He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (books you need to read .txt) 📕

MR BROOKE BURGESS

The hour at which Mr Brooke Burgess was to arrive had come round, and

Miss Stanbury was in a twitter, partly of expectation, and partly, it

must be confessed, of fear. Why there should be any fear she did not

herself know, as she had much to give and nothing to expect. But she

was afraid, and was conscious of it, and was out of temper because she

was ashamed of herself. Although it would be necessary that she should

again dress for dinner at six, she had put on a clean cap at four, and

appeared at that early hour in one of her gowns which was not

customarily in use for home purposes at that early hour. She felt that

she was ‘an old fool’ for her pains, and was consequently cross to poor

Dorothy. And there were other reasons for some display of harshness to

her niece. Mr Gibson had been at the house that very morning, and

Dorothy had given herself airs. At least, so Miss Stanbury thought. And

during the last three or four days, whenever Mr Gibson’s name had been

mentioned, Dorothy had become silent, glum, and almost obstructive.

Miss Stanbury had been at the trouble of explaining that she was

specially anxious to have that little matter of the engagement settled

at once. She knew that she was going to behave with great generosity,

that she was going to sacrifice, not her money only, of which she did

not think much, but a considerable portion of her authority, of which

she did think a great deal; and that she was about to behave in a

manner which demanded much gratitude. But it seemed to her that Dorothy

was not in the least grateful. Hugh had proved himself to be ‘a mass of

ingratitude,’ as she was in the habit of saying. None of the Burgesses

had ever shewn to her any gratitude for promises made to them, or,

indeed, for any substantial favours conferred upon them. And now

Dorothy, to whom a very seventh heaven of happiness had been opened—a

seventh heaven, as it must be computed in comparison with her low

expectations—now Dorothy was already shewing how thankless she could

become. Mr Gibson had not yet declared his passion, but he had freely

admitted to Miss Stanbury that he was prepared to do so. Priscilla had

been quite right in her suggestion that there was a clear understanding

between the clergyman and her aunt.

‘I don’t think he is come after all,’ said Miss Stanbury, looking at

her watch. Had the train arrived at the moment that it was due, had the

expectant visitor jumped out of the railway carriage into a fly, and

had the driver galloped up to the Close, it might have been possible

that the wheels should have been at the door as Miss Stanbury spoke.

‘It’s hardly time yet, aunt.’

‘Nonsense; it is time. The train comes in at four. I dare say he won’t

come at all.’

‘He is sure to come, aunt.’

‘I’ve no doubt you know all about it better than any one else. You

usually do.’ Then five minutes were passed in silence. ‘Heaven and

earth! what shall I do with these people that are coming? And I told

them especially that it was to meet this young man! It’s the way I am

always treated by everybody that I have about me.’

‘The train might be ten minutes late, Aunt Stanbury.’

‘Yes and monkeys might chew tobacco. There, there’s the omnibus at the

Cock and Bottle; the omnibus up from the train. Now, of course, he

won’t come.’

‘Perhaps he’s walking, Aunt Stanbury.’

‘Walking with his luggage on his shoulders? Is that your idea of the

way in which a London gentleman goes about? And there are two flies

coming up from the train, of course.’ Miss Stanbury was obliged to fix

the side of her chair very close to the window in order that she might

see that part of the Close in which the vehicles of which she had

spoken were able to pass.

‘Perhaps they are not coming from the train, Aunt Stanbury.’

‘Perhaps a fiddlestick! You have lived here so much longer than I have

done that, of course, you must know all about it.’ Then there was an

interval of another ten minutes, and even Dorothy was beginning to

think that Mr Burgess was not coming. ‘I’ve given him up now,’ said

Miss Stanbury. ‘I think I’ll send and put them all off.’ Just at that

moment there came a knock at the door. But there was no cab. Dorothy’s

conjecture had been right. The London gentleman had walked, and his

portmanteau had been carried behind him by a boy. ‘How did he get

here?’ exclaimed Miss Stanbury, as she heard the strange voice speaking

to Martha downstairs. But Dorothy knew better than to answer the

question.

‘Miss Stanbury, I am very glad to see you,’ said Mr Brooke Burgess, as

he entered the room. Miss Stanbury courtesied, and then took him by

both hands. ‘You wouldn’t have known me, I dare say,’ he continued. ‘A

black beard and a bald head do make a difference.’

‘You are not bald at all,’ said Miss Stanbury.

‘I am beginning to be thin enough at the top. I am so glad to come to

you, and so much obliged to you for having me! How well I remember the

old room!’

‘This is my niece, Miss Dorothy Stanbury, from Nuncombe Putney.’

Dorothy was about to make some formal acknowledgment of the

introduction, when Brooke Burgess came up to her, and shook her hand

heartily. ‘She lives with me,’ continued the aunt.

‘And what has become of Hugh?’ said Brooke.

‘We never talk of him,’ said Miss Stanbury gravely.

‘I hope there’s nothing wrong? I hear of him very often in London.’

‘My aunt and he don’t agree that’s all,’ said Dorothy.

‘He has given up his profession as a barrister in which he might have

lived like a gentleman,’ said Miss Stanbury, ‘and has taken to writing

for a penny newspaper.’

‘Everybody does that now, Miss Stanbury.’

‘I hope you don’t, Mr Burgess.’

‘I! Nobody would print anything that I wrote. I don’t write for

anything, certainly.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said Miss Stanbury.

Brooke Burgess, or Mr Brooke, as he came to be called very shortly by

the servants in the house, was a good-looking man, with black whiskers

and black hair, which, as he said, was beginning to be thin on the top

of his head, and pleasant small bright eyes. Dorothy thought that next

to her brother Hugh he was the most good-natured looking man she had

ever seen. He was rather below the middle height, and somewhat inclined

to be stout. But he would boast that he could still walk his twelve

miles in three hours, and would add that as long as he could do that he

would never recognise the necessity of putting himself on short

commons. He had a well-cut nose, not quite aquiline, but tending that

way, a chin with a dimple on it, and as sweet a mouth as ever declared

the excellence of a man’s temper. Dorothy immediately began to compare

him with her brother Hugh, who was to her, of all men, the most

godlike. It never occurred to her to make any comparison between Mr

Gibson and Mr Burgess. Her brother Hugh was the most godlike of men;

but there was something godlike also about the new corner. Mr Gibson,

to Dorothy’s eyes, was by no means divine;

‘I used to call you Aunt Stanbury,’ said Brooke Burgess to the old

lady; ‘am I to go on doing it now?’

‘You may call me what you like,’ said Miss Stanbury. ‘Only dear me I

never did see anybody so much altered.’ Before she went up to dress

herself for dinner, Miss Stanbury was quite restored to her good

humour, as Dorothy could perceive.

The dinner passed off well enough. Mr Gibson, at the head of the table,

did, indeed, look very much out of his element, as though he conceived

that his position revealed to the outer world those ideas of his in

regard to Dorothy, which ought to have been secret for a while longer.

There are few men who do not feel ashamed of being paraded before the