One of Our Conquerors - World eBook Library

George Meredith
Dartrey’s just the figure to strike a spark in a tinder-box head.’
‘With a husband who’d reduce Minerva’s to tinder, after a
month of him!’
‘He spent his honeymoon at his place at Wrensham; told
me so.’ Blathenoy had therefore then heard of the building
of Lakelands by the Victor Radnor of the City; and had then,
we guess—in the usual honeymoon boasting of a windbag
with his bride—wheezed the foul gossip, to hide his emptiness
and do duty for amusement of the pretty little caged
bird. Probably so. But Victor knew that Blathenoy needed
him and feared him. Probably the wife had been enjoined to
keep silence; for the Blachingtons, Fannings and others were,
it could be sworn, blank and unscratched folio sheets on the
subject:—as yet; unless Mrs. Burman had dropped venom.
‘One pities the little woman, eh, Fenellan?’
‘Dartrey won’t be back for a week or so; and they’re off to
Switzerland, after the dinner they give. I heard from him
this morning; one of the Clanconans is ill.
‘Lucky. But wherever Blathenoy takes her, he must be the
same “arid bore,” as old Colney says.’
‘A domestic simoom,’ said Fenellan, booming it: and Victor
had a shudder.
‘Awful thing, marriage, to some women! We chain them to
that domestic round; most of them haven’t the means of independence
or a chance of winning it; and all that’s open to
them, if they’ve made a bad cast for a mate—and good Lord!
how are they to know before it’s too late!—they haven’t a
choice except to play tricks or jump to the deuce or sit and
“drape in blight,” as Colney has it; though his notion of the
optional marriages, broken or renewed every seven years!—
if he means it. You never know, with him. It sounds like
another squirt of savage irony. It’s donkey nonsense, eh?’
‘The very hee-haw of nonsense,’ Fenellan acquiesced.
‘Come, come; read your Scriptures; donkeys have shown
wisdom,’ Victor said, rather leaning to the theme of a fretfulness
of women in the legal yoke. ‘They’re donkeys till we
know them for prophets. Who can tell! Colney may be hailed
for one fifty years hence.’
Fenellan was not invited to enter the house, although the
loneliness of his lodgeings was known, and also, that he played
whist at his Club. Victor had grounds for turning to him at
the door and squeezing his hand warmly, by way of dismissal.
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