nd,
no doubt, thinks a good deal of himself as a statesman and a clever
politician,--at least I suppose he does; but he has not the slightest
reverence for himself as a nobleman. If the dear old Duke were
hobbling along Piccadilly, he was conscious that Piccadilly was
graced by his presence, and never moved without being aware that
people looked at him, and whispered to each other,--'There goes the
Duke of Omnium.' Plantagenet considers himself inferior to a sweeper
while on the crossing, and never feels any pride of place unless he
is sitting on the Treasury Bench with his hat over his eyes."

"He'll never sit on the Treasury Bench again."

"No;--poor dear. He's an Othello now with a vengeance, for his
occupation is gone. I spoke to him about your friend and the foxes,
and he told me to write to Mr. Fothergill. I will as soon as it's
decent. I fancy a new duchess shouldn't write letters about foxes
till the old Duke is buried. I wonder what sort of a will he'll have
made. There's nothing I care twopence for except his pearls. No man
in England had such a collection of precious stones. They'd been
yours, my dear, if you had consented to be Mrs. O."

The Duke was buried and the will was read, and Plantagenet Palliser
was addressed as Duke of Omnium by all the tenantry and retainers
of the family in the great hall of Gatherum Castle. Mr. Fothergill,
who had upon occasion in former days been driven by his duty to
remonstrate with the heir, was all submission. Planty Pall had come
to the throne, and half a county was ready to worship him. But he did
not know how to endure worship, and the half county declared that he
was stern and proud, and more haughty even than his uncle. At every
"Grace" that was flung at him he winced and was miserable, and
declared to himself that he should never become accustomed to his
new life. So he sat all alone, and meditated how he might best
reconcile the forty-eight farthings which go to a shilling with that
thorough-going useful decimal, fifty.

But his meditations did not prevent him from writing to his wife, and
on the following morning, Lady Glencora,--as she shall be called now
for the last time,--received a letter from him which disturbed her a
good deal. She was in her room when it was brought to her, and for an
hour after reading it hardly knew how to see her guest and friend,
Madame Goesler. The passage in the letter which produced this dismay
was as follows:--"He has left to Ma