As he sat there, a certain Mr Fothergill came in upon him.  Mr Fothergill was a gentleman who managed most of his uncle’s ordinary affairs,—­a clever fellow, who knew on which side his bread was buttered.  Mr Fothergill was naturally anxious to stand well with the heir; but to stand well with the owner was his business in life, and with that business he never allowed anything to interfere.  On this occasion Mr Fothergill was very civil, complimenting his future possible patron on his very powerful speech, and predicting for him political power with much more certainty than the newspapers which had, or had not, come from the world of spirits.  Mr Fothergill had come in to say a word or two about some matter of business.  As all Mr Palliser’s money passed through Mr Fothergill’s hands, and as his electioneering interests were managed by Mr Fothergill, Mr Fothergill not infrequently called to say a necessary word or two.  When this was done he said another word or two, which might be necessary or not, as the case might be.

“Mr Palliser,” said he, “I wonder you don’t think of marrying.  I hope you’ll excuse me.”

Mr Palliser was by no means sure that he would excuse him, and sat himself suddenly upright in his chair in a manner that was intended to exhibit a first symptom of outraged dignity.  But, singularly enough, he had himself been thinking of marriage at that moment.  How would it have been with him had he known the beautiful Griselda before the Dumbello alliance had been arranged?  Would he have married her?  Would he have been comfortable if he had married her?  Of course he could not marry now, seeing that he was in love with Lady Dumbello, and that the lady in question, unfortunately, had a husband of her own; but though he had been thinking of marrying, he did not like to have the subject thus roughly thrust before his eyes, and, as it were, into his very lap by his uncle’s agent.  Mr Fothergill, no doubt, saw the first symptom of outraged dignity, for he was a clever, sharp man.  But, perhaps, he did not in truth much regard it.  Perhaps he had received instructions which he was bound to regard above all other matters.

“I hope you’ll excuse me, Mr Palliser, I do, indeed; but I say it because I am half afraid of some—­some—­some diminution of good feeling, perhaps, I had better call it, between you and your uncle.  Anything of that kind would be such a monstrous pity.”

“I am not aware of any such probability.”

This Mr Palliser said with considerable dignity; but when the words were spoken he bethought himself whether he had not told a fib.

“No; perhaps not.  I trust there is no such probability.  But the duke is a very determined man if he takes anything into his head;—­and then he has so much in his power.”

“He has not me in his power, Mr Fothergill.”

“No, no, no.  One man does not have another in his power in this country,—­not in that way; but then you know, Mr Palliser, it would hardly do to offend him; would it?”