Dinner was served in the library; the conversation during it was chiefly the event of the morning. The duchess, who, though not a partisan, was something of a politician, thought it was a pity that the dictator had ever stepped out of his military sphere; her husband, who had never before seen a man’s coat-tails pulled when he was speaking, dilated much upon the singular circumstance of Lord Spur so disporting himself on the present occasion; while Lord Eskdale, who had sat for a long time in the House of Commons, and who was used to everything, assured his cousin that the custom, though odd, was by no means irregular. ‘I remember,’ said his lordship, ‘seeing Ripon, when he was Robinson, and Huskisson, each pulling one of Canning’s coat-tails at the same time.’
Throughout dinner not a word about Tancred. Lord Eskdale neither asked where he was nor how he was. At length, to the great relief of the duchess, dinner was finished; the servants had disappeared. The duke pushed away the table; they drew their chairs round the hearth; Lord Eskdale took half a glass of Madeira, then stretched his legs a little, then rose, stirred the fire, and then, standing with his back to it and his hands in his pockets, said, in a careless tone approaching to a drawl, ‘And so, duchess, Tancred wants to go to Jerusalem?’
‘George has told you, then, all our troubles?’ ‘Only that; he left the rest to you, and I came to hear it.’
Whereupon the duchess went off, and spoke for a considerable time with great animation and ability, the duke hanging on every word with vigilant interest, Lord Eskdale never interrupting her for an instant; while she stated the case not only with the impassioned feeling of a devoted mother, but occasionally with all the profundity of a theologian. She did not conceal from him the interview between Tancred and the bishop; it was her last effort, and had failed; and so, ‘after all our plans,’ she ended, ‘as far as I can form an opinion, he is absolutely more resolved than ever to go to Jerusalem.’
‘Well,’ said his lordship, ‘it is at least better than going to the Jews, which most men do at his time of life.’
‘I cannot agree even to that,’ said the duchess; ‘for I would rather that he should be ruined than die.’
