The Beetle Richard Marsh (most romantic novels TXT) 📖

the reverse of that to which they themselves had brought them. And he did it all with an aptness, a readiness, a grace, which was incontestable. So that, when he sat down, he had performed that most difficult of all feats, he had delivered what, in a House of Commons’ sense, was a practical, statesmanlike speech, and yet one which left his hearers in an excellent humour.

It was a great success⁠—an immense success. A parliamentary triumph of almost the highest order. Paul Lessingham had been coming on by leaps and bounds. When he resumed his seat, amidst applause which, this time, really was applause, there were, probably, few who doubted that he was destined to go still farther. How much farther it is true that time alone could tell; but, so far as appearances went, all the prizes, which are as the crown and climax of a statesman’s career, were well within his reach.

For my part, I was delighted. I had enjoyed an intellectual exercise⁠—a species of enjoyment not so common as it might be. The Apostle had almost persuaded me that the political game was one worth playing, and that its triumphs were things to be desired. It is something, after all, to be able to appeal successfully to the passions and aspirations of your peers; to gain their plaudits; to prove your skill at the game you yourself have chosen; to be looked up to and admired. And when a woman’s eyes look down on you, and her ears drink in your every word, and her heart beats time with yours⁠—each man to his own temperament, but when that woman is the woman whom you love, to know that your triumph means her glory, and her gladness, to me that would be the best part of it all.

In that hour⁠—the Apostle’s hour!⁠—I almost wished that I were a politician too!

The division was over. The business of the night was practically done. I was back again in the lobby! The theme of conversation was the Apostle’s speech⁠—on every side they talked of it.

Suddenly Marjorie was at my side. Her face was glowing. I never saw her look more beautiful⁠—or happier. She seemed to be alone.

“So you have come, after all!⁠—Wasn’t it splendid?⁠—wasn’t it magnificent? Isn’t it grand to have such great gifts, and to use them to such good purpose?⁠—Speak, Sydney! Don’t feign a coolness which is foreign to your nature!”

I saw that she was hungry for me to praise the man whom she delighted to honour. But, somehow, her enthusiasm cooled mine.

“It was not a bad speech, of a kind.”

“Of a kind!” How her eyes flashed fire! With what disdain she treated me! “What do you mean by ‘of a kind?’ My dear Sydney, are you not aware that it is an attribute of small minds to attempt to belittle those which are greater? Even if you are conscious of inferiority, it’s unwise to show it. Mr. Lessingham’s was a great speech, of any kind; your incapacity to recognise the fact simply reveals your lack of the critical faculty.”

“It is fortunate for Mr. Lessingham that there is at least one person in whom the critical faculty is so bountifully developed. Apparently, in your judgment, he who discriminates is lost.”

I thought she was going to burst into passion. But, instead, laughing, she placed her hand upon my shoulder.

“Poor Sydney!⁠—I understand!⁠—It is so sad!⁠—Do you know you are like a little boy who, when he is beaten, declares that the victor has cheated him. Never mind! as you grow older, you will learn better.”

She stung me almost beyond bearing⁠—I cared not what I said.

“You, unless I am mistaken, will learn better before you are older.”

“What do you mean?”

Before I could have told her⁠—if I had meant to tell; which I did not⁠—Lessingham came up.

“I hope I have not kept you waiting; I have been delayed longer than I expected.”

“Not at all⁠—though I am quite ready to get away; it’s a little tiresome waiting here.”

This with a mischievous glance towards me⁠—a glance which compelled Lessingham to notice me.

“You do not often favour us.”

“I don’t. I find better employment for my time.”

“You are wrong. It’s the cant of the day to underrate the House of Commons, and the work which it performs; don’t you suffer yourself to join in the chorus of the simpletons. Your time cannot be better employed than in endeavouring to improve the body politic.”

“I am obliged to you.⁠—I hope you are feeling better than when I saw you last.”

A gleam came into his eyes, fading as quickly as it came. He showed no other sign of comprehension, surprise, or resentment.

“Thank you.⁠—I am very well.”

Marjorie perceived that I meant more than met the eye, and that what I meant was meant unpleasantly.

“Come⁠—let us be off. It is Mr. Atherton tonight who is not well.”

She had just slipped her arm through Lessingham’s when her father approached. Old Lindon stared at her on the Apostle’s arm, as if he could hardly believe that it was she.

“I thought that you were at the Duchess’?”

“So I have been, papa; and now I’m here.”

“Here!” Old Lindon began to stutter and stammer, and to grow red in the face, as is his wont when at all excited. “W⁠—what do you mean by here?⁠—wh⁠—where’s the carriage?”

“Where should it be, except waiting for me outside⁠—unless the horses have run away.”

“I⁠—I⁠—I’ll take you down to it. I⁠—I don’t approve of y⁠—your w⁠—w⁠—waiting in a place like this.”

“Thank you, papa, but Mr. Lessingham is going to take me down.⁠—I shall see you afterwards.⁠—Goodbye.”

Anything cooler than the way in which she walked off I do not think I ever saw. This is the age of feminine advancement. Young women think nothing of twisting their mothers round their fingers, let alone their fathers; but the fashion in which that young woman walked off, on the Apostle’s arm, and left her father standing there, was, in its way, a study.

Lindon seemed scarcely able to realise that the pair of them had gone. Even after they had