have been his had Lady Glencora been the happy possessor of a cradle upstairs with a boy in it. I suppose he must have done so. It is hardly possible that any man should not be alive to the importance of such a chance. His own present position was one of the most unfortunate which can fall to the lot of a man. His father, the Duke’s youngest brother, had left him about six hundred a year, and had left him also a taste for living with people of six thousand. The propriety of earning his bread had never been put before him. His father had been in Parliament, and had been the most favoured son of the old Duke, who for some years before his death had never spoken to him who now reigned over the house of the Pallisers. Jeffrey’s father had been brought up at Matching Priory as scions of ducal houses are brought up, and on the old man’s death had been possessed of means sufficient to go on in the same path, though with difficulty. His brother had done something for him, and at various times he had held some place near the throne. But on his death, when the property left behind him was divided between his son and three daughters, Jeffrey Palliser became possessed of the income above stated. Of course he could live on it,—and as during the winter months of the year a home was found for him free of cost, he could keep hunters, and live as rich men live. But he was a poor, embarrassed man, without prospects,—until this fine ducal prospect became opened to him by the want of that cradle at Matching Priory.
But the prospect was no doubt very distant. Lady Glencora might yet have as many sons as Hecuba. Or she might die, and some other more fortunate lady might become the mother of his cousin’s heir. Or the Duke might marry and have a son. And, moreover, his cousin was only one year older than himself, and the great prize, if it came his way, might not come for forty years as yet. Nevertheless his hand might now be acceptable in quarters where it would certainly be rejected had Lady Glencora possessed that cradle upstairs. We cannot but suppose that he must have made some calculations of this nature.
“It is a pity you should do nothing all your life,” his cousin Plantagenet said to him one morning just at this time. Jeffrey had sought the interview in his cousin’s room, and I fear had done so with some slight request for ready money.
“What am I to do?” said Jeffrey.
“At any rate you might marry.”
“Oh, yes;—I could marry. There’s no man so poor but what he can do that. The question would be how I might like the subsequent starvation.”
“I don’t see that you need starve. Though your own fortune is small, it is something,—and many girls have fortunes of their own.”
Jeffrey thought of Lady Glencora, but he made no allusion to her in speech. “I don’t think I’m very good at that kind of thing,” he said. “When the father and mother came to ask of my house and my home I should break down. I don’t say it as praising myself;—indeed, quite the reverse; but I fear I have not a mercenary tendency.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“Oh, yes; quite so. I admit that.”
“Men must have mercenary tendencies or they would not have bread. The man who ploughs that he may live does so because he, luckily, has a mercenary tendency.”
“Just so. But you see I am less lucky than the ploughman.”
“There is no vulgar error so vulgar,—that is to say, common or erroneous, as that by which men have been taught to say that mercenary tendencies are bad. A desire for wealth is the source of all progress. Civilization comes from what men call greed. Let your mercenary tendencies be combined with honesty and they cannot take you astray.” This the future Chancellor of the Exchequer said with much of that air and tone of wisdom which a Chancellor of the Exchequer ought to possess.
“But I haven’t got any such tendencies,” said Jeffrey.
“Would you like to occupy a farm in Scotland?” said Plantagenet Palliser.
“And pay rent?”
“You would have to pay rent of course.”
“Thank you, no. It would be dishonest, as I know I should never pay it.”
“You are too old, I fear, for the public service.”
“You mean a desk in the Treasury,—with a hundred a year. Yes; I think I am too old.”
“But have you no plan of your own?”
“Not much of one. Sometimes I have thought I would go to New Zealand.”
“You would have to be a farmer there.”
“No;—I shouldn’t do that. I should get up an opposition to the Government and that sort of thing, and then they would buy me off and give me a place.”
“That does very well here, Jeffrey, if a man can get into Parliament and has capital enough to wait; but I don’t think it would do out there. Would you like to go into Parliament?”
“What; here? Of course I should. Only I should be sure to get terribly into debt. I don’t owe very much, now,—not to speak of,—except what I owe you.”
“You owe nothing to me,” said Plantagenet, with some little touch of magniloquence in his tone. “No; don’t speak of it. I have no brother, and between you and me it means nothing. You see, Jeffrey, it may be that I shall have to look to you as my—my—my heir, in short.” Hereupon Jeffrey muttered something as to the small probability of such necessity, and as to the great remoteness of any result even if it were so.
“That’s all true,” said the elder heir of the Pallisers, “but still—. In short, I wish you would do something. Do you think about it; and then some day speak to me again.”
Jeffrey, as he left his cousin with a cheque for £500 in his waistcoat pocket, thought that the interview which had at one time taken important dimensions, had not been concluded altogether satisfactorily. A seat in Parliament! Yes, indeed! If his cousin would so far use his political, monetary, or ducal interest as to do that for him;—as to give him something of the status properly belonging to the younger son of the House, then indeed life would have some charms for him! But as for the farm in Scotland, or a desk at an office in London,—his own New Zealand plan would be better than those. And then as he went along of course he bethought himself that it might be his lot yet to die, and at least to be buried, in the purple, as a Duke of Omnium. If so, certainly it would be his duty to prepare another heir, and leave a duke behind him,—if it were possible.
“Are you going to ride with us after lunch?” said Lady Glencora to him as he strolled into the drawing-room.
“No,” said Jeffrey; “I’m going to study.”
“To do what?” said Lady Glencora.
“To study;—or rather I shall spend to-day in sitting down and considering what I will study. My cousin has just been telling me that I ought to do something.”
“So you ought,” said Iphigenia energetically from her writing-desk.
“But he didn’t seem to have any clear opinion what it ought to be. You see there can’t be two Chancellors of the Exchequer at the same time. Mrs Sparkes, what ought a young man like me to set about doing?”
“Go into Parliament, I should say,” said Mrs Sparkes.
“Ah,
