‘I suppose he’ll get over it,’ said Gerald.

‘Is that all you say?’ she asked.

’What can I say better?  I suppose he will.  Fellows always do get over that kind of thing.  Herbert de Burgh smashed both his thighs, and now he can move about again,—­of course with crutches.’

‘Gerald.  How can you be so unfeeling!’

’I don’t know what you mean.  I always liked Tregear, and I am very sorry for him.  If you would take it a little quieter, I think it would be better.’

’I could not take it quietly.  How can I take it quietly when he is more than the world to me?’

‘You should keep that to yourself.’

’Yes,—­and so let people think that I didn’t care, till I broke my heart!  I shall say just the same to papa when he comes home.’  After than the brother and sister were not on very good terms with each other for the remainder of the day.

On the Saturday there was a letter from Silverbridge to Mrs Finn.  Tregear was better; but was unhappy because it had been decided that he could not be moved for the next month.  This entailed two misfortunes on him;—­first that of being enforced guest of persons who were not,—­or, hitherto had not been his own friends,—­and then his absence from the first meeting of Parliament.  When a gentleman has been in Parliament some years he may be able to reconcile himself to an obligatory vacation with a calm mind.  But when the honours and glory are new, and the tedium of the benches has not yet been experienced, then such an accident is felt to be a grievance.  But the young member was out of danger, and was, as Silverbridge declared in the very best quarters which could be provided for a man in his position.

Phineas Finn told him all the politics; Mrs Spooner related to him, on Sundays and Wednesdays, all the hunting details; while Lady Chiltern read to him light literature, because he was not allowed to hold a book in his hand.  ‘I wish it were me,’ said Gerald.  ‘I wish I were there to read to him,’ said Mary.

Then the Duke came home.  ‘Mary,’ said he, ’I have been distressed to hear of this accident.’  This seemed to her to be the kindest word she had heard from him for a long time.  ’I believe him to be a worthy young man.  I am sorry that he should be the cause of so much sorrow to you—­and to me.’

‘Of course I was sorry for his accident,’ she replied, after pausing awhile; ’but now that he is better I will not cause him a cause of sorrow—­to me.’  Then the Duke said nothing further about Tregear; nor did she.

‘So you have come at last,’ he said to Gerald.  That was the first greeting,—­to which the son responded by an awkward smile.  But in the course of the evening he walked straight up to his father—­’I have something to tell you, sir,’ said he.

‘Something to tell me?’

‘Something that will make you very angry.’

CHAPTER 65