The Foreign Minister was down with the gout. For a week he had been confined
to the house, and he had missed two Cabinet Councils at a time when the pressure
upon his department was severe. It is true that he had an excellent
undersecretary and an admirable staff, but the Minister was a man of such ripe
experience and of such proven sagacity that things halted in his absence. When
his firm hand was at the wheel the great ship of State rode easily and smoothly
upon her way; when it was removed she yawed and staggered until twelve British
editors rose up in their omniscience and traced out twelve several courses, each
of which was the sole and only path to safety. Then it was that the Opposition
said vain things, and that the harassed Prime Minister prayed for his absent
The Foreign Minister sat in his dressing-room in the great house in Cavendish
Square. It was May, and the square garden shot up like a veil of green in front
of his window, but, in spite of the sunshine, a fire crackled and sputtered in
the grate of the sick-room. In a deep-red plush armchair sat the great
statesman, his head leaning back upon a silken pillow, one foot stretched
forward and supported upon a padded rest. His deeply-lined, finely-chiselled
face and slow-moving, heavily-pouched eyes were turned upwards towards the
carved and painted ceiling, with that inscrutable expression which had been the
despair and the admiration of his Continental colleagues upon the occasion of
the famous Congress when he had made his first appearance in the arena of
European diplomacy. Yet at the present moment his capacity for hiding his
emotions had for the instant failed him, for about the lines of his strong,
straight mouth and the puckers of his broad, overhanging forehead, there were
sufficient indications of the restlessness and impatience which consumed him.
And indeed there was enough to make a man chafe, for he had much to think of
and yet was bereft of the power of thought. There was, for example, that
question of the Dobrutscha and the navigation of the mouths of the Danube which
was ripe for settlement. The Russian Chancellor had sent a masterly statement
upon the subject, and it was the pet ambition of our Minister to answer it in a
worthy fashion. Then there was the blockade of Crete, and the British fleet
lying off Cape Matapan, waiting for instructions which might change the course
of European history. And there were those three unfortunate Macedonian tourists,
whose friends were momentarily expecting to receive their ears or their fingers
in default of the exorbitant ransom which had been demanded. They must be
plucked out of those mountains, by force or by diplomacy, or an outraged public
would vent its wrath upon Downing Street. All these questions pressed for a
solution, and yet here was the Foreign Minister of England, planted in an
arm-chair, with his whole thoughts and attention riveted upon the ball of his
right toe! It was humiliating—horribly humiliating! His reason revolted at it.
He had been a respecter of himself, a respecter of his own will; but what sort
of a machine was it which could be utterly thrown out of gear by a little piece
of inflamed gristle? He groaned and writhed among his cushions.
But, after all, was it quite impossible that he should go down to the House?
Perhaps the doctor was exaggerating the situation. There was a Cabinet Council
that day. He glanced at his watch. It must be nearly over by now. But at least
he might perhaps venture to drive down as far as Westminster. He pushed back the
little round table with its bristle of medicine-bottles, and levering himself up
with a hand upon either arm of the chair, he clutched a thick oak stick and
hobbled slowly across the room. For a moment as he moved, his energy of mind and
body seemed to return to him. The British fleet should sail from Matapan.
Pressure should be brought to bear upon the Turks. The Greeks should be
shown—Ow! In an instant the Mediterranean was blotted out, and nothing remained
but that huge, undeniable, intrusive, red-hot toe. He staggered to the window
and rested his left hand upon the ledge, while he propped himself upon his stick
with his right. Outside lay the bright, cool, square garden, a few well-dressed
passers-by, and a single, neatly-appointed carriage, which was driving away from
his own door. His quick eye caught the coat-of-arms on the panel, and his lips
set for a moment and his bushy eyebrows gathered ominously with a deep furrow
between them. He hobbled back to his seat and struck the gong which stood upon
"Your mistress!" said he as the serving-man entered.
It was clear that it was impossible to think of going to the House. The
shooting up his leg warned him that his doctor had not overestimated the
situation. But he had a little mental worry now which had for the moment
eclipsed his physical ailments. He tapped the ground impatiently with his stick
until the door of the dressing-room swung open, and a tall, elegant lady of
rather more than middle age swept into the chamber. Her hair was touched with
grey, but her calm, sweet face had all the freshness of youth, and her gown of
green shot plush, with a sparkle of gold passementerie at her bosom and
shoulders, showed off the lines of her fine figure to their best advantage.
"You sent for me, Charles?"
"Whose carriage was that which drove away just now?"
"Oh, you've been up!" she cried, shaking an admonitory forefinger. "What an
old dear it is! How can you be so rash? What am I to say to Sir William when he
comes? You know that he gives up his cases when they are insubordinate."
"In this instance the case may give him up," said the Minister, peevishly;
"but I must beg, Clara, that you will answer my question."
"Oh! the carriage! It must have been Lord Arthur Sibthorpe's."
"I saw the three chevrons upon the panel," muttered the invalid.
His lady had pulled herself a little straighter and opened her large blue
"Then why ask?" she said. "One might almost think, Charles, that you were
laying a trap! Did you expect that I should deceive you? You have not had your
"For Heaven's sake, leave it alone! I asked because I was surprised that Lord
Arthur should call here. I should have fancied, Clara, that I had made myself
sufficiently clear on that point. Who received him?"
"I did. That is, I and Ida."
"I will not have him brought into contact with Ida. I do not approve of it.
The matter has gone too far already."
Lady Clara seated herself on a velvet-topped footstool, and bent her stately
figure over the Minister's hand, which she patted softly between her own.
"Now you have said it, Charles," said she. "It has gone too far—I give you my
word, dear, that I never suspected it until it was past all mending. I may be to
blame—no doubt I am; but it was all so sudden. The tail end of the season and a
week at Lord Donnythorne's. That was all. But oh! Charlie, she loves him so, and
she is our only one! How can we make her miserable?"
"Tut, tut!" cried the Minister impatiently, slapping on the plush arm of his
chair. "This is too much. I tell you, Clara, I give you my word, that all my
official duties, all the affairs of this great empire, do not give me the
trouble that Ida does."
"But she is our only one, Charles."
"The more reason that she should not make a mesalliance."
"Mesalliance, Charles! Lord Arthur Sibthorpe, son of the Duke of Tavistock,
with a pedigree from the Heptarchy. Debrett takes them right back to Morcar,
Earl of Northumberland."
The Minister shrugged his shoulders.
"Lord Arthur is the fourth son of the poorest duke in England," said he. "He
has neither prospects nor profession."
"But, oh! Charlie, you could find him both."
"I do not like him. I do not care for the connection."
"But consider Ida! You know how frail her health is. Her whole soul is set
upon him. You would not have the heart, Charles, to separate them?"
There was a tap at the door. Lady Clara swept towards it and threw it open.
"If you please, my lady, the Prime Minister is below."
"Show him up, Thomas."
"Now, Charlie, you must not excite yourself over public matters. Be very good
and cool and reasonable, like a darling. I am sure that I may trust you."
She threw her light shawl round the invalid's shoulders, and slipped away
into the bed-room as the great man was ushered in at the door of the
"My dear Charles," said he cordially, stepping into the room with all the
boyish briskness for which he was famous, "I trust that you find yourself a
little better. Almost ready for harness, eh? We miss you sadly, both in the
House and in the Council. Quite a storm brewing over this Grecian business. The
Times took a nasty line this morning."
"So I saw," said the invalid, smiling up at his chief. "Well, well, we must
let them see that the country is not entirely ruled from Printing House Square
yet. We must keep our own course without faltering."
"Certainly, Charles, most undoubtedly," assented the Prime Minister, with his
hands in his pockets.
"It was so kind of you to call. I am all impatience to know what was done in
"Pure formalities, nothing more. By-the-way, the Macedonian prisoners are all
"Thank Goodness for that!"
"We adjourned all other business until we should have you with us next week.
The question of a dissolution begins to press. The reports from the provinces
The Foreign Minister moved impatiently and groaned.
"We must really straighten up our foreign business a little," said he. "I
must get Novikoff's Note answered. It is clever, but the fallacies are obvious.
I wish, too, we could clear up the Afghan frontier. This illness is most
exasperating. There is so much to be done, but my brain is clouded. Sometimes I
think it is the gout, and sometimes I put it down to the colchicum."
"What will our medical autocrat say?" laughed the Prime Minister. "You are so
irreverent, Charles. With a bishop one may feel at one's ease. They are not
beyond the reach of argument. But a doctor with his stethoscope and thermometer
is a thing apart. Your reading does not impinge upon him. He is serenely above
you. And then, of course, he takes you at a disadvantage. With health and
strength one might cope with him. Have you read Hahnemann? What are your views
The invalid knew his illustrious colleague too well to follow him down any of
those by-paths of knowledge in which he delighted to wander. To his intensely
shrewd and practical mind there was something repellent in the waste of energy
involved in a discussion upon the Early Church or the twenty-seven principles of
Mesmer. It was his custom to slip past such conversational openings with a quick
step and an averted face.
"I have hardly glanced at his writings," said he. "By-the-way, I suppose that
there was no special departmental news?"
"Ah! I had almost forgotten. Yes, it was one of the things which I had called
to tell you. Sir Algernon Jones has resigned at Tangier. There is a vacancy
"It had better be filled at once. The longer delay the more applicants."
"Ah, patronage, patronage!" sighed the Prime Minister. "Every vacancy makes
one doubtful friend and a dozen very positive enemies. Who so bitter as the
disappointed place-seeker? But you are right, Charles. Better fill it at once,
especially as there is some little trouble in Morocco. I understand that the
Duke of Tavistock would like the place for his fourth son, Lord Arthur
Sibthorpe. We are under some obligation to the Duke."
The Foreign Minister sat up eagerly.
"My dear friend," he said, "it is the very appointment which I should have
suggested. Lord Arthur would be very much better in Tangier at present than
"Cavendish Square?" hazarded his chief, with a little arch query of his
"Well, let us say London. He has manner and tact. He was at Constantinople in
"Then he talks Arabic?"
"A smattering. But his French is good."
"Speaking of Arabic, Charles, have you dipped into Averroes?"
"No, I have not. But the appointment would be an excellent one in every way.
Would you have the great goodness to arrange the matter in my absence?"
"Certainly, Charles, certainly. Is there anything else that I can do?"
"No. I hope to be in the House by Monday."
"I trust so. We miss you at every turn. The Times will try to make mischief
over that Grecian business. A leader-writer is a terribly irresponsible thing,
Charles. There is no method by which he may be confuted, however preposterous
his assertions. Good-bye! Read Porson! Goodbye!"
He shook the invalid's hand, gave a jaunty wave of his broad-brimmed hat, and
darted out of the room with the same elasticity and energy with which he had
The footman had already opened the great folding door to usher the
illustrious visitor to his carriage, when a lady stepped from the drawing-room
and touched him on the sleeve. From behind the half-closed portiere of stamped
velvet a little pale face peeped out, half-curious, half-frightened.
"May I have one word?"
"Surely, Lady Clara."
"I hope it is not intrusive. I would not for the world overstep the limits——"
"My dear Lady Clara!" interrupted the Prime Minister, with a youthful bow and
"Pray do not answer me if I go too far. But I know that Lord Arthur Sibthorpe
has applied for Tangier. Would it be a liberty if I asked you what chance he
"The post is filled up."
In the foreground and background there was a disappointed face.
"And Lord Arthur has it."
The Prime Minister chuckled over his little piece of roguery.
"We have just decided it," he continued.
"Lord Arthur must go in a week. I am delighted to perceive, Lady Clara, that
the appointment has your approval. Tangier is a place of extraordinary interest.
Catherine of Braganza and Colonel Kirke will occur to your memory. Burton has
written well upon Northern Africa. I dine at Windsor, so I am sure that you will
excuse my leaving you. I trust that Lord Charles will be better. He can hardly
fail to be so with such a nurse."
He bowed, waved, and was off down the steps to his brougham. As he drove
away, Lady Clara could see that he was already deeply absorbed in a
She pushed back the velvet curtains, and returned into the drawing-room. Her
daughter stood in the sunlight by the window, tall, fragile, and exquisite, her
features and outline not unlike her mother's, but frailer, softer, more
delicate. The golden light struck one half of her high-bred, sensitive face, and
glimmered upon her thickly-coiled flaxen hair, striking a pinkish tint from her
closely-cut costume of fawn-coloured cloth with its dainty cinnamon ruchings.
One little soft frill of chiffon nestled round her throat, from which the white,
graceful neck and well-poised head shot up like a lily amid moss. Her thin white
hands were pressed together, and her blue eyes turned beseechingly upon her
"Silly girl! Silly girl!" said the matron, answering that imploring look. She
put her hands upon her daughter's sloping shoulders and drew her towards her.
"It is a very nice place for a short time. It will be a stepping stone."
"But oh! mamma, in a week! Poor Arthur!"
"He will be happy."
"What! happy to part?"
"He need not part. You shall go with him."
"Yes, I say it."
"Oh! mamma, in a week?"
"Yes indeed. A great deal may be done in a week. I shall order your trousseau
"Oh! you dear, sweet angel! But I am so frightened! And papa? Oh! dear, I am
"Your papa is a diplomatist, dear."
"But, between ourselves, he married a diplomatist too. If he can manage the
British Empire, I think that I can manage him, Ida. How long have you been
"Ten weeks, mamma."
"Then it is quite time it came to a head. Lord Arthur cannot leave England
without you. You must go to Tangier as the Minister's wife. Now, you will sit
there on the settee, dear, and let me manage entirely. There is Sir William's
carriage! I do think that I know how to manage Sir William. James, just ask the
doctor to step in this way!"
A heavy, two-horsed carriage had drawn up at the door, and there came a
single stately thud upon the knocker. An instant afterwards the drawing-room
door flew open and the footman ushered in the famous physician. He was a small
man, clean-shaven, with the old-fashioned black dress and white cravat with
high-standing collar. He swung his golden pince-nez in his right hand as he
walked, and bent forward with a peering, blinking expression, which was somehow
suggestive of the dark and complex cases through which he had seen.
"Ah," said he, as he entered. "My young patient! I am glad of the
"Yes, I wish to speak to you about her, Sir William. Pray take this
"Thank you, I will sit beside her," said he, taking his place upon the
settee. "She is looking better, less anaemic unquestionably, and a fuller pulse.
Quite a little tinge of colour, and yet not hectic."
"I feel stronger, Sir William."
"But she still has the pain in the side."
"Ah, that pain!" He tapped lightly under the collar-bones, and then bent
forward with his biaural stethoscope in either ear. "Still a trace of
dulness—still a slight crepitation," he murmured.
"You spoke of a change, doctor."
"Yes, certainly a judicious change might be advisable."
"You said a dry climate. I wish to do to the letter what you recommend."
"You have always been model patients."
"We wish to be. You said a dry climate."
"Did I? I rather forget the particulars of our conversation. But a dry
climate is certainly indicated."
"Well, I think really that a patient should be allowed some latitude. I must
not exact too rigid discipline. There is room for individual choice—the
Engadine, Central Europe, Egypt, Algiers, which you like."
"I hear that Tangier is also recommended."
"Oh, yes, certainly; it is very dry."
"You hear, Ida? Sir William says that you are to go to Tangier."
"No, no, Sir William! We feel safest when we are most obedient. You have said
Tangier, and we shall certainly try Tangier."
"Really, Lady Clara, your implicit faith is most flattering. It is not
everyone who would sacrifice their own plans and inclinations so readily."
"We know your skill and your experience, Sir William. Ida shall try Tangier.
I am convinced that she will be benefited."
"I have no doubt of it."
"But you know Lord Charles. He is just a little inclined to decide medical
matters as he would an affair of State. I hope that you will be firm with him."
"As long as Lord Charles honours me so far as to ask my advice I am sure that
he would not place me in the false position of having that advice disregarded."
The medical baronet whirled round the cord of his pince-nez and pushed out a
"No, no, but you must be firm on the point of Tangier."
"Having deliberately formed the opinion that Tangier is the best place for
our young patient, I do not think that I shall readily change my conviction."
"Of course not."
"I shall speak to Lord Charles upon the subject now when I go upstairs."
"And meanwhile she will continue her present course of treatment. I trust
that the warm African air may send her back in a few months with all her energy
He bowed in the courteous, sweeping, old-world fashion which had done so much
to build up his ten thousand a year, and, with the stealthy gait of a man whose
life is spent in sick-rooms, he followed the footman upstairs.
As the red velvet curtains swept back into position, the Lady Ida threw her
arms round her mother's neck and sank her face on to her bosom.
"Oh! mamma, you ARE a diplomatist!" she cried.
But her mother's expression was rather that of the general who looked upon
the first smoke of the guns than of one who had won the victory.
"All will be right, dear," said she, glancing down at the fluffy yellow curls
and tiny ear. "There is still much to be done, but I think we may venture to
order the trousseau."
"Oh I how brave you are!"
"Of course, it will in any case be a very quiet affair. Arthur must get the
license. I do not approve of hole-and-corner marriages, but where the gentleman
has to take up an official position some allowance must be made. We can have
Lady Hilda Edgecombe, and the Trevors, and the Grevilles, and I am sure that the
Prime Minister would run down if he could."
"Oh, yes; he will come too, if he is well enough. We must wait until Sir
William goes, and, meanwhile, I shall write to Lord Arthur."
Half an hour had passed, and quite a number of notes had been dashed off in
the fine, bold, park-paling handwriting of the Lady Clara, when the door
clashed, and the wheels of the doctor's carriage were heard grating outside
against the kerb. The Lady Clara laid down her pen, kissed her daughter, and
started off for the sick-room. The Foreign Minister was lying back in his chair,
with a red silk handkerchief over his forehead, and his bulbous, cotton-wadded
foot still protruding upon its rest.
"I think it is almost liniment time," said Lady Clara, shaking a blue
crinkled bottle. "Shall I put on a little?"
"Oh! this pestilent toe!" groaned the sufferer. "Sir William won't hear of my
moving yet. I do think he is the most completely obstinate and pig-headed man
that I have ever met. I tell him that he has mistaken his profession, and that I
could find him a post at Constantinople. We need a mule out there."
"Poor Sir William!" laughed Lady Clara. "But how has he roused your wrath?"
"He is so persistent-so dogmatic."
"Upon what point?"
"Well, he has been laying down the law about Ida. He has decreed, it seems,
that she is to go to Tangier."
"He said something to that effect before he went up to you."
"Oh, he did, did he?"
The slow-moving, inscrutable eye came sliding round to her.
Lady Clara's face had assumed an expression of transparent obvious innocence,
an intrusive candour which is never seen in nature save when a woman is bent
"He examined her lungs, Charles. He did not say much, but his expression was
"Not to say owlish," interrupted the Minister.
"No, no, Charles; it is no laughing matter. He said that she must have a
change. I am sure that he thought more than he said. He spoke of dulness and
crepitation, and the effects of the African air. Then the talk turned upon dry,
bracing health resorts, and he agreed that Tangier was the place. He said that
even a few months there would work a change."
"And that was all?"
"Yes, that was all."
Lord Charles shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man who is but half
"But of course," said Lady Clara, serenely, "if you think it better that Ida
should not go she shall not. The only thing is that if she should get worse we
might feel a little uncomfortable afterwards. In a weakness of that sort a very
short time may make a difference. Sir William evidently thought the matter
critical. Still, there is no reason why he should influence you. It is a little
responsibility, however. If you take it all upon yourself and free me from any
of it, so that afterwards——"
"My dear Clara, how you do croak!"
"Oh! I don't wish to do that, Charles. But you remember what happened to Lord
Bellamy's child. She was just Ida's age. That was another case in which Sir
William's advice was disregarded."
Lord Charles groaned impatiently.
"I have not disregarded it," said he.
"No, no, of course not. I know your strong sense, and your good heart too
well, dear. You were very wisely looking at both sides of the question. That is
what we poor women cannot do. It is emotion against reason, as I have often
heard you say. We are swayed this way and that, but you men are persistent, and
so you gain your way with us. But I am so pleased that you have decided for
"Well, dear, you said that you would not disregard Sir William."
"Well, Clara, admitting that Ida is to go to Tangier, you will allow that it
is impossible for me to escort her?
"And for you?
"While you are ill my place is by your side."
"There is your sister?"
"She is going to Florida."
"Lady Dumbarton, then?"
"She is nursing her father. It is out of the question."
"Well, then, whom can we possibly ask? Especially just as the season is
commencing. You see, Clara, the fates fight against Sir William."
His wife rested her elbows against the back of the great red chair, and
passed her fingers through the statesman's grizzled curls, stooping down as she
did so until her lips were close to his ear.
"There is Lord Arthur Sibthorpe," said she softly.
Lord Charles bounded in his chair, and muttered a word or two such as were
more frequently heard from Cabinet Ministers in Lord Melbourne's time than now.
"Are you mad, Clara!" he cried. "What can have put such a thought into your
"The Prime Minister."
"Who? The Prime Minister?"
"Yes, dear. Now do, do be good! Or perhaps I had better not speak to you
about it any more."
"Well, I really think that you have gone rather too far to retreat."
"It was the Prime Minister, then, who told me that Lord Arthur was going to
"It is a fact, though it had escaped my memory for the instant."
"And then came Sir William with his advice about Ida. Oh! Charlie, it is
surely more than a coincidence!"
"I am convinced," said Lord Charles, with his shrewd, questioning gaze, "that
it is very much more than a coincidence, Lady Clara. You are a very clever
woman, my dear. A born manager and organiser."
Lady Clara brushed past the compliment.
"Think of our own young days, Charlie," she whispered, with her fingers still
toying with his hair. "What were you then? A poor man, not even Ambassador at
Tangier. But I loved you, and believed in you, and have I ever regretted it? Ida
loves and believes in Lord Arthur, and why should she ever regret it either?"
Lord Charles was silent. His eyes were fixed upon the green branches which
waved outside the window; but his mind had flashed back to a Devonshire
country-house of thirty years ago, and to the one fateful evening when, between
old yew hedges, he paced along beside a slender girl, and poured out to her his
hopes, his fears, and his ambitious. He took the white, thin hand and pressed it
to his lips.
"You, have been a good wife to me, Clara," said he.
She said nothing. She did not attempt to improve upon her advantage. A less
consummate general might have tried to do so, and ruined all. She stood silent
and submissive, noting the quick play of thought which peeped from his eyes and
lip. There was a sparkle in the one and a twitch of amusement in the other, as
he at last glanced up at her.
"Clara," said he, "deny it if you can! You have ordered the trousseau."
She gave his ear a little pinch.
"Subject to your approval," said she.
"You have written to the Archbishop."
"It is not posted yet."
"You have sent a note to Lord Arthur."
"How could you tell that?"
"He is downstairs now."
"No; but I think that is his brougham."
Lord Charles sank back with a look of half-comical despair.
"Who is to fight against such a woman?" he cried. "Oh! if I could send you to
Novikoff! He is too much for any of my men. But, Clara, I cannot have them up
"Not for your blessing?"
"It would make them so happy."
"I cannot stand scenes."
"Then I shall convey it to them."
"And pray say no more about it—to-day, at any rate. I have been weak over the
"Oh! Charlie, you who are so strong!"
"You have outflanked me, Clara. It was very well done. I must congratulate
"Well," she murmured, as she kissed him, "you know I have been studying a
very clever diplomatist for thirty years."