Parlous Times: A Novel of Modern Diplomacy

"On the contrary, I was hoping we might be favoured with a view of their contents."

"Oh, no," he said, his face lighting up with a frank smile, which appealed to the Secretary in spite of his prejudices. "I never inflict my fads on my friends. I'd promised to send them on to a man in London, and, as I was coming in this direction, brought them part way myself. You see, the average porter cannot understand that a thing may be heavy and yet fragile – if a chest weighs a great deal – and you'd be surprised how heavy a case of slides can be – he bangs it about regardless of labels and warnings; so I generally try to keep an eye on them, or put them in the charge of some trusty friend."

"You are much interested in these things?"

"The slides? Oh, yes, – collecting them becomes quite absorbing, and now these clever scientists of ours are able to photograph directly on them, it increases our field immensely."

"Of course the good you can do with them must be their chief charm to you – " began the Secretary, sententiously.

The answer surprised him.

"Not at all. On the contrary, my charities, if they are charities, are of a very selfish sort. I suppose you've some kind of amusement which you turn to in your hours for relaxation? Golf, tennis, hunting, what not. These little entertainments are – mine. I thoroughly enjoy them. The fact is, I'm passionately fond of children, and not having any of my own, I've adopted everybody else's for the time being. But it's selfish, purely selfish. Some benighted idiots call me a philanthropist – I'd like to have them come pressing their claims for lazy heathen in my bank parlour, they'd find out what sort of business man I was." And this queer specimen doubled up his fists, and broke into a roar of laughter, which was too hearty to have been assumed. "I'll tell you what it is," he continued, "if it wasn't for our good dominie there, I'd admit to you that I hate a real professional philanthropist – ten to one he's a humbug."

The parson held up his hands, and Stanley laughed nervously – the man was actually voicing his own thoughts.

"As for charity – Bah! Charity begins at home. It doesn't go racing over the country with magic lantern shows – that's real downright, selfish egotism."

Then, evidently feeling that the conversation had proceeded far enough in this direction, he broke off suddenly, remarking:

"They tell me that you're a diplomat."

"Yes," said the Secretary. "Perhaps you know my chief?"

"I've not that honour. Indeed I've never had any dealings with your countrymen but once, and then I'd reason to regret it."

"Really? I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was with a large manufacturing company," he continued, and mentioned the name of the concern which had such a sinister reputation in regard to the treaty.

"Oh," said the Secretary, at once alert for any information he might pick up. "You mustn't judge my countrymen by that concern – anyway I understand that it's really owned in England."

"Ah, is it so? I can't say how that may be, I'm sure; but I know they kept so closely to the letter of their contracts with my bank, that it almost crossed the border line from strict business to sharp dealing."

"I'm sorry you should have been annoyed, but I know nothing about it. We – my father, is interested in sugar, and that, as you see, wouldn't bring us into any connection with their line of business."

"No, of course not. Do you happen to know who are the heads of the firm in this country?"

"I haven't any idea," the Secretary answered, very tersely. "I fancy they're in the nature of silent partners. But I dare say they might be known in business circles."

"Oh, the matter doesn't interest me – except as I've mentioned. It was recalled to my mind by some notice of a treaty I saw the other day in the papers – which I should fancy would rather cripple their resources, if it went through."

The Secretary held his peace, and silence falling upon the room, the Reverend Reginald deposited the butt of his cigar tenderly in the ash-tray, and blew his nose lustily, as a preparatory signal for a retreat to the upper regions. The others obeyed the hint, and a moment later were on their way to the drawing-room.

Miss Fitzgerald's resentment towards the Lieutenant had been short-lived, and she was quite ready to aid and abet him to the extent of her power, the more so as his success would upset the most cherished plans of the Marchioness, who was, for the time being, the Irish girl's pet detestation. Accordingly she took up her station near that matron, who descended on her forthwith.

"I suppose, my dear," said the Dowager, with an assumption of friendly interest that was even more terrible to behold than the coldness of her wrath, "I can only suppose, from what I could not help observing at table this evening, that you are soon to be a subject of congratulations."

"Really I don't understand."

"Of course, I shouldn't think of forcing your confidence, but when an engagement is unannounced there's a degree of uncertainty."

"Oh, but I think you're mistaken," said Miss Fitzgerald, lifting her liquid blue eyes to the Dowager's face, with an expression of innocence, which was the perfection of art. "I'm much too young to think of such things – besides, who'd have me, with no dower except my beauty, such as it is, which, as your Ladyship knows, is not lasting."

The Marchioness fairly snorted with rage. She had been a Court belle in her time.

"Some country parson, perhaps," continued Miss Fitzgerald reflectively; "but then I fear I should not make a good parson's wife."

"I should doubt it," assented the Dowager with asperity.

"No millionaires would think of me for a moment."

"I did not know there were any such here."

"What, not Mr. Stanley?"

"Mr. Stanley?"

"Why, to be sure. He's worth millions they say. Stanley & Son, South American sugar. Anyone in the city would confirm my statements, but you don't know the city of course – Lieutenant Kingsland could tell you more about him if you cared to hear it," and she moved away as the gentlemen entered the room, and running up to Stanley, exclaimed: —

"You've been an interminable length of time over your cigars. Men are so selfish and I'm simply dying for a game of hearts."

"You play it so much I should think you would tire of it," he said, smiling.

"Tut! tut! naughty man! This is serious business. Sixpence a heart, and you mustn't win, for I'm quite impoverished. You'll be one of the party, Jack," she continued, turning to Kingsland, who had just come up.

"Nothing I should like better. I always approve of assisting the undeserving," replied the Lieutenant, and added: "I'll get Lady Isabelle to join us." A very valuable piece of assistance, as her Ladyship would hardly have done so on Miss Fitzgerald's unsupported invitation; and since it was manifestly an affair of the young people, this deflection might have ruined all.

The Lieutenant's request, however, had due weight, and she graciously consented to join the party, which was further augmented by Mr. Riddle, who declared that "young people" meant anyone who felt young, and so he did not intend to be excluded.

The cards were accordingly shuffled, but during the deal, Belle discovered that though she had a pencil, no paper for scoring was anywhere obtainable.

"Oh, any old scrap will do," she said. "Surely some of you gentlemen have an old envelope on which we can keep tally. Jack? Mr. Riddle?"

Both gentlemen professed to an utter absence of any available material.

"You, Jim – then?" she queried, turning to the Secretary.

"I don't generally carry my correspondence round in my evening clothes," he protested, laughing.

"Idiot!" she retorted, with an affected depth of scorn. "How can you tell unless you've looked?"

"Oh well," he replied, "to please you – " and thrust his hand into the pocket of his coat. "Why," he exclaimed, "here is something! I declare, it's that mysterious letter which I intercepted at the Hyde Park Club night before last. Let me see, Kingsland, I think it dropped from the ceiling into your hands."

"The letter belongs to me," came the keen voice of Mr. Riddle.

"To you!" said Stanley, in genuine surprise.

"Yes. I gave it to Lieutenant Kingsland at the Hyde Park Club."