THE COMPLETE PALLISER NOVELS (All 6 Novels in One Edition). Anthony Trollope

know why I wanted it.”

      “What nonsense! as if you couldn’t have made any excuse! I was particularly anxious that he should not guess that I am here.”

      “I don’t see that it can make any difference, George.”

      “But I see that it can,—a very great difference. It may prevent my ever being able to get near him again before he dies. What did he say about my coming?”

      “He didn’t say much.”

      “He made no offer as to my going there?”

      “No.”

      “I should not have gone if he had. I don’t know now that I ever shall go. To be there to do any good,—so as to make him alter his will, and leave me in the position which I have a right to expect, would take more time than the whole property is worth. And he would endeavour to tie me down in some way I could not stand;—perhaps ask me to give up my notion for going into Parliament.”

      “He might ask you, but he would not make it ground for another quarrel, if you refused.”

      “He is so unreasonable and ignorant that I am better away from him. But, Kate, you have not congratulated me on my matrimonial prospects.”

      “Indeed I did, George, when I wrote to you.”

      “Did you? well; I had forgotten. I don’t know that any very strong congratulatory tone is necessary. As things go, perhaps it may be as well for all of us, and that’s about the best that can be said for it.”

      “Oh, George!”

      “You see I’m not romantic, Kate, as you are. Half a dozen children with a small income do not generally present themselves as being desirable to men who wish to push their way in the world.”

      “You know you have always longed to make her your wife.”

      “I don’t know anything of the kind. You have always been under a match-making hallucination on that point. But in this case you have been so far successful, and are entitled to your triumph.”

      “I don’t want any triumph; you ought to know that.”

      “But I’ll tell you what I do want, Kate. I want some money.” Then he paused, but as she did not answer immediately, he was obliged to go on speaking. “I’m not at all sure that I have not been wrong in making this attempt to get into Parliament,—that I’m not struggling to pick fruit which is above my reach.”

      “Don’t say that, George.”

      “Ah, but I can’t help feeling it. I need hardly tell you that I am ready to risk anything of my own. If I know myself I would toss up tomorrow, or for the matter of that to-day, between the gallows and a seat in the House. But I cannot go on with this contest by risking what is merely my own. Money, for immediate use, I have none left, and my neck, though I were ever so willing to risk it, is of no service.”

      “Whatever I have can be yours tomorrow,” said Kate, in a hesitating voice, which too plainly pronounced her misery as she made the offer. She could not refrain herself from making it. Though her grandfather’s threat was ringing in her ears,—though she knew that she might be ruining her brother by proposing such a loan, she had no alternative. When her brother told her of his want of money, she could not abstain from tendering to him the use of what was her own.

      “No;” said he. “I shall not take your money.”

      “You would not scruple, if you knew how welcome you are.”

      “At any rate, I shall not take it. I should not think it right. All that you have would only just suffice for my present wants, and I should not choose to make you a beggar. There would, moreover, be a difficulty about readjusting the payment.”

      “There would be no difficulty, because no one need be consulted but us two.”

      “I should not think it right, and therefore let there be an end of it,” said George in a tone of voice which had in it something of magniloquence.

      “What is it you wish then?” said Kate, who knew too well what he did wish.

      “I will explain to you. When Alice and I are married, of course there will be a settlement made on her, and as we are both the grandchildren of the old squire I shall propose that the Vavasor property shall be hers for life in the event of her outliving me.”

      “Well,” said Kate.

      “And if this be done, there can be no harm in my forestalling some of her property, which, under the circumstances of such a settlement, would of course become mine when we are married.”

      “But the squire might leave the property to whom he pleases.”

      “We know very well that he won’t, at any rate, leave it out of the family. In fact, he would only be too glad to consent to such an agreement as that I have proposed, because he would thereby rob me of all power in the matter.”

      “But that could not be done till you are married.”

      “Look here, Kate;—don’t you make difficulties.” And now, as he looked at her, the cicature on his face seemed to open and yawn at her. “If you mean to say that you won’t help me, do say so, and I will go back to London.”

      “I would do anything in my power to help you,—that was not wrong!”

      “Yes; anybody could say as much as that. That is not much of an offer if you are to keep to yourself the power of deciding what is wrong. Will you write to Alice,—or better still, go to her, and explain that I want the money.”

      “How can I go to London now?”

      “You can do it very well, if you choose. But if that be too much, then write to her. It will come much better from you than from me; write to her, and explain that I must pay in advance the expenses of this contest, and that I cannot look for success unless I do so. I did not think that the demand would come so quick on me; but they know that I am not a man of capital, and therefore I cannot expect them to carry on the fight for me, unless they know that the money is sure. Scruby has been bitten two or three times by these metropolitan fellows, and he is determined that he will not be bitten again.” Then he paused for Kate to speak.

      “George,” she said, slowly.

      “Well.”

      “I wish you would try any other scheme but that.”

      “There is no other scheme! That’s so like a woman;—to quarrel with the only plan that is practicable.”

      “I do not think you ought to take Alice’s money.”

      “My dear Kate, you must allow me to be the best judge of what I ought to do, and what I ought not to do. Alice herself understands the matter perfectly. She knows that I cannot obtain this position, which is as desirable for her as it is for me—”

      “And for me as much as for either,” said Kate, interrupting him.

      “Very well. Alice, I say, knows that I cannot do this without money, and has offered the assistance which I want. I would rather that you should tell her how much I want, and that I want it now, than that I should do so. That is all. If you are half the woman that I take you to be, you will understand this well enough.”

      Kate did understand it well enough. She was quite awake to the fact that her brother was ashamed of the thing he was about to do,—so much ashamed of it that he was desirous of using her voice instead of his own. “I want you to write to her quite at once,” he continued; “since you seem to think that it is not worth while to take the trouble of a journey to London.”

      “There is no question about the trouble,” said Kate. “I would walk to London to get the money for you, if that were all.”

      “Do you think that Alice will refuse to lend it me?” said he, looking into