The five-farthing bill had been laid upon the table on a Tuesday,
and was to be read the first time on the following Monday week. On the
Wednesday Lady Glencora had written to the duke, and had called in
Hertford Street. On the following Sunday she was at Matching, looking
after the duke - but she returned to London on the Tuesday, and on
the Wednesday there was a little dinner at Mr Palliser's house, given
avowedly with the object of further friendly discussion respecting the
new Palliser penny. The prime minister was to be there, and Mr
Bonteen, and Barrington Erle, and those special members of the
government who would be available for giving special help to the
financial Hercules of the day. A question, perhaps of no great
practical importance, had occurred to Mr Palliser - but one which,
if overlooked, might be fatal to the ultimate success of the measure.
There is so much in a name - and then an ounce of ridicule is
often more potent than a hundredweight of argument. By what
denomination should the fifth part of a penny be hereafter known?
Someone had, ill-naturedly, whispered to Mr Palliser that a farthing
meant a fourth, and at once there arose a new trouble, which for a
time bore very heavy on him. Should he boldly disregard the original
meaning of the useful old word; or should he venture on the dangers of
new nomenclature? October, as he said to himself, is still the tenth
month of the year, November the eleventh, and so on, though by these
names they are so plainly called the eighth and ninth. All France
tried to rid itself of this absurdity, and failed. Should he stick by
the farthing; or should he call it a fifthing, a quint, or a
semi-tenth. "There's the Fortnightly Review comes out
but once a month," he said to his friend Mr Bonteen, "and I'm
told that it does very well." Mr Bonteen, who was a rational man,
thought the Review would do better if it were called by a
more rational name, and was very much in favour of "a quint".
Mr Gresham had expressed an opinion, somewhat offhand, that English
people would never be got to talk about quints, and so there was a
difficulty. A little dinner was therefore arranged, and Mr Palliser,
as was his custom in such matters, put the affair of the dinner into
his wife's hands. When he was told that she had included Lord Fawn
among the guests he opened his eyes Lord Fawn, who might be good
enough at the India Office, knew literally nothing about the penny.
"He'll take it as the greatest compliment in the world," said
Lady Glencora, "I won't want to pay Lord Fawn a compliment"
said Mr Palliser, "But I do," said Lady Glencora. And so the
matter was arranged.
It was a very nice little dinner. Mrs Gresham and Mrs Bonteen were there, and the great question of the day was settled in two minutes, before the guests went out of the drawing-room. "Stick to your farthing," said Mr Gresham.
"I think so," said Mr Palliser.
"Quint's a very easy word," said Mr Bonteen.
"But squint is an easier," said Mr Gresham, with all a prime minister's jocose authority.
"They'd certainly be called cock-eyes," said Barrington Erle.
"There's nothing of the sound of a quarter in farthing," said Mr Palliser.
"Stick to the old word," said Mr Gresham. And so the matter was decided, while Lady Glencora was flattering Lord Fawn as to the manner in which he had finally arranged the affair of the Sawab of Mygawb. Then they went down to dinner, and not a word more was said that evening about the new penny by Mr Palliser.
Before dinner Lady Glencora had exacted a promise from Lord Fawn that he would return to the drawing-room. Lady Glencora was very clever at such work, and said nothing then of her purpose. She did not want her guests to run away, and therefore Lord Fawn - Lord Fawn especially - must stay. If he were to go there would be nothing spoken of all the evening, but that weary new penny. To oblige her he must remain - and, of course, he did remain. "Whom do you think I saw the other day?" said Lady Glencora, when she got her victim into a corner. Of course, Lord Fawn had no idea whom she might have seen. Up to that moment no suspicion of what was coming upon him had crossed his mind. "I called upon poor Lady Eustace, and found her in bed." Then did Lord Fawn blush up to the roots of his hair, and for a moment he was stricken dumb, "I do feel for her so much! I think she has been so hardly used!"
He was obliged to say something. "My name has, of course, been much mixed up with hers."
"Yes, Lord Fawn, I know it has. And it is because I am so sure of your high-minded generosity and - and thorough devotion, that I have ventured to speak to you. I am sure there is nothing you would wish so much as to get at the truth."
"Certainly, Lady Glencora."
"All manner of stories have been told about her, and, as I believe, without the slightest foundation. They tell me now that she had an undoubted right to keep the diamonds - that even if Sir Florian did not give them to her, they were hers under his will. Those lawyers have given up all idea of proceeding against her."
"Because the necklace has been stolen."
"Altogether independently of that. Do you see Mr Eustace, and ask him if what I say is not true. If it had not been her own she would have been responsible for the value, even though it were stolen; and with such a fortune as hers they would never have allowed her to escape. They were as bitter against her as they could be - weren't they?"
"Mr Camperdown thought that the property should be given up."
"Oh yes - that's the man's name; a horrid man. I am told that he was really most cruel to her. And then, because a lot of thieves had got about her - after the diamonds, you know, like flies round a honey-pot - and took first her necklace and then her money, they were impudent enough to say that she had stolen her own things!"
"I don't think they quite said that, Lady Glencora."
"Something very much like it, Lord Fawn. I have no doubt in my own mind who did steal all the things.
"Who was it?"
"Oh - one musn't mention names in such an affair without evidence. At any rate, she has been very badly treated, and I shall take her up. If I were you I would go and call upon her - I would indeed. I think you owe it to her. Well, Duke, what do you think of Plantagenet's penny now? Will it ever be worth two ha' pence?" This question was asked of the Duke of St Bungay, a great nobleman whom all Liberals loved, and a member of the Cabinet. He had come in since dinner, and had been asking a question or two as to what had been decided.
"Well, yes; if properly invested I think it will. I'm glad that it is not to contain five semi-tenths. A semi-tenth would never have been a popular form of money in England. We hate new names so much that we have not yet got beyond talking of fourpenny bits."
"There's a great deal in a name - isn't there? You don't think they'll call them Pallisers, or Palls, or anything of that sort - do you? I shouldn't like to hear that under the new regime two lollipops were to cost three Palls. But they say it never can be carried this session - and we shan't be in, in the next year."
"Who says so? Don't be such a prop(etess of evil, Lady Glencora. I mean to be in for the next three sessions, and I mean to see Palliser's measure carried through the House of Lords next session. I shall be paying for my mutton chops at the club at so many quints a chop yet. Don't you think so, Fawn?"
"I don't know what to think," said Lord Fawn, whose mind was intent on other matters. After that he left the room as quickly as he could, and escaped out into the street. His mind was very much disturbed. If Lady Glencora was determined to take up the cudgels for the woman he had rejected, the comfort and peace of his life would be over. He knew well enough how strong was Lady Glencora.