. Something was accomplished
when, at last, he induced Sir John Conroy to resign his place about the
Duchess of Kent and leave the Palace for ever; something more when he
persuaded the Queen to write an affectionate letter to her mother. The
way seemed open for a reconciliation, but the Duchess was stormy still.
She didn't believe that Victoria had written that letter; it was not
in her handwriting; and she sent for the Duke to tell him so. The Duke,
assuring her that the letter was genuine, begged her to forget the past.
But that was not so easy. "What am I to do if Lord Melbourne comes up to
me?" "Do, ma'am? Why, receive him with civility." Well, she would make
an effort... "But what am I to do if Victoria asks me to shake hands
with Lehzen?" "Do, ma'am? Why, take her in your arms and kiss her."
"What!" The Duchess bristled in every feather, and then she burst into
a hearty laugh. "No, ma'am, no," said the Duke, laughing too. "I don't
mean you are to take Lehzen in your arms and kiss her, but the
Queen." The Duke might perhaps have succeeded, had not all attempts at
conciliation been rendered hopeless by a tragical event. Lady Flora,
it was discovered, had been suffering from a terrible internal malady,
which now grew rapidly worse. There could be little doubt that she was
dying. The Queen's unpopularity reached an extraordinary height. More
than once she was publicly insulted. "Mrs. Melbourne," was shouted at
her when she appeared at her balcony; and, at Ascot, she was hissed
by the Duchess of Montrose and Lady Sarah Ingestre as she passed. Lady
Flora died. The whole scandal burst out again with redoubled vehemence;
while, in the Palace, the two parties were henceforth divided by an
impassable, a Stygian, gulf.

Nevertheless, Lord M. was back, and every trouble faded under the
enchantment of his presence and his conversation. He, on his side,
had gone through much; and his distresses were intensified by a
consciousness of his own shortcomings. He realised clearly enough that,
if he had intervened at the right moment, the Hastings scandal might
have been averted; and, in the bedchamber crisis, he knew that he had
allowed his judgment to be overruled and his conduct to be swayed by
private feelings and the impetuosity of Victoria. But he was not one
to suffer too acutely from the pangs of conscience. In spite of the
dullness and the formality of the Court, his relationship with the
Queen had come to be the dominating i