Anthony Trollope - The Palliser Novels - Complete Series - All 6 Books in One Edition

Lady Glencora herself had a love for the mountains and lakes, but it was a love of that kind which requires to be stimulated by society, and which is keenest among cold chickens, picnic-pies, and the flying of champagne corks. When they first entered Switzerland she was very enthusiastic, and declared her intention of climbing up all the mountains, and going through all the passes. She endeavoured to induce her husband to promise that she should be taken up Mont Blanc. And I think she would have carried this on, and would have been taken up Mont Blanc, had Mr Palliser’s aspirations been congenial. But they were not congenial, and Lady Glencora soon lost all her enthusiasm. By the time that they were settled at Lucerne she had voted the mountains to be bores, and had almost learned to hate the lake, which she declared always made her wet through when she got into a small boat, and seasick when she put her foot in a large one. At Lucerne they made no acquaintances, Mr Palliser being a man not apt to new friendships. They did not even dine at the public table, though Lady Glencora had expressed a wish to do so. Mr Palliser did not like it, and of course Lady Glencora gave way. There were, moreover, some marital passages which were not pleasant to a third person. They did not scold each other; but Lady Glencora would make little speeches of which her husband disapproved. She would purposely irritate him by continuing her tone of badinage, and then Mr Palliser would become fretful, and would look as though the cares of the world were too many for him. I cannot, therefore, say that Alice had much to make the first period of her sojourn at Lucerne a period of enjoyment.

But when they had been there about a fortnight, a stranger arrived, whose coming at any rate lent the grace of some excitement to their lives. Their custom was to breakfast at nine,—or as near nine as Lady Glencora could be induced to appear,—and then Mr Palliser would read till three. At that hour he would walk forth by himself, after having handed the two ladies into their carriage, and they would be driven about for two hours. “How I do hate this carriage,” Lady Glencora said one day. “I do so wish it would come to grief, and be broken to pieces. I wonder whether the Swiss people think that we are going to be driven about here for ever.” There were moments, however, which seemed to indicate that Lady Glencora had something to tell her cousin, which, if told, would alter the monotony of their lives. Alice, however, would not press her for her secret.

“If you have anything to tell, why don’t you tell it?” Alice once said.

“You are so hard,” said Lady Glencora.

“So you tell me very often,” Alice replied; “and it is not complimentary. But hard or soft, I won’t make a petition for your confidence.” Then Lady Glencora said something savage, and the subject was dropped for a while.

But we must go back to the stranger. Mr Palliser had put the ladies into their carriage, and was standing between the front door of the hotel and the lake on a certain day, doubting whether he would walk up the hill to the left or turn into the town on the right, when he was accosted by an English gentleman, who, raising his hat, said that he believed that he spoke to Mr Palliser.

“I am Mr Palliser,” said our friend, very courteously, returning the salute, and smiling as he spoke. But though he smiled, and though he was courteous, and though he raised his hat, there was something in his look and voice which would not have encouraged any ordinary stranger to persevere. Mr Palliser was not a man with whom it was easy to open an acquaintance.

“My name is John Grey,” said the stranger.

Then the smile was dropped, the look of extreme courtesy disappeared, the tone of Mr Palliser’s voice was altered, and he put out his hand. He knew enough of Mr John Grey’s history to be aware that Mr John Grey was a man with whom he might permit himself to become acquainted. After the interchange of a very few words, the two men started off for a walk together.

“Perhaps you don’t wish to meet the carriage?” said Mr Palliser. “If so, we had better go through the town and up the river.”

They went through the town, and up the river, and when Mr Palliser, on his return, was seen by Alice and Lady Glencora, he was alone. They dined together, and nothing was said. Together they sauntered out in the evening, and together came in and drank their tea; but still nothing was said. At last, Alice and her cousin took their candles from Mr Palliser’s hands and left the sitting-room for the night.

“Alice,” said Lady Glencora, as soon as they were in the passage together, “I have been dying for this time to come. I could not speak before, or I should have made blunders, and so would you. Let us go into your room at once. Who do you think is here, at Lucerne, in this house, at this very moment?”

Alice knew at once who it was. She knew, immediately, that Mr Grey had followed her, though no word had been written to her or spoken to her on the subject since that day on which he himself had told her that they would meet abroad. But though she was quite sure, she did not mention his name. “Who is it, Glencora?” she asked, very calmly.

“Whom in all the world would you best like to see?” said Glencora.

“My cousin Kate, certainly,” said Alice.

“Then it is not your cousin Kate. And I don’t believe you;—or else you’re a fool.”

Alice was accustomed to Lady Glencora’s mode of talking, and therefore did not think much of this. “Perhaps I am a fool,” she said.

“Only I know you are not. But I am not at all so sure as to your being no hypocrite. The person I mean is a gentleman, of course. Why don’t you show a little excitement, at any rate? When Plantagenet told me, just before dinner, I almost jumped out of my shoes. He was going to tell you himself after dinner, in the politest way in the world, no doubt, and just as the servants were carrying away the apples. I thought it best to save you from that; but, I declare, I believe I might have left him to do it; it would have had no effect upon you. Who is it that has come, do you suppose?”

“Of course I know now,” said Alice, very calmly, “that Mr John Grey has come.”

“Yes, Mr John Grey has come. He is here in this house at this minute;—or, more probably, waiting outside by the lake till he shall see a light in your bedroom.” Then Lady Glencora paused for a moment, waiting that Alice might say something. But Alice said nothing. “Well?” said Lady Glencora, rising up from her chair. “Well?”

“Well?” said Alice.

“Have you nothing to say? Is it the same to you as though Mr Smith had come?”

“No; not exactly the same. I am quite alive to the importance of Mr Grey’s arrival, and shall probably lie awake all night thinking about it,—if it will do you any good to know that; but I don’t feel that I have much to say about it.”

“I wish I had let Mr Palliser tell you, in an ordinary way, before all the servants. I do indeed.”

“It would not have made much difference.”

“Not the least, I believe. I wonder whether you ever did care for anybody in your life,—for him, or for that other one, or for anybody. For nobody, I believe;—except your cousin Kate. Still waters, they say, run deep; and sometimes I think your waters run too deep for me to fathom. I suppose I may go now, if you have got nothing more to say?”

“What do you want me to say? Of course I know why he has come here. He told me he should come.”

“And you have never said a word about it.”

“He told me he should come, and I thought it better not to say a word about it. He might change his mind, or anything might happen. I told him not to come; and it would have been much better that he should have remained away.”