hough a man were permitted by
special Act of Parliament to try to murder his wife's lover. It would
be a bad law, because it would cause such a deal of bloodshed."

"But he is not Lady Laura's lover," said Madame Goesler, gravely.

"That would make the law difficult, because who is to say whether a
man is or is not a woman's lover?"

"I don't think there was ever anything of that kind."

"They were always together, but I dare say it was Platonic. I
believe these kind of things generally are Platonic. And as for Lady
Laura;--heavens and earth!--I suppose it must have been Platonic.
What did the Duke say to you?"

"He bade me kiss him."

"Poor dear old man. He never ceases to speak of you when you are
away, and I do believe he could not have gone in peace without seeing
you. I doubt whether in all his life he ever loved any one as he
loves you. We dine at half-past seven, dear: and you had better just
go into his room for a moment as you come down. There isn't a soul
here except Sir Omicron Pie, and Plantagenet, and two of the other
nephews,--whom, by the bye, he has refused to see. Old Lady Hartletop
wanted to come."

"And you wouldn't have her?"

"I couldn't have refused. I shouldn't have dared. But the Duke would
not hear of it. He made me write to say that he was too weak to see
any but his nearest relatives. Then he made me send for you, my
dear;--and now he won't see the relatives. What shall we do if Lady
Hartletop turns up? I'm living in fear of it. You'll have to be shut
up out of sight somewhere if that should happen."

During the next two or three days the Duke was neither much better
nor much worse. Bulletins appeared in the newspapers, though no one
at Matching knew from whence they came. Sir Omicron Pie, who, having
retired from general practice, was enabled to devote his time to the
"dear Duke," protested that he had no hand in sending them out. He
declared to Lady Glencora every morning that it was only a question
of time. "The vital spark is on the spring," said Sir Omicron, waving
a gesture heavenward with his hand. For three days Mr. Palliser was
at Matching, and he duly visited his uncle twice a day. But not a
syllable was ever said between them beyond the ordinary words of
compliments. Mr. Palliser spent his time with his private secretary,
working out endless sums and toiling for unapproachable results in
reference to decimal coinage. To him his uncle's death would be a
great blow, as in