‘I suppose he’ll get over it,’ said
Gerald.
‘Is that all you say?’ she asked.
’What can I say better? I suppose he will.
Fellows always do get over that kind of thing.
Herbert de Burgh smashed both his thighs, and now
he can move about again,—of course with
crutches.’
‘Gerald. How can you be so unfeeling!’
’I don’t know what you mean. I always
liked Tregear, and I am very sorry for him. If
you would take it a little quieter, I think it would
be better.’
’I could not take it quietly. How can I
take it quietly when he is more than the world to
me?’
‘You should keep that to yourself.’
’Yes,—and so let people think that
I didn’t care, till I broke my heart!
I shall say just the same to papa when he comes home.’
After than the brother and sister were not on very
good terms with each other for the remainder of the
day.
On the Saturday there was a letter from Silverbridge
to Mrs Finn. Tregear was better; but was unhappy
because it had been decided that he could not be moved
for the next month. This entailed two misfortunes
on him;—first that of being enforced guest
of persons who were not,—or, hitherto had
not been his own friends,—and then his
absence from the first meeting of Parliament.
When a gentleman has been in Parliament some years
he may be able to reconcile himself to an obligatory
vacation with a calm mind. But when the honours
and glory are new, and the tedium of the benches has
not yet been experienced, then such an accident is
felt to be a grievance. But the young member
was out of danger, and was, as Silverbridge declared
in the very best quarters which could be provided
for a man in his position.
Phineas Finn told him all the politics; Mrs Spooner
related to him, on Sundays and Wednesdays, all the
hunting details; while Lady Chiltern read to him light
literature, because he was not allowed to hold a book
in his hand. ‘I wish it were me,’
said Gerald. ‘I wish I were there to read
to him,’ said Mary.
Then the Duke came home. ‘Mary,’
said he, ’I have been distressed to hear of
this accident.’ This seemed to her to be
the kindest word she had heard from him for a long
time. ’I believe him to be a worthy young
man. I am sorry that he should be the cause of
so much sorrow to you—and to me.’
‘Of course I was sorry for his accident,’
she replied, after pausing awhile; ’but now
that he is better I will not cause him a cause of
sorrow—to me.’ Then the Duke
said nothing further about Tregear; nor did she.
‘So you have come at last,’ he said to
Gerald. That was the first greeting,—to
which the son responded by an awkward smile. But
in the course of the evening he walked straight up
to his father—’I have something to
tell you, sir,’ said he.
‘Something to tell me?’
‘Something that will make you very angry.’
