书城公版The Last Chronicle of Barset
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第153章

Sir Raffle was still standing with his hat on, and with his back to the fire, and his countenance was full of wrath. It was on his tongue to tell Johnny that he had better return to his former work in the outer office. He greatly wanted the comfort of a private secretary who would believe in him--or at least pretend to believe in him. There are men who, though they have not sense enough to be true, have nevertheless sense enough to know that they cannot expect to be really believed in by those who are near enough to them to know them. Sir Raffle Buffle was such a one. He would have greatly delighted in the services of someone who would trust him implicitly--of some young man who would really believe all that he said of himself and of the Chancellor of the Exchequer; but he was wise enough to perceive that no such young man was to be had; or that any such man--could such a one be found--would be absolutely useless for any purposes of work. He knew himself to be a liar whom nobody trusted. And he knew himself also to be a bully--though he could not think so low of himself as to believe that he was a bully whom nobody feared. A private secretary was at the least bound to pretend to believe in him. There is a decency in such things, and that decency John Eames did not observe. He thought that he must get rid of John Eames, in spite of certain attractions which belonged to Johnny's appearance and general manners, and social standing, and reputed wealth.

But it would not be wise to punish a man on the spot for breaking an appointment which he himself had not kept, and therefore he would wait for another opportunity. 'You had better go to your own room now,' he said. 'I am engaged on a matter connected with the Treasury, in which Iwill not ask for your assistance.' He knew that Eames would not believe a word as to what he said about the Treasury--not even some very trifling base of truth which did exist; but the boast gave him an opportunity of putting an end to the interview after his own fashion.

Then John Eames went to his own room and answered the letters which he had in his pocket.

To the club dinner he would not go. 'What's the use of paying two guineas for a dinner with fellows you see every day of your life?' he said. To Lady Glencora's he would go, and he wrote a line to his friend Dalrymple proposing that they should go together. And he would dine with his cousin Toogood in Tavistock Square. 'One meets the queerest people in the world there,' he said; 'but Tommy Toogood is such a good fellow himself!' After that he had his lunch. Then he read the paper, and before he went away he wrote a dozen or two of private notes, presenting Sir Raffle's compliments right and left, and giving in no one note a single word of information that could be of any use to any person.

Having thus earned his salary by half-past four o'clock he got into a hansom cab and had himself driven to Porchester Terrace. Miss Demolines was at home, of course, and he soon found himself closeted with that interesting young woman.

'I thought you never would have come.' These were the first words she spoke.

'My dear Miss Demolines, you must not forget that I have my bread to earn.'

'Fiddlesticks!--Bread! As if I didn't know that you can get away from your office when you choose.'

'But, indeed, I cannot.'

'What is there to prevent you, Mr Eames?'

'I'm not tied up like a dog, certainly; but who do you suppose will do my work if I do not do it myself? It is a fact, though the world does not believe it, that men in public offices have something to do.'

'Now you are laughing at me, I know; but you are welcome, if you like it. It's the way of the world just at present that ladies should submit to that sort of thing from gentlemen.'

'What sort of thing, Miss Demolines?'

'Chaff, as you call it. Courtesy is out of fashion, and gallantry has come to signify quite a different kind of thing from what it used to do.'

'The Sir Charles Grandison business is done and gone. That's what you mean, I suppose? Don't you think we should find it very heavy if we tried to get it back again?'

'I'm not going to ask you to be a Sir Charles Grandison, Mr Eames. But never mind all that now. Do you know that that girl has absolutely had her first sitting for the picture?'

'Has she, indeed?'

'She has. You may take my word for it. I know it as a fact. What a fool that young man is!'

'Which young man?'

'Which young man! Conway Dalrymple to be sure. Artists are always weak. Of all men in the world they are the most subject to flattery from women; and we all know that Conway Dalrymple is very vain.'

'Upon my word I didn't know it,' said Johnny.

'Yes, you do. You must know it. When a man goes about in a purple velvet coat of course he is vain.'

'I certainly cannot defend a purple velvet coat.'

'That is what he wore when this girl sat to him this morning.'

'This morning was it?'

'Yes, this morning. They little think that the can do nothing without my knowing it. He was there for nearly four hours, and she was dressed up in a white robe as Jael, with a turban on her head. Jael indeed! Icall it very improper, and I am quite astonished that Maria Clutterbuck should have lent herself to such a piece of work. That Maria was never very wise, of course we all know; but I thought that she had principle enough to have kept her from this kind of thing.'

'It's her fevered existence,' said Johnny.

'That's just it. She must have excitement. It is like dram-drinking.

And then, you know, they are always living in the crater of a volcano.'

'Who are living in the crater of a volcano?'

'The Dobbs Broughtons are. Of course they are. There is no saying what day a smash may come. They City people get so used to it that they enjoy it. The risk is everything to them.'

'They like to have a little certainty behind the risk, I fancy.'