pushed three or four more pieces of gold up to that which Lady Glencora had flung down, and had then cunningly caught her eye, and, with all the courtesy of which he was master, had pushed them further on towards her. She had supposed herself to be unknown there in the salon, but no doubt all the croupiers and half the company knew well enough who was the new customer at the table. There was still the space open, near to which she stood, and then someone motioned to her to come and take up the money which she had won. She hesitated, and then the croupier asked her, in that low, indifferent voice which these men always use, whether she desired that her money should remain. She nodded her head to him, and he at once drew the money back again to the spot on which she had placed the first napoleon. Again the cards were turned up softly, again the game was called, and again she won. The money was dealt out to her,—on this occasion with a full hand. There were lying there between twenty and thirty napoleons, of which she was the mistress. Her face had flushed before, but now it became very red. She caught hold of Alice, who was literally trembling beside her, and tried to laugh again. But there was that in her eye which told Alice that she was really frightened. Some one then placed a chair for her at the table, and in her confusion, not knowing what she was to do, she seated herself. “Come away,” said Alice, taking hold of her, and disregarding everything but her own purpose, in the agony of the moment. “You must come away! You shall not sit there!” “I must get rid of that money,” said Glencora, trying to whisper her words, “and then I will come away.” The croupier again asked her if the money was to remain, and she again nodded her head. Everybody at the table was now looking at her. The women especially were staring at her,—those horrid women with vermilion cheeks, and loud bonnets half off their heads, and hard, shameless eyes, and white gloves, which, when taken off in the ardour of the game, disclosed dirty hands. They stared at her with that fixed stare which such women have, and Alice saw it all, and trembled.
Again she won. “Leave it,” said Alice, “and come away.” “I can’t leave it,” said Glencora. “If I do, there’ll be a fuss. I’ll go the next time.” What she said was, of course, in English, and was probably understood by no one near her; but it was easy to be seen that she was troubled, and, of course, those around her looked at her the more because of her trouble. Again that little question and answer went on between her and the croupier, and on this occasion the money was piled up on the compartment—a heap of gold which made envious the hearts of many who stood around there. Alice had now both her hands on the back of the chair, needing support. If the devil should persist, and increase that stock of gold again, she must go and seek for Mr Palliser. She knew not what else to do. She understood nothing of the table, or of its laws; but she supposed all those ministers of the game to be thieves, and believed that all villainous contrivances were within their capacity. She thought that they might go on adding to that heap so long as Lady Glencora would sit there, presuming that they might thus get her into their clutches. Of course, she did not sift her suspicions. Who does at such moments? “Come away at once, and leave it,” she said, “or I shall go.” At that moment the croupier raked it all up, and carried it all away; but Alice did not see that this had been done. A hand had been placed on her shoulder, and as she turned round her face her eyes met those of Mr Palliser. “It is all gone,” said Glencora, laughing. And now she, turning round, also saw her husband. “I am so glad that you are come,” said Alice. “Why did you bring her here?” said Mr Palliser. There was anger in his tone, and anger in his eye. He took his wife’s arm upon his own, and walked away quickly, while Alice followed them alone. He went off at once, down the front steps of the building, towards the hotel. What he said to his wife, Alice did not hear; but her heart was swelling with the ill-usage to which she herself was subjected. Though she might have to go back alone to England, she would tell him that he was illtreating her. She followed him on, up into their drawing-room, and there he stood with the door open in his hand for her, while Lady Glencora threw herself upon a sofa, and burst out into affected laughter. “Here’s a piece of work,” she said, “about a little accident.”
“An accident!” said Mr Palliser.
“Yes, an accident. You don’t suppose that I sat down there meaning to win all that money?” Whereupon he looked at her with scorn.
“Mr Palliser,” said Alice, “you have treated me this evening in a manner I did not expect from you. It is clear that you blame me.”
“I have not said a word, Miss Vavasor.”
“No; you have not said a word. You know well how to show your anger without speaking. As I do not choose to undergo your displeasure, I will return to England by myself.”
“Alice! Alice!” said Glencora, jumping up, “that is nonsense! What is all this trumpery thing about? Leave me, because he chooses to be angry about nothing?”
“Is it nothing that I find my wife playing at a common gambling-table, surrounded by all that is wretched and vile,—established there, seated, with heaps of gold before her?”
“You wrong me, Plantagenet,” said Glencora. “There was only one heap, and that did not remain long. Did it, Alice?”
“It is impossible to make you ashamed of anything,” he said.
“I certainly don’t like being ashamed,” she answered; “and don’t feel any necessity on this occasion.”
“If you don’t object, Mr Palliser,” said Alice, “I will go to bed. You can think over all this at night,—and so can I. Good night, Glencora.” Then Alice took her candle, and marched off to her own room, with all the dignity of which she was mistress.
Chapter LXIX.
From Baden to Lucerne
The second week in July saw Mr Palliser’s party, carriage and all, established at Lucerne, in Switzerland, safe beyond the reach of the German gambling tables. Alice Vavasor was still with them; and the reader will therefore understand that that quarrel about Lady Glencora’s wickedness had been settled without any rupture. It had been settled amicably, and by the time that they had reached Lucerne, Alice was inclined to acknowledge that the whole thing was not worth notice; but for many days her anger against Mr Palliser had not been removed, and her intimacy with him had been much checked. It was now a month since the occurrence of that little scene in the salon at Baden, which was described in the last chapter,—since Mr Palliser had marched off with his wife, leaving Alice to follow as she best could by herself. After that, as the reader may remember, he had almost told her that she was to be blamed because of his wife’s indiscretion; and when she had declared her intention of leaving him, and making her way home to England by herself, he had answered her not at all, and had allowed her to go off to her own room under the full ban of his displeasure. Since that he had made no apology to her; he had not, in so many words, acknowledged that he had wronged her; but Alice had become aware that he intended to apologize by his conduct, and she had been content so far to indulge his obstinacy as to accept this conduct on his part in lieu of any outspoken petition for pardon. The acknowledgement of a mistake and the asking for grace is almost too much for any woman to expect from such a man as Mr Palliser.
Early on the morning after the scene in question, Lady Glencora had gone into Alice’s bedroom, and had found her cousin in her dressing-gown, packing up her things, or looking as though she intended to do so. “You are not such a fool,” she said, “as to think anything of what occurred yesterday?” Alice assured her that, whether fool or not, she did think a great deal of it. “In point of fact,” said Alice, “I can’t stand it. He expects me to take care of you, and chooses to show himself offended if you don’t do just what he thinks proper; whereas, as you know well enough, I have not the slightest influence over you.” All these positions Lady Glencora contradicted vigorously. Of course, Mr Palliser had been wrong in walking out of the Assembly Rooms as he had done, leaving Alice behind him. So much Lady Glencora admitted. But this had come of his intense anxiety. “And you know what a man he is,” said his wife—”how stiff, and hard, and unpleasant he can be without meaning it.”—”There is no reason why I should