Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope (epub ebook reader .TXT) 📕

him,

and that she corresponded the meanwhile with his cousin George.

Though all their flirtations had been carried on on both sides

palpably by way of fun, though Frank had told himself ten times a

day that his heart was true to Mary Thorne, yet he had an undefined

feeling that it behoved Miss Dunstable to be a little in love with

him. He was not quite at ease in that she was not a little melancholy

now that his departure was so nigh; and, above all, he was anxious to

know what were the real facts about that letter. He had in his own

breast threatened Miss Dunstable with a heartache; and now, when the

time for their separation came, he found that his own heart was the

more likely to ache of the two.

 

“I suppose I must say something to her, or my aunt will never be

satisfied,” said he to himself as he sauntered into the little

drawing-room on that last evening. But at the very time he was

ashamed of himself, for he knew he was going to ask badly.

 

His sister and one of his cousins were in the room, but his aunt, who

was quite on the alert, soon got them out of it, and Frank and Miss

Dunstable were alone.

 

“So all our fun and all our laughter is come to an end,” said she,

beginning the conversation. “I don’t know how you feel, but for

myself I really am a little melancholy at the idea of parting;” and

she looked up at him with her laughing black eyes, as though she

never had, and never could have a care in the world.

 

“Melancholy! oh, yes; you look so,” said Frank, who really did feel

somewhat lackadaisically sentimental.

 

“But how thoroughly glad the countess must be that we are both

going,” continued she. “I declare we have treated her most

infamously. Ever since we’ve been here we’ve had all the amusement

to ourselves. I’ve sometimes thought she would turn me out of the

house.”

 

“I wish with all my heart she had.”

 

“Oh, you cruel barbarian! why on earth should you wish that?”

 

“That I might have joined you in your exile. I hate Courcy Castle,

and should have rejoiced to leave—and—and—”

 

“And what?”

 

“And I love Miss Dunstable, and should have doubly, trebly rejoiced

to leave it with her.”

 

Frank’s voice quivered a little as he made this gallant profession;

but still Miss Dunstable only laughed the louder. “Upon my word, of

all my knights you are by far the best behaved,” said she, “and say

much the prettiest things.” Frank became rather red in the face, and

felt that he did so. Miss Dunstable was treating him like a boy.

While she pretended to be so fond of him she was only laughing at

him, and corresponding the while with his cousin George. Now Frank

Gresham already entertained a sort of contempt for his cousin, which

increased the bitterness of his feelings. Could it really be possible

that George had succeeded while he had utterly failed; that his

stupid cousin had touched the heart of the heiress while she was

playing with him as with a boy?

 

“Of all your knights! Is that the way you talk to me when we are

going to part? When was it, Miss Dunstable, that George de Courcy

became one of them?”

 

Miss Dunstable for a while looked serious enough. “What makes you ask

that?” said she. “What makes you inquire about Mr de Courcy?”

 

“Oh, I have eyes, you know, and can’t help seeing. Not that I see, or

have seen anything that I could possibly help.”

 

“And what have you seen, Mr Gresham?”

 

“Why, I know you have been writing to him.”

 

“Did he tell you so?”

 

“No; he did not tell me; but I know it.”

 

For a moment she sat silent, and then her face again resumed its

usual happy smile. “Come, Mr Gresham, you are not going to quarrel

with me, I hope, even if I did write a letter to your cousin. Why

should I not write to him? I correspond with all manner of people.

I’ll write to you some of these days if you’ll let me, and will

promise to answer my letters.”

 

Frank threw himself back on the sofa on which he was sitting, and, in

doing so, brought himself somewhat nearer to his companion than he

had been; he then drew his hand slowly across his forehead, pushing

back his thick hair, and as he did so he sighed somewhat plaintively.

 

“I do not care,” said he, “for the privilege of correspondence on

such terms. If my cousin George is to be a correspondent of yours

also, I will give up my claim.”

 

And then he sighed again, so that it was piteous to hear him. He was

certainly an arrant puppy, and an egregious ass into the bargain;

but then, it must be remembered in his favour that he was only

twenty-one, and that much had been done to spoil him. Miss Dunstable

did remember this, and therefore abstained from laughing at him.

 

“Why, Mr Gresham, what on earth do you mean? In all human probability

I shall never write another line to Mr de Courcy; but, if I did, what

possible harm could it do you?”

 

“Oh, Miss Dunstable! you do not in the least understand what my

feelings are.”

 

“Don’t I? Then I hope I never shall. I thought I did. I thought they

were the feelings of a good, true-hearted friend; feelings that I

could sometimes look back upon with pleasure as being honest when

so much that one meets is false. I have become very fond of you, Mr

Gresham, and I should be sorry to think that I did not understand

your feelings.”

 

This was almost worse and worse. Young ladies like Miss

Dunstable—for she was still to be numbered in the category of young

ladies—do not usually tell young gentlemen that they are very fond

of them. To boys and girls they may make such a declaration. Now

Frank Gresham regarded himself as one who had already fought his

battles, and fought them not without glory; he could not therefore

endure to be thus openly told by Miss Dunstable that she was very

fond of him.

 

“Fond of me, Miss Dunstable! I wish you were.”

 

“So I am—very.”

 

“You little know how fond I am of you, Miss Dunstable,” and he put

out his hand to take hold of hers. She then lifted up her own, and

slapped him lightly on the knuckles.

 

“And what can you have to say to Miss Dunstable that can make it

necessary that you should pinch her hand? I tell you fairly, Mr

Gresham, if you make a fool of yourself, I shall come to a conclusion

that you are all fools, and that it is hopeless to look out for any

one worth caring for.”

 

Such advice as this, so kindly given, so wisely meant, so clearly

intelligible, he should have taken and understood, young as he was.

But even yet he did not do so.

 

“A fool of myself! Yes; I suppose I must be a fool if I have so much

regard for Miss Dunstable as to make it painful for me to know that I

am to see her no more: a fool: yes, of course I am a fool—a man is

always a fool when he loves.”

 

Miss Dunstable could not pretend to doubt his meaning any longer; and

was determined to stop him, let it cost what it would. She now put

out her hand, not over white, and, as Frank soon perceived, gifted

with a very fair allowance of strength.

 

“Now, Mr Gresham,” said she, “before you go any further you shall

listen to me. Will you listen to me for a moment without interrupting

me?”

 

Frank was of course obliged to promise that he would do so.

 

“You are going—or rather you were going, for I shall stop you—to

make a profession of love.”

 

“A profession!” said Frank making a slight unsuccessful effort to get

his hand free.

 

“Yes; a profession—a false profession, Mr Gresham,—a false

profession—a false profession. Look into your heart—into your heart

of hearts. I know you at any rate have a heart; look into it closely.

Mr Gresham, you know you do not love me; not as a man should love the

woman whom he swears to love.”

 

Frank was taken aback. So appealed to he found that he could not any

longer say that he did love her. He could only look into her face

with all his eyes, and sit there listening to her.

 

“How is it possible that you should love me? I am Heaven knows how

many years your senior. I am neither young nor beautiful, nor have I

been brought up as she should be whom you in time will really love

and make your wife. I have nothing that should make you love me;

but—but I am rich.”

 

“It is not that,” said Frank, stoutly, feeling himself imperatively

called upon to utter something in his own defence.

 

“Ah, Mr Gresham, I fear it is that. For what other reason can you

have laid your plans to talk in this way to such a woman as I am?”

 

“I have laid no plans,” said Frank, now getting his hand to himself.

“At any rate, you wrong me there, Miss Dunstable.”

 

“I like you so well—nay, love you, if a woman may talk of love in

the way of friendship—that if money, money alone would make you

happy, you should have it heaped on you. If you want it, Mr Gresham,

you shall have it.”

 

“I have never thought of your money,” said Frank, surlily.

 

“But it grieves me,” continued she, “it does grieve me, to think that

you, you, you—so young, so gay, so bright—that you should have

looked for it in this way. From others I have taken it just as the

wind that whistles;” and now two big slow tears escaped from her

eyes, and would have rolled down her rosy cheeks were it not that she

brushed them off with the back of her hand.

 

“You have utterly mistaken me, Miss Dunstable,” said Frank.

 

“If I have, I will humbly beg your pardon,” said she.

“But—but—but—”

 

“You have; indeed you have.”

 

“How can I have mistaken you? Were you not about to say that you

loved me; to talk absolute nonsense; to make me an offer? If you were

not, if I have mistaken you indeed, I will beg your pardon.”

 

Frank had nothing further to say in his own defence. He had not

wanted Miss Dunstable’s money—that was true; but he could not deny

that he had been about to talk that absolute nonsense of which she

spoke with so much scorn.

 

“You would almost make me think that there are none honest in this

fashionable world of yours. I well know why Lady de Courcy has had

me here: how could I help knowing it? She has been so foolish in

her plans that ten times a day she has told her own secret. But I

have said to myself twenty times, that if she were crafty, you were

honest.”

 

“And am I dishonest?”

 

“I have laughed in my sleeve to see how she played her game, and to

hear others around playing theirs; all of them thinking that they

could get the money of the poor fool who had come at their beck and

call; but I was able to laugh at them as