aying up untold troubles for herself, was what he had done
freely, going to the very edge of a breach. And he had no right to do
any more. He could not force her to adopt his method, neither could he
betray her when she took her own way. Nevertheless, there can be no
doubt that John felt himself almost an accomplice, involved in this
unwise folly, with a sort of responsibility for it, and almost guilt. It
did not indeed change young Philip's moral position in any way, or
make the discovery that he had a father living more likely to shock
and bewilder him that this discovery should come mingled with many
extraneous wonders. And yet these facts did alter the circumstances.
"You cannot hide the heir to a peerage." Lady Mariamne was far, very
far, from being a philosopher or a person of genius, and yet this which
she had said was in reality quite unanswerable. Phil Compton might have
been ignored for ever by his wife and child had he remained only the
_dis_-Honourable Phil, a younger son and a nobody. But Phil Compton as
Lord St. Serf could not be ignored. Elinor had been wise enough never to
change her name, that is to say, she had been too proud to do so, though
nobody knew of the existence of that prefix which was so inappropriate
to her husband's character. But now Mrs. Compton would no longer be her
name; and Philip, the boy at the big northern grammar-school, would be
Lord Lomond. An unlooked-for summons like this has sometimes the power
of turning the heads of the heirs so suddenly ennobled, but it did
anything but convey elation to John's mind in the prospect of its effect
upon his relations. Would she see reason _now?_ Would she be brought to
allow that something must be done, or would she remain obdurate to the
end of the chapter? A great impatience with Elinor filled John's mind.
She was, as the reader knows, the only woman to John Tatham; but what
does that matter? He did not approve of her any more on that account. He
was even more conscious of the faults of which she was guilty. He was
aware of her obstinacy, her determined adherence to her own way as no
other man in the world was. Would she acknowledge now at last that she
was wrong, and give in? I am obliged to confess that the giving in of
Elinor was the last spectacle in heaven or earth which John Tatham could
conceive.

He went over these circumstances as he drove through all of London that
is to some people worth calling London, on that dark January night