Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope (epub ebook reader .TXT) 📕
The two eldest, Augusta and Beatrice, lived, and were apparently likely to live. The four next faded and died one after another--all in the same sad year--and were laid in the neat, new cemetery at Torquay. Then came a pair, born at one birth, weak, delicate, frail little flowers, with dark hair and dark eyes, and thin, long, pale faces, with long, bony hands, and long bony feet, whom men looked on as fated to follow their sisters with quick steps. Hitherto, however, they had not followed them, nor had they suffered as their sisters had suffered; and some people at Greshamsbury attributed this to the fact that a change had been made in the family medical practitioner.
Then came the youngest of the flock, she whose birth we have said was not heralded with loud joy; for when she came into the world, four others, with pale temples, wan, worn cheeks,
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it. Miss Dunstable, at any rate, did not do so.
At last, seated on a stile at the back of the Mill Hill stables,
while Harry stood close before him with both his hands in his
pockets, he did get his story told. It was by no means the first
time that Harry Baker had heard about Mary Thorne, and he was not,
therefore, so surprised as he might have been, had the affair
been new to him. And thus, standing there in the position we have
described, did Mr Baker, junior, give utterance to such wisdom as was
in him on this subject.
“You see, Frank, there are two sides to every question; and, as I
take it, fellows are so apt to go wrong because they are so fond of
one side, they won’t look at the other. There’s no doubt about it,
Lady Arabella is a very clever woman, and knows what’s what; and
there’s no doubt about this either, that you have a very ticklish
hand of cards to play.”
“I’ll play it straightforward; that’s my game” said Frank.
“Well and good, my dear fellow. That’s the best game always. But what
is straightforward? Between you and me, I fear there’s no doubt that
your father’s property has got into a deuce of a mess.”
“I don’t see that that has anything to do with it.”
“Yes, but it has. If the estate was all right, and your father could
give you a thousand a year to live on without feeling it, and if your
eldest child would be cock-sure of Greshamsbury, it might be very
well that you should please yourself as to marrying at once. But
that’s not the case; and yet Greshamsbury is too good a card to be
flung away.”
“I could fling it away to-morrow,” said Frank.
“Ah! you think so,” said Harry the Wise. “But if you were to hear
to-morrow that Sir Louis Scatcherd were master of the whole place,
and be d–- to him, you would feel very uncomfortable.” Had Harry
known how near Sir Louis was to his last struggle, he would not have
spoken of him in this manner. “That’s all very fine talk, but it
won’t bear wear and tear. You do care for Greshamsbury if you are the
fellow I take you to be: care for it very much; and you care too for
your father being Gresham of Greshamsbury.”
“This won’t affect my father at all.”
“Ah, but it will affect him very much. If you were to marry Miss
Thorne to-morrow, there would at once be an end to any hope of your
saving the property.”
“And do you mean to say I’m to be a liar to her for such reasons as
that? Why, Harry, I should be as bad as Moffat. Only it would be ten
times more cowardly, as she has no brother.”
“I must differ from you there altogether; but mind, I don’t mean to
say anything. Tell me that you have made up your mind to marry her,
and I’ll stick to you through thick and thin. But if you ask my
advice, why, I must give it. It is quite a different affair to that
of Moffat’s. He had lots of tin, everything he could want, and there
could be no reason why he should not marry,—except that he was a
snob, of whom your sister was well quit. But this is very different.
If I, as your friend, were to put it to Miss Thorne, what do you
think she would say herself?”
“She would say whatever she thought best for me.”
“Exactly: because she is a trump. And I say the same. There can be no
doubt about it, Frank, my boy: such a marriage would be very foolish
for you both; very foolish. Nobody can admire Miss Thorne more than
I do; but you oughtn’t to be a marrying man for the next ten years,
unless you get a fortune. If you tell her the truth, and if she’s the
girl I take her to be, she’ll not accuse you of being false. She’ll
peak for a while; and so will you, old chap. But others have had to
do that before you. They have got over it, and so will you.”
Such was the spoken wisdom of Harry Baker, and who can say that he
was wrong? Frank sat a while on his rustle seat, paring his nails
with his penknife, and then looking up, he thus thanked his friend:—
“I’m sure you mean well, Harry; and I’m much obliged to you. I dare
say you’re right too. But, somehow, it doesn’t come home to me. And
what is more, after what has passed, I could not tell her that I wish
to part from her. I could not do it. And besides, I have that sort of
feeling, that if I heard she was to marry any one else, I am sure I
should blow his brains out. Either his or my own.”
“Well, Frank, you may count on me for anything, except the last
proposition:” and so they shook hands, and Frank rode back to
Greshamsbury.
Law Business in London
On the Monday morning at six o’clock, Mr Oriel and Frank started
together; but early as it was, Beatrice was up to give them a cup of
coffee, Mr Oriel having slept that night in the house. Whether Frank
would have received his coffee from his sister’s fair hands had not
Mr Oriel been there, may be doubted. He, however, loudly asserted
that he should not have done so, when she laid claim to great merit
for rising in his behalf.
Mr Oriel had been specially instigated by Lady Arabella to use the
opportunity of their joint journey, for pointing out to Frank the
iniquity as well as madness of the course he was pursuing; and he had
promised to obey her ladyship’s behests. But Mr Oriel was perhaps not
an enterprising man, and was certainly not a presumptuous one. He did
intend to do as he was bid; but when he began, with the object of
leading up to the subject of Frank’s engagement, he always softened
down into some much easier enthusiasm in the matter of his own
engagement with Beatrice. He had not that perspicuous, but not
over-sensitive strength of mind which had enabled Harry Baker to
express his opinion out at once; and boldly as he did it, yet to do
so without offence.
Four times before the train arrived in London, he made some little
attempt; but four times he failed. As the subject was matrimony, it
was his easiest course to begin about himself; but he never could get
any further.
“No man was ever more fortunate in a wife than I shall be,” he said,
with a soft, euphuistic self-complacency, which would have been silly
had it been adopted to any other person than the bride’s brother. His
intention, however, was very good, for he meant to show, that in his
case marriage was prudent and wise, because his case differed so
widely from that of Frank.
“Yes,” said Frank. “She is an excellent good girl:” he had said it
three times before, and was not very energetic.
“Yes, and so exactly suited to me; indeed, all that I could have
dreamed of. How very well she looked this morning! Some girls only
look well at night. I should not like that at all.”
“You mustn’t expect her to look like that always at six o’clock
a.m.,” said Frank, laughing. “Young ladies only take that trouble on
very particular occasions. She wouldn’t have come down like that if
my father or I had been going alone. No, and she won’t do so for you
in a couple of years’ time.”
“Oh, but she’s always nice. I have seen her at home as much almost as
you could do; and then she’s so sincerely religious.”
“Oh, yes, of course; that is, I am sure she is,” said Frank, looking
solemn as became him.
“She’s made to be a clergyman’s wife.”
“Well, so it seems,” said Frank.
“A married life is, I’m sure, the happiest in the world—if people
are only in a position to marry,” said Mr Oriel, gradually drawing
near to the accomplishment of his design.
“Yes; quite so. Do you know, Oriel, I never was so sleepy in my life.
What with all that fuss of Gazebee’s, and one thing and another, I
could not get to bed till one o’clock; and then I couldn’t sleep.
I’ll take a snooze now, if you won’t think it uncivil.” And then,
putting his feet upon the opposite seat, he settled himself
comfortably to his rest. And so Mr Oriel’s last attempt for lecturing
Frank in the railway-carriage faded away and was annihilated.
By twelve o’clock Frank was with Messrs Slow & Bideawhile. Mr
Bideawhile was engaged at the moment, but he found the managing
Chancery clerk to be a very chatty gentleman. Judging from what he
saw, he would have said that the work to be done at Messrs Slow &
Bideawhile’s was not very heavy.
“A singular man that Sir Louis,” said the Chancery clerk.
“Yes; very singular,” said Frank.
“Excellent security, excellent; no better; and yet he will foreclose;
but you see he has no power himself. But the question is, can the
trustee refuse? Then, again, trustees are so circumscribed nowadays
that they are afraid to do anything. There has been so much said
lately, Mr Gresham, that a man doesn’t know where he is, or what he
is doing. Nobody trusts anybody. There have been such terrible things
that we can’t wonder at it. Only think of the case of those Hills!
How can any one expect that any one else will ever trust a lawyer
again after that? But that’s Mr Bideawhile’s bell. How can any one
expect it? He will see you now, I dare say, Mr Gresham.”
So it turned out, and Frank was ushered into the presence of Mr
Bideawhile. He had got his lesson by heart, and was going to rush
into the middle of his subject; such a course, however, was not in
accordance with Mr Bideawhile’s usual practice. Mr Bideawhile got up
from his large wooden-seated Windsor chair, and, with a soft smile,
in which, however, was mingled some slight dash of the attorney’s
acuteness, put out his hand to his young client; not, indeed, as
though he were going to shake hands with him, but as though the hand
were some ripe fruit all but falling, which his visitor might take
and pluck if he thought proper. Frank took hold of the hand, which
returned him no pressure, and then let it go again, not making any
attempt to gather the fruit.
“I have come up to town, Mr Bideawhile, about this mortgage,”
commenced Frank.
“Mortgage—ah, sit down, Mr Gresham; sit down. I hope your father is
quite well?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
“I have a great regard for your father. So I had for your
grandfather; a very good man indeed. You, perhaps, don’t remember
him, Mr Gresham?”
“He died when I was only a year old.”
“Oh, yes; no, you of course, can’t remember him; but I do, well: he
used to be very fond of some port wine I had. I think it was ‘11;’
and if I don’t mistake, I have a bottle or two of it yet; but it is
not worth drinking now. Port wine, you know, won’t keep beyond a
certain time. That was very good wine. I don’t exactly remember what
it stood
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