The Small House at Allington, Anthony Trollope [best ebook reader for chromebook .txt] 📗

feeling that the woman has made herself agreeable, as it was her duty to do⁠—agreeable, as far as that smile went, in some very infinitesimal degree. But she has thereby made her little contribution to society. She will make the same contribution a hundred times in the same evening. No one knows that she has flattered anybody; she does not know it herself; and the world calls her an agreeable woman. But Lady Dumbello put no flattery into her customary smiles. They were cold, unmeaning, accompanied by no special glance of the eye, and seldom addressed to the individual. They were given to the room at large; and the room at large, acknowledging her great pretensions, accepted them as sufficient. But when Mr. Palliser came near to her she would turn herself slightly, ever so slightly, on her seat, and would allow her eyes to rest for a moment upon his face. Then when he remarked that it had been rather cold, she would smile actually upon him as she acknowledged the truth of his observation. All this Mr. Palliser taught himself to observe, having been instructed by his foolish uncle in that lesson as to the greasing of the horses’ teeth.

But, nevertheless, during the first week of his stay at Hartlebury, he did not say a word to her more tender than his observation about the weather. It is true that he was very busy. He had undertaken to speak upon the address, and as Parliament was now about to be opened, and as his speech was to be based upon statistics, he was full of figures and papers. His correspondence was pressing, and the day was seldom long enough for his purposes. He felt that the intimacy to which he aspired was hindered by the laborious routine of his life; but nevertheless he would do something before he left Hartlebury, to show the special nature of his regard. He would say something to her, that should open to her view the secret of⁠—shall we say his heart? Such was his resolve, day after day. And yet day after day went by, and nothing was said. He fancied that Lord Dumbello was somewhat less friendly in his manner than he had been, that he put himself in the way and looked cross; but, as he declared to himself, he cared very little for Lord Dumbello’s looks.

“When do you go to town?” he said to her one evening.

“Probably in April. We certainly shall not leave Hartlebury before that.”

“Ah, yes. You stay for the hunting.”

“Yes; Lord Dumbello always remains here through March. He may run up to town for a day or two.”

“How comfortable! I must be in London on Thursday, you know.”

“When Parliament meets, I suppose?”

“Exactly. It is such a bore; but one has to do it.”

“When a man makes a business of it, I suppose he must.”

“Oh, dear, yes; it’s quite imperative.” Then Mr. Palliser looked round the room, and thought he saw Lord Dumbello’s eye fixed upon him. It was really very hard work. If the truth must be told, he did not know how to begin. What was he to say to her? How was he to commence a conversation that should end by being tender? She was very handsome certainly, and for him she could look interesting; but for his very life he did not know how to begin to say anything special to her. A liaison with such a woman as Lady Dumbello⁠—platonic, innocent, but nevertheless very intimate⁠—would certainly lend a grace to his life, which, under its present circumstances, was rather dry. He was told⁠—told by public rumour which had reached him through his uncle⁠—that the lady was willing. She certainly looked as though she liked him; but how was he to begin? The art of startling the House of Commons and frightening the British public by the voluminous accuracy of his statistics he had already learned; but what was he to say to a pretty woman?

“You’ll be sure to be in London in April?”

This was on another occasion.

“Oh, yes; I think so.”

“In Carlton Gardens, I suppose.”

“Yes; Lord Dumbello has got a lease of the house now.”

“Has he, indeed? Ah, it’s an excellent house. I hope I shall be allowed to call there sometimes.”

“Certainly⁠—only I know you must be so busy.”

“Not on Saturdays and Sundays.”

“I always receive on Sundays,” said Lady Dumbello. Mr. Palliser felt that there was nothing peculiarly gracious in this. A permission to call when all her other acquaintances would be there, was not much; but still, perhaps, it was as much as he could expect to obtain on that occasion. He looked up and saw that Lord Dumbello’s eyes were again upon him, and that Lord Dumbello’s brow was black. He began to doubt whether a country house, where all the people were thrown together, was the best place in the world for such manoeuvring. Lady Dumbello was very handsome, and he liked to look at her, but he could not find any subject on which to interest her in that drawing-room at Hartlebury. Later in the evening he found himself saying something to her about the sugar duties, and then he knew that he had better give it up. He had only one day more, and that was required imperatively for his speech. The matter would go much easier in London, and he would postpone it till then. In the crowded rooms of London private conversation would be much easier, and Lord Dumbello wouldn’t stand over and look at him. Lady Dumbello had taken his remarks about the sugar very kindly, and had asked for a definition of an ad valorem duty. It was a nearer approach to a real conversation than he had ever before made; but the subject had been unlucky, and could not, in his hands, be brought round to anything tender; so he resolved to postpone his gallantry till the London spring should make it easy, and felt as he did so, that he was relieved for