MIDDLEMARCH (Completed)

Chapter 84

"Though it be songe of old and yonge,

That I sholde be to blame,

Theyrs be the charge, that spoke so large

In hurtynge of my name."

--The Not-Browne Mayde.

It was just after the Lords had thrown out the Reform Bill:

that explains how Mr. Cadwallader came to be walking on the

slope of the lawn near the great conservatory at Freshitt Hall,

holding the "Times" in his hands behind him, while he talked

with a trout-fisher's dispassionateness about the prospects

of the country to Sir James Chettam. Mrs. Cadwallader,

the Dowager Lady Chettam, and Celia were sometimes seated on

garden-chairs, sometimes walking to meet little Arthur, who was

being drawn in his chariot, and, as became the infantine Bouddha,

was sheltered by his sacred umbrella with handsome silken fringe.

The ladies also talked politics, though more fitfully.

Mrs. Cadwallader was strong on the intended creation of peers:

she had it for certain from her cousin that Truberry had gone

over to the other side entirely at the instigation of his wife,

who had scented peerages in the air from the very first introduction

of the Reform question, and would sign her soul away to take precedence

of her younger sister, who had married a baronet. Lady Chettam

thought that such conduct was very reprehensible, and remembered

that Mrs. Truberry's mother was a Miss Walsingham of Melspring.

Celia confessed it was nicer to be "Lady" than "Mrs.," and that Dodo

never minded about precedence if she could have her own way.

Mrs. Cadwallader held that it was a poor satisfaction to take

precedence when everybody about you knew that you had not a drop

of good blood in your veins; and Celia again, stopping to look

at Arthur, said, "It would be very nice, though, if he were a Viscount--

and his lordship's little tooth coming through! He might have been,

if James had been an Earl."

"My dear Celia," said the Dowager, "James's title is worth far more

than any new earldom. I never wished his father to be anything

else than Sir James."

"Oh, I only meant about Arthur's little tooth," said Celia,

comfortably. "But see, here is my uncle coming."

She tripped off to meet her uncle, while Sir James and Mr. Cadwallader

came forward to make one group with the ladies. Celia had slipped

her arm through her uncle's, and he patted her hand with a rather

melancholy "Well, my dear!" As they approached, it was evident