position to chance. One piece had got beyond its boundary, and the croupier pushed it back with some half-expressed
inquiry as to his correctness. ‘All right,’ said a voice in English. Then Lady Glencora started and clutched Alice’s arm with her hand. Mr Palliser was explaining to Mr Grey, behind them, something about German finance as connected with gambling-tables, and did not hear the voice, or see his wife’s motion. I need hardly tell the reader that the gambler was Burgo Fitzgerald.

But Lady Glencora
said not a word, – not as yet She looked forward very gently, but still with eager eyes, till she could just see the face she knew so well. His hat was now pushed back, and his countenance had lost its listlessness. He watched narrowly the face of the man as he told out the amount of the cards as they were dealt He did not try to hide his anxiety, and when, after the telling of some six or seven cards,
he heard a certain number named, and a certain colour called, he made some exclamation which even Glencora could not hear. And then another croupier put down, close to Burgo’s money, certain rolls of gold done up in paper, and also certain loose napoleons.