“And to Madame Goesler?”

“If he be ever married it will be to some such woman.”

“There is not a man in all England who thinks more of his own position than my uncle,” said Mr. Palliser somewhat proudly,—­almost with a touch of anger.

“That is all very well, Plantagenet, and true enough in a kind of way.  But a child will sacrifice all that it has for the top brick of the chimney, and old men sometimes become children.  You would not like to be told some morning that there was a little Lord Silverbridge in the world.”  Now the eldest son of the Duke of Omnium, when the Duke of Omnium had a son, was called the Earl of Silverbridge; and Mr. Palliser, when this question was asked him, became very pale.  Mr. Palliser knew well how thoroughly the cunning of the serpent was joined to the purity of the dove in the person of his wife, and he was sure that there was cause for fear when she hinted at danger.

“Perhaps you had better keep your eye upon him,” he said to his wife.

“And upon her,” said Lady Glencora.

When Madame Goesler dined at the Duke’s house in St. James’s Square there was a large party, and Lady Glencora knew that there was no need for apprehension then.  Indeed Madame Goesler was no more than any other guest, and the Duke hardly spoke to her.  There was a Duchess there,—­the Duchess of St. Bungay, and old Lady Hartletop, who was a dowager marchioness,—­an old lady who pestered the Duke very sorely,—­and Madame Max Goesler received her reward, and knew that she was receiving it, in being asked to meet these people.  Would not all these names, including her own, be blazoned to the world in the columns of the next day’s Morning Post?  There was no absolute danger here, as Lady Glencora knew; and Lady Glencora, who was tolerant and begrudged nothing to Madame Max except the one thing, was quite willing to meet the lady at such a grand affair as this.  But the Duke, even should he become ever so childish a child in his old age, still would have that plain green brougham at his command, and could go anywhere in that at any hour in the day.  And then Madame Goesler was so manifestly a clever woman.  A Duchess of Omnium might be said to fill,—­in the estimation, at any rate, of English people,—­the highest position in the world short of royalty.  And the reader will remember that Lady Glencora intended to be a Duchess of Omnium herself,—­unless some very unexpected event should intrude itself.  She intended also that her little boy, her fair-haired, curly-pated, bold-faced little boy, should be Earl of Silverbridge when the sand of the old man should have run itself out.  Heavens, what a blow would it be, should some little wizen-cheeked half-monkey baby, with black brows, and yellow skin, be brought forward and shown to her some day as the heir!  What a blow to herself;—­and what a blow to all England!  “We can’t prevent it if he chooses to do it,” said her husband, who had his budget to bring forward that very night, and who in truth cared more for his budget than he did for his heirship at that moment.  “But we must prevent it,” said Lady Glencora.  “If I stick to him by the tail of his coat, I’ll prevent it.”  At the time when she thus spoke, the dark green brougham had been twice again brought up at the door in Park Lane.