his eyes to be Chancellor of the Exchequer was much
more than to be Duke of Omnium. For herself Lady Glencora was nearly
equally indifferent, though she did in her heart of hearts wish that
her son should go to Eton with the title of Lord Silverbridge.

On the third morning the Duke suddenly asked a question of Madame
Goesler. The two were again sitting near to each other, and the Duke
was again holding her hand; but Lady Glencora was also in the room.
"Have you not been staying with Lord Chiltern?"

"Yes, Duke."

"He is a friend of yours."

"I used to know his wife before they were married."

"Why does he go on writing me letters about a wood?" This he asked in
a wailing voice, as though he were almost weeping. "I know nothing
of Lord Chiltern. Why does he write to me about the wood? I wish he
wouldn't write to me."

"He does not know that you are ill, Duke. By-the-bye, I promised to
speak to Lady Glencora about it. He says that foxes are poisoned at
Trumpeton Wood."

"I don't believe a word of it," said the Duke. "No one would poison
foxes in my wood. I wish you'd see about it, Glencora. Plantagenet
will never attend to anything. But he shouldn't write to me. He ought
to know better than to write letters to me. I will not have people
writing letters to me. Why don't they write to Fothergill?" and then
the Duke began in truth to whimper.

"I'll put it all right," said Lady Glencora.

"I wish you would. I don't like them to say there are no foxes; and
Plantagenet never will attend to anything." The wife had long since
ceased to take the husband's part when accusations such as this were
brought against him. Nothing could make Mr. Palliser think it worth
his while to give up any shred of his time to such a matter as the
preservation of foxes.

On the fourth day the catastrophe happened which Lady Glencora had
feared. A fly with a pair of horses from the Matching Road station
was driven up to the door of the Priory, and Lady Hartletop was
announced. "I knew it," said Lady Glencora, slapping her hand down on
the table in the room in which she was sitting with Madame Goesler.
Unfortunately the old lady was shown into the room before Madame
Goesler could escape, and they passed each other on the threshold.
The Dowager Marchioness of Hartletop was a very stout old lady, now
perhaps nearer to seventy than sixty-five years of age, who for many
years had been the intimate friend of the Duke of Omnium. In latter
days