through the mud, and his career in Parliament choked as it was beginning to draw breath?" But the answer his conscience got was, "No; all this was the result of his blindness in marrying a woman who, in her own way, was as evil as his grandfather had been in his."
But now at the age of forty-eight. Lord Fischel was a lonely, embittered man, looking much older than his years and asking himself on this particular day as he dressed to go down to dinner what he was going to do with his son and daughter. The responsibility for their future, he admitted, was his but the fact irked him greatly. They had irked him since they were born. He had never liked the idea of twins, thinking that such children could only be half of their true selves.
The man would have too much of the woman in him and the woman too much of the man, and this theory, he knew, had worked out in his son and daughter. His son, who should be applying himself to serious subjects preparatory to going to the University of Oxford, as he himself had done, could think of nothing but painting. Paintingi Whereas his sister, who should be content to learn the business of running the household, together with the accomplishments of embroidery and music, and perhaps an extra language, galloped the country on a horse, never walked when she could run, talked loudly, laughed loudly, and always kept her head level when she prayed. It was a pity, he thought at times, that he hadn't used the whip of justice on them.
They had only been returned to the house a fortnight and the quiet order and routine of his life had been shattered, and was likely to be for some months ahead, for in four weeks' time he must open the London house and face the veiled looks and revived memories in order to launch them, at least Isabelle, into society.
He couldn't understand now how he had been persuaded into the matter, but his sister-in-law, Helen, had pointed out in her letters that the girl was at an age for a suitable marriage, and in her opinion the sooner it was accomplished the better. Although his sister-in-law had the disadvantage of being a French woman who, since the revolution of 1830, had lived in Heidelberg, and had done her best during the last two years to instill into his daughter the graces necessary for social life--though he had to admit that for most of the time there was little evidence of her efforts--she was a woman of common sense and propriety.
Fate having dealt him the blows it had, he wondered why the Lord in His wisdom had not seen fit to give him children whom he could love.
It was strange, he pondered, but as the years went on this feeling for the need to love increased rather than diminished. Looking back, he couldn't see one human in his life whom he had really loved, not even Irene. The feeling he'd had for her, he knew now, had never been love.
Her ever smiling lips and laughing eyes had caused him to crave her body, and when he had accomplished that and found it was all she had to offer, and had turned from her constant demands, she had proffered her favors elsewhere, not discreetly, which he might have borne, if not forgiven, but openly, until her name became a byword. When she had at last left him, and for a man younger than herself, his head became bowed with shame; and even now, eight years later, he was still unable to hold it upright although he gave no outward sign of this.
As his valet helped him into his jacket he heard the sound of trotting horses coming up the drive and he turned his head in the direction of the long window and thought, "That'll be Bellingham."
Hugh Bellingham was his nearest neighbor, in his own class--and yet not quite in his own class, for he was in commerce, not just holding shares but actively so. Concerning himself greatly with the new railroads, Bellingham represented the powerful middle class that was clawing the power from the old reigning families, of which he considered the Fischels one of the foremost. Yet Bellingham was
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