THE PRIME MINISTER (73 page)

Our old friend Lady Eustace, in these days, lived in a very small house in a very small street bordering upon May Fair; but the street, though very small, and having
disagreeable relations with a mews, still had an air of fashion about it. And with her lived the widow, Mrs Leslie, who had introduced her to Mrs Dick Roby, and through Mrs Roby to Ferdinand Lopez. Lady Eustace was in the enjoyment of a handsome income, as I hope that some of my readers may remember, – and this income, during the last year or two, she had learned to foster, if not with much discretion,
at any rate with great zeal. During her short life she had had many aspirations. Love, poetry, sport, religion, fashion, Bohemianism had all been tried; but in each crisis there had been a certain care for wealth which had saved her from the folly of squandering what she had won by her early energies in the pursuit of her then prevailing passion. She had given her money to no lover, had not
lost it on race-courses, or in building churches; – nor even had she materially damaged her resources by servants and equipages. At the present time she was still young, and still pretty, – though her hair and complexion took rather more time than in the days when she won Sir Florian Eustace. She still liked a lover, – or perhaps two, – though she had thoroughly convinced herself that a lover may
be bought too dear. She could still ride a horse, though hunting regularly was too expensive for her. She could talk religion if she could find herself close to a well-got-up clergyman, – being quite indifferent as to the denomination of the religion. But perhaps a wild dash for a time into fast vulgarity was what in her heart of hearts she liked best, – only that it was so difficult to enjoy that
pleasure without risk of losing everything. And then, together with these passions, and perhaps above them all, there had lately sprung up in the heart of Lady Eustace a desire to multiply her means by successful speculation. This was the friend with whom Lopez had lately become intimate, and by whose aid he hoped to extricate himself from some of his difficulties.

Poor as he was he had contrived
to bribe Mrs Leslie by handsome presents out of Bond Street; – for, as he still lived in Manchester Square, and was the undoubted son-in-law of Mr Wharton, his credit was not altogether gone. In the giving of these gifts no purport was, of course, named, but Mrs Leslie was probably aware that her good word with her friend was expected. ‘I only know what I used to hear from Mrs Roby,’ Mrs Leslie
said to her friend. ‘He was mixed up with Hunky’s people, who roll in money. Old Wharton wouldn’t have given him his daughter if he had not been doing well.’

‘It’s very hard to be sure,’ said Lizzie Eustace.

‘He looks like a man who’d know how to feather his own nest,’ said Mrs Leslie. ‘Don’t you think he’s very handsome?’

‘I don’t know that he’s likely to do the better for that.’

‘Well; no;
but there are men of whom you are sure, when you look at them, that they’ll be successful. I don’t suppose he was anything to begin with, but see where he is now!’

‘I believe you are in love with him, my dear,’ said Lizzie Eustace.

‘Not exactly. I don’t know that he has given me any provocation. But I don’t see why a woman shouldn’t be in love with him if she likes. He is a deal nicer than those
fair-haired men who haven’t got a word to say to you, and yet look as though you ought to jump down their mouths:–like that fellow you were trying to talk to last night, – that Mr Fletcher. He could just jerk out three words at a time, and yet he was proud as Lucifer. I like a man who if he likes me is neither ashamed nor afraid to say so.’

‘There is a romance there, you know. Mr Fletcher was
in love with Emily Wharton, and she threw him over for Lopez. They say he has not held up his head since.’

‘She was quite right,’ said Mrs Leslie. ‘But she is one of those stiff-necked creatures who are set up with pride though they have nothing to be proud of. I suppose she had a lot of money. Lopez would never have taken her without.’

When, therefore, Lopez called one day at the little house
in the little street he was not an unwelcome visitor. Mrs Leslie was in the drawing-room, but soon left it after his arrival. He had of late been often there, and when he at once introduced the subject on which he was himself intent it was not unexpected. ‘Seven thousand five hundred pounds!’ said Lizzie, after listening to the proposition which he had come to make. ‘That is a very large sum of
money!’

‘Yes; – it’s a large sum of money. It’s a large affair. I’m in it to rather more than that, I believe.’

‘How are you to get people to drink it?’ she asked after a pause.

‘By telling them that they ought to drink it. Advertise it. It has become a certainty now that if you will only advertise sufficiently you may make a fortune by selling anything. Only the interest on the money expended
increases in so large a ratio in accordance with the magnitude of the operation! If you spend a few hundreds in advertising you throw them away. A hundred thousand pounds well laid out makes a certainty of anything.’

‘What am I to get to show for my money; – I mean immediately, you know?’

‘Registered shares in the Company.’

‘The Bios Company?’

‘No; – we did propose to call ourselves Parker
and Co., limited. I think we shall change the name. They will probably use my name. Lopez and Co., limited.’

‘But it’s all for Bios?’

‘Oh yes; – all for Bios.’

‘And it’s to come from Central Africa?’

‘It will be rectified in London, you know. Some English spirit will perhaps be mixed. But I must not tell you the secrets of the trade till you join us. That Bios is distilled from the bark of
the Duffer-tree is a certainty.’

‘Have you drank any?’

‘I’ve tasted it.’

‘Is it nice?’

‘Very nice; – rather sweet, you know, and will be the better for mixing.’

‘Gin?’ suggested her ladyship.

‘Perhaps so,–or whisky. I think I may say that you can’t do very much better with your money. You know I would not say this to you were it not true. In such a matter I treat you just as if, – as if
you were my sister.’

‘I know how good you are, – but seven thousand five hundred! I couldn’t raise so much as that just at present.’

‘There are to be six shares,’ said Lopez, ‘making £45,000 capital. Would you consent to take a share jointly with me? That would be three thousand seven hundred and fifty.’

‘But you have a share already,’ said Lizzie suspiciously.

‘I should then divide that with
Mr Parker. We intend to register at any rate as many as nine partners. Would you object to hold it with me?’ Lopez, as he asked the question, looked at her as though he were offering her half his heart.

‘No,’ said Lizzie slowly, ‘I don’t suppose I should object to that.’

‘I should be doubly eager about the affair if I were in partnership with you.’

‘It’s such a venture.’

‘Nothing venture nothing
have.’

‘But I’ve got something as it is, Mr Lopez, and I don’t want to lose it all.’

‘There’s no chance of that if you join us.’

‘You think Bios is so sure!’

‘Quite safe,’ said Lopez.

‘You must give me a little more time to think about it,’ said Lady Eustace at last, panting with anxiety, struggling with herself, anxious for the excitement which would come to her from dealing in Bios, but
still fearing to risk her money.

This had taken place immediately after Mr Wharton’s offer of the £5,000, in making which he had stipulated that Emily should be left at home. Then a few days went by, and Lopez was pressed for his money at the office of the San Juan mine. Did he or did he not mean to take up the mining shares allotted to him? If he did mean to do so, he must do it at once. He
swore by all his gods that of course he meant to take them up. Had not Mr Wharton himself been at the office saying that he intended to pay for them? Was not that a sufficient guarantee? They knew well enough that Mr Wharton was a man to whom the raising of £5,000 could be a matter of no difficulty. But they did not know, never could know, how impossible it was to get anything done by Mr Wharton.
But Mr Wharton had promised to pay for the shares, and when money was concerned his word would surely suffice. Mr Hartlepod, backed by two of the Directors, said if the thing was to go on at all, the money must really be paid at once. But the conference was ended by allowing the new local manager another fortnight in which to complete the arrangement.

Lopez allowed four days to pass by, during
each of which he was
closeted for a time with Lady Eustace, and then made an attempt to get at Mr Wharton through his wife. ‘Your father has said that he will pay the money for me,’ said Lopez.

‘If he has said so he certainly will do it.’

‘But he has promised it on the condition that you should remain at home. Do you wish to desert your husband?’ To this she made no immediate answer. ‘Are you
already anxious to be rid of me?’

‘I should prefer to remain at home,’ she said in a very low voice.

‘Then you do wish to desert your husband?’

‘What is the use of all this, Ferdinand? You do not love me. You did not marry me because I loved you.’

‘By heaven I did; – for that and that only.’

‘And how have you treated me?’

‘What have I done to you?’

‘But I do not mean to make accusations,
Ferdinand. I should only add to our miseries by that. We should be happier apart.’

‘Not I. Nor is that my idea of marriage. Tell your father that you wish to go with me, and then he will let us have the money.’

‘I will tell him no lie, Ferdinand. If you bid me go, I will go. Where you find a home I must find one too if it be your pleasure to take me. But I will not ask my father to give you
money because it is my pleasure to go. Were I to say so he would not believe me.’

‘It is you who have told him to give it me only on the condition of your staying.’

‘I have told him nothing. He knows that I do not wish to go. He cannot but know that. But he knows that I mean to go if you require it.’

‘And you will do nothing for me?’

‘Nothing, – in regard to my father.’ He raised his fist
with the thought of striking her, and she saw the motion. But his arm fell again to his side. He had not quite come to that yet. ‘Surely you will have the charity to tell me whether I am to go, if it be fixed,’ she said.

‘Have I not told you so twenty times?’

‘Then it is fixed.’

‘Yes; – it is fixed. Your father will tell you about your things. He has promised you some beggarly sum, – about
as much as a tallow-chandler would give his daughter.’

‘Whatever he does for me will be sufficient for me. I am not afraid of my father, Ferdinand.’

‘You shall be afraid of me before I have done with you,’ said he, leaving the room.

Then as he sat at his club, dining there alone, there came across his mind ideas of what the world would be like to him if he could leave his wife at home and take
Lizzie Eustace with him to Guatemala. Guatemala was very distant, and it would matter little there whether the woman he brought with him was his wife or no. It was clear enough to him that his wife desired no more of his company. What were the conventions of the world to him? This other woman had money at her own command. He could not make it his own because he could not marry her, but he fancied
that it might be possible to bring her so far under his control as to make the money almost as good as his own. Mr Wharton’s money was very hard to reach; and would be as hard to reach, – perhaps harder, – when Mr Wharton was dead, as now, during his life. He had said a good deal to the lady since the interview of which a report has been given. She had declared herself to be afraid of Bios. She
did not in the least doubt that great things might be ultimately done with Bios, but she did not quite see the way with her small capital, – thus humbly did she speak of her wealth, – to be one of those who should take the initiative in the matter. Bios evidently required a great deal of advertisement, and Lizzie Eustace had a short-sighted objection to expend what money she had saved on the hoardings
of London. Then he opened to her the glories of Guatemala, not contenting himself with describing the certainty of the twenty per cent, but enlarging on the luxurious happiness of life in a country so golden, so green, so gorgeous, and so grand. It had been the very apple of the eye of the old Spaniards. In Guatemala, he said, Cortez and Pizarro had met and embraced. They might have done so
for anything Lizzie Eustace knew to the contrary. And here our hero took advantage of his name. Don Diego di Lopez had been the first to raise the banner of freedom in Guatemala when the kings of Spain became tyrants to their American subjects. All is fair in love and war, and Lizzie amidst the hard business of her life still loved a dash of romance. Yes, he was about to change the scene and try
his fortune in that golden, green, and gorgeous country. ‘You will take
your wife of course,’ Lady Eustace had said. Then Lopez had smiled, and shrugging his shoulders had left the room.

It was certainly the fact that she could not eat him. Other men before Lopez have had to pick up what courage they could in their attacks upon women by remembering that fact She had flirted with him in a very
pleasant way, mixing up her prettinesses and her percentages in a manner that was peculiar to herself. He did not know her, and he knew that he did not know her; – but still there was the chance. She had thrown his wife more than once in his face, after the fashion of women when they are wooed by married men since the days of Cleopatra downwards. But he had taken that simply as encouragement. He
had already let her know that his wife was a vixen who troubled his life. Lizzie had given him her sympathy, and had almost given him a tear. ‘But I am not a man to be brokenhearted because I have made a mistake,’ said Lopez. ‘Marriage vows are very well, but they shall never bind me to misery.’ ‘Marriage vows are not very well. They may be very ill,’ Lizzie had replied, remembering certain passages
in her own life.

There was no doubt about her money, and certainly she could not eat him. The fortnight allowed him by the San Juan Company had nearly gone by when he called at the little house in the little street, resolved to push his fortune in that direction without fear and without hesitation. Mrs Leslie again took her departure, leaving them together, and Lizzie allowed her friend to go,
although the last words that Lopez had spoken had been, as he thought, a fair prelude to the words he intended to speak to-day. ‘And what do you think of it?’ he said, taking both her hands in his.