Framley Parsonage, Anthony Trollope [popular e readers txt] 📗

duke with a voice nearly as potent as that which was expressed in the gradual fall of her eye and the gradual pressure of her lips. When she commenced her curtsey she was looking full in her foe’s face. By the time that she had completed it her eyes were turned upon the ground, but there was an ineffable amount of scorn expressed in the lines of her mouth. She spoke no word, and retreated, as modest virtue and feminine weakness must ever retreat, before barefaced vice and virile power; but nevertheless she was held by all the world to have had the best of the encounter. The duke, as he begged her pardon, wore in his countenance that expression of modified sorrow which is common to any gentleman who is supposed by himself to have incommoded a lady. But over and above this⁠—or rather under it⁠—there was a slight smile of derision, as though it were impossible for him to look upon the bearing of Lady Lufton without some amount of ridicule. All this was legible to eyes so keen as those of Miss Dunstable and Mrs. Harold Smith, and the duke was known to be a master of this silent inward sarcasm; but even by them⁠—by Miss Dunstable and Mrs. Harold Smith⁠—it was admitted that Lady Lufton had conquered. When her ladyship again looked up, the duke had passed on; she then resumed the care of Miss Grantly’s hand, and followed in among the company.

“That is what I call unfortunate,” said Miss Dunstable, as soon as both belligerents had departed from the field of battle. “The fates sometimes will be against one.”

“But they have not been at all against you here,” said Mrs. Harold Smith. “If you could arrive at her ladyship’s private thoughts tomorrow morning, you would find her to be quite happy in having met the duke. It will be years before she has done boasting of her triumph, and it will be talked of by the young ladies of Framley for the next three generations.”

The Gresham party, including Dr. Thorne, had remained in the antechamber during the battle. The whole combat did not occupy above two minutes, and the three of them were hemmed off from escape by Lady Lufton’s retreat into Dr. Easyman’s lap; but now they, too, essayed to pass on.

“What, you will desert me,” said Miss Dunstable. “Very well; but I shall find you out by-and-by. Frank, there is to be some dancing in one of the rooms⁠—just to distinguish the affair from Mrs. Proudie’s conversazione. It would be stupid, you know, if all conversaziones were alike; wouldn’t it? So I hope you will go and dance.”

“There will, I presume, be another variation at feeding time,” said Mrs. Harold Smith.

“Oh, yes; certainly; I am the most vulgar of all wretches in that respect. I do love to set people eating and drinking.⁠—Mr. Supplehouse, I am delighted to see you; but do tell me⁠—” and then she whispered with great energy into the ear of Mr. Supplehouse, and Mr. Supplehouse again whispered into her ear. “You think he will, then?” said Miss Dunstable.

Mr. Supplehouse assented; he did think so; but he had no warrant for stating the circumstance as a fact. And then he passed on, hardly looking at Mrs. Harold Smith as he passed.

“What a hangdog countenance he has,” said that lady.

“Ah! you’re prejudiced, my dear, and no wonder; as for myself I always liked Supplehouse. He means mischief; but then mischief is his trade, and he does not conceal it. If I were a politician I should as soon think of being angry with Mr. Supplehouse for turning against me as I am now with a pin for pricking me. It’s my own awkwardness, and I ought to have known how to use the pin more craftily.”

“But you must detest a man who professes to stand by his party, and then does his best to ruin it.”

“So many have done that, my dear; and with much more success than Mr. Supplehouse! All is fair in love and war⁠—why not add politics to the list? If we could only agree to do that, it would save us from such a deal of heartburning, and would make none of us a bit the worse.”

Miss Dunstable’s rooms, large as they were⁠—“a noble suite of rooms certainly, though perhaps a little too⁠—too⁠—too scattered, we will say, eh, bishop?”⁠—were now nearly full, and would have been inconveniently crowded, were it not that many who came only remained for half-an-hour or so. Space, however, had been kept for the dancers⁠—much to Mrs. Proudie’s consternation. Not that she disapproved of dancing in London, as a rule; but she was indignant that the laws of a conversazione, as reestablished by herself in the fashionable world, should be so violently infringed.

“Conversaziones will come to mean nothing,” she said to the bishop, putting great stress on the latter word, “nothing at all, if they are to be treated in this way.”

“No, they won’t; nothing in the least,” said the bishop.

“Dancing may be very well in its place,” said Mrs. Proudie.

“I have never objected to it myself; that is, for the laity,” said the bishop.

“But when people profess to assemble for higher objects,” said Mrs. Proudie, “they ought to act up to their professions.”

“Otherwise they are no better than hypocrites,” said the bishop.

“A spade should be called a spade,” said Mrs. Proudie.

“Decidedly,” said the bishop, assenting.

“And when I undertook the trouble and expense of introducing conversaziones,” continued Mrs. Proudie, with an evident feeling that she had been ill-used, “I had no idea of seeing the word so⁠—so⁠—so misinterpreted;” and then observing certain desirable acquaintances at the other side of the room, she went across, leaving the bishop to fend for himself.

Lady Lufton, having achieved her success, passed on to the dancing, whither it was not probable that her enemy would follow her, and she had not been there very long before she was joined by her son. Her heart at the present moment was not quite satisfied at the state of affairs with reference to Griselda. She had gone so far