The few words to the Duke had not been difficult, but this letter seemed to be an Herculean task. It was made infinitely more difficult by the fact that Lady Cantrip had not seemed to think that the marriage was impossible. 'Young people when they have set their minds upon it do so generally prevail at last!' These had been her words, and they discomforted him greatly. She had thought the marriage to be possible. Had she not almost expressed an opinion that they ought to be allowed to marry? And if so, would it not be his duty to take his girl away from Lady Cantrip? As to the idea that young people, because they have declared themselves to be in love, were to have just what they wanted,--with that he did not agree at all. Lady Cantrip had told him that young people generally prevail at last. He knew the story of one young person, whose position in her youth had been very much the same as that of his daughter now, and she had not prevailed. And in her case had not the opposition which had been made to her wishes been most fortunate? That young person had become his wife, his Glencora, his Duchess. Had she been allowed to have her own way when she was a child, what would have been her fate? Ah what! Then he had to think of it all. Might she not have been alive now, and perhaps happier than she had ever been with him? And had he remained always unmarried, devoted simply to politics, would not the troubles of the world have been lighter on him? But what had that to do with it? In these matters it was not the happiness of this or that individual which should be considered. There is a propriety in things;--and only by an adherence to that propriety on the part of individuals can the general welfare be maintained. A King in his country, or the heir or the possible heir to the throne, is debarred from what might possibly be a happy marriage by regard to the good of his subjects. To the Duke's thinking the maintenance of the aristocracy of the country was second only in importance to the maintenance of the Crown. How should the aristocracy be maintained if its wealth were allowed to fall into the hands of an adventurer!
Such were the opinions with regard to his own order of one who was as truly Liberal in his ideas as any man in England, and who had argued out these ideas to their consequences. As by the spread of education and increase of the general well-being every proletaire was brought nearer to a Duke, so by such action would the Duke be brought nearer to a proletaire. Such drawing-nearer of the classes was the object to which all this man's political action tended.
And yet it was a dreadful thing to him that his own daughter should desire to marry a man so much beneath her own rank and fortunes as Frank Tregear.
He would not allow himself to believe that the young people could ever prevail; but nevertheless, as the idea of the thing had not alarmed Lady Cantrip as it had him, it was necessary that he should make some apology to Mrs Finn. Each moment of procrastination was a prick to his conscience. He now therefore dragged out from the secrecy of some close drawer Mrs Finn's letter and read it through to himself once again. Yet--it was true that he had condemned her, and that he had punished her. Though he had done nothing to her, said nothing, and written but very little, still he had punished her most severely.
She had written as though the matter was almost one of life and death to her. He could understand that too. His uncle's conduct to this woman, and his wife's, had created the intimacy which had existed. Through their efforts she had become almost as one of the family. And now to be dismissed, like a servant who had misbehaved herself! And then her arguments in her own defence were all so good,--if only that which Lady Cantrip had laid down as law was to be held as law. He was aware now that she had had no knowledge of the matter till his daughter had told her of her engagement at Matching. Then it was evident also that she had sent this Tregear to him immediately on her return to London. And at the end of the letter she had accused him of what she had been pleased to call his usual tenacity in believing ill of her! He had been obstinate,--too obstinate in this respect; but he did not love her the better for having told him of it.
At last he did put his apology into words.
'MY DEAR MRS FINN, 'I believe I had better acknowledge to you at once that I have been wrong in my judgement as to your conduct in a certain matter. You tell me that I owe it to you to make this acknowledgement,--and I make it. The subject is, as you may imagine, so painful that I will spare myself if possible, any further allusion to it. I believe I did you a wrong, and therefore I ask your pardon.
'I should perhaps apologise also for delay in my reply. I have had much to think of in this matter, and have many others also on my mind.
'Believe me to be, Yours faithfully, OMNIUM.'
It was very short, and as being short was infinitely less troublesome at the moment than a fuller epistle; but he was very angry with himself, knowing that it was too short, feeling that it was ungracious. He should have expressed a hope that he might soon see her again,--only he had no such wish. There had been times at which he had liked her, but he knew that he did not like her now.
And yet he was bound to be her friend! If he could only do some great thing for her, and thus satisfy his feeling of indebtedness towards her! But all the favours had been from her to him and his.
