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

‘She has an objection.’

‘I don’t know what it is. I sometimes think she is so bashful and

modest she doesn’t like to talk of being married even to an old woman

like me.’

‘Dear me! That’s not the way of the age is it, Aunt Stanbury?’

‘It’s coming to that, Brooke, that the girls will ask the men soon. Yes

and that they won’t take a refusal either. I do believe that Camilla

French did ask Mr Gibson.’

‘And what did Mr Gibson say?’

‘Ah I can’t tell you that. He knows too well what he’s about to take

her. He’s to come here on Friday at eleven, and you must be out of the

way. I shall be out of the way too. But if Dolly says a word to you

before that, mind you make her understand that she ought to accept

Gibson.’

‘She’s too good for him, according to my thinking.’

‘Don’t you be a fool. How can any young woman be too good for a

gentleman and a clergyman? Mr Gibson is a gentleman. Do you know, only

you must not mention this, that I have a kind of idea we could get

Nuncombe Putney for him. My father had the living, and my brother; and

I should like it to go on in the family.’

No opportunity came in the way of Brooke Burgess to say anything in

favour of Mr Gibson to Dorothy Stanbury. There did come to be very

quickly a sort of intimacy between her and her aunt’s favourite; but

she was one not prone to talk about her own affairs. And as to such an

affair as this, a question as to whether she should or should not give

herself in marriage to her suitor, she, who could not speak of it even

to her own sister without a blush, who felt confused and almost

confounded when receiving her aunt’s admonitions and instigations on

the subject, would not have endured to hear Brooke Burgess speak on the

matter. Dorothy did feel that a person easier to know than Brooke had

never come in her way. She had already said as much to him as she had

spoken to Mr Gibson in the three months that she had made his

acquaintance. They had talked about Exeter, and about Mrs MacHugh, and

the cathedral, and Tennyson’s poems, and the London theatres, and Uncle

Barty, and the family quarrel. They had become quite confidential with

each other on some matters. But on this heavy subject of Mr Gibson and

his proposal of marriage not a word had been said. When Brooke once

mentioned Mr Gibson on the Thursday morning, Dorothy within a minute

had taken an opportunity of escaping from the room.

But circumstances did give him an opportunity of speaking to Mr Gibson.

On the Wednesday afternoon both he and Mr Gibson were invited to drink

tea at Mrs French’s house on that evening. Such invitations at Exeter

were wont to be given at short dates, and both the gentlemen had said

that they would go. Then Arabella French had called in the Close and

had asked Miss Stanbury and Dorothy. It was well understood by Arabella

that Miss Stanbury herself would not drink tea at Heavitree. And it may

be that Dorothy’s company was not in truth desired. The ladies both

declined. ‘Don’t you stay at home for me, my dear,’ Miss Stanbury said

to her niece. But Dorothy had not been out without her aunt since she

had been at Exeter, and understood perfectly that it would not be wise

to commence the practice at the house of the Frenches. ‘Mr Brooke is

coming, Miss Stanbury; and Mr Gibson,’ Miss French said. And Miss

Stanbury had thought that there was some triumph in her tone. ‘Mr

Brooke can go where he pleases, my dear,’ Miss Stanbury replied. ‘And

as for Mr Gibson, I am not his keeper.’ The tone in which Miss Stanbury

spoke would have implied great imprudence, had not the two ladies

understood each other so thoroughly, and had not each known that it was

so.

There was the accustomed set of people in Mrs French’s drawing-room, the

Crumbies, and the Wrights, and the Apjohns. And Mrs MacHugh came also

knowing that there would be a rubber. ‘Their naked shoulders don’t hurt

me,’ Mrs MacHugh said, when her friend almost scolded her for going to

the house. ‘I’m not a young man. I don’t care what they do to

themselves.’ ‘You might say as much if they went naked altogether,’

Miss Stanbury had replied in anger. ‘If nobody else complained, I

shouldn’t,’ said Mrs MacHugh. Mrs MacHugh got her rubber; and as she

had gone for her rubber, on a distinct promise that there should be a

rubber, and as there was a rubber, she felt that she had no right to

say ill-natured things. ‘What does it matter to me,’ said Mrs MacHugh,

‘how nasty she is? She’s not going to be my wife.’ ‘Ugh!’ exclaimed

Miss Stanbury, shaking her head both in anger and disgust.

Camilla French was by no means so bad as she was painted by Miss

Stanbury, and Brooke Burgess rather liked her than otherwise. And it

seemed to him that Mr Gibson did not at all dislike Arabella, and felt

no repugnance at either the lady’s noddle or shoulders now that he was

removed from Miss Stanbury’s influence. It was clear enough also that

Arabella had not given up the attempt, although she must have admitted

to herself that the claims of Dorothy Stanbury were very strong. On

this evening it seemed to have been specially permitted to Arabella,

who was the elder sister, to take into her own hands the management of

the case. Beholders of the game had hitherto declared that Mr Gibson’s

safety was secured by the constant coupling of the sisters. Neither

would allow the other to hunt alone. But a common sense of the common

danger had made some special strategy necessary, and Camilla hardly

spoke a word to Mr Gibson during the evening. Let us hope that she

found some temporary consolation in the presence of the stranger.

‘I hope you are going to stay with us ever so long, Mr Burgess?’ said

Camilla.

‘A month. That is ever so long isn’t it? Why I mean to see all

Devonshire within that time. I feel already that I know Exeter

thoroughly and everybody in it.’

‘I’m sure we are very much flattered.’

‘As for you, Miss French, I’ve heard so much about you all my life,

that I felt that I knew you before I came here.’

‘Who can have spoken to you about me?’

‘You forget how many relatives I have in the city. Do you think my

Uncle Barty never writes to me?’

‘Not about me.’

‘Does he not? And do you suppose I don’t hear from Miss Stanbury?’

‘But she hates me. I know that.’

‘And do you hate her?’

‘No, indeed. I’ve the greatest respect for her. But she is a little

odd; isn’t she, now, Mr Burgess? We all like her ever so much; and

we’ve known her ever so long, six or seven years since we were quite

young things. But she has such queer notions about girls.’

‘What sort of notions?’

‘She’d like them all to dress just like herself; and she thinks that

they should never talk to young men. If she was here she’d say I was

flirting with you, because we’re sitting together.’

‘But you are not; are you?’

‘Of course I am not.’

‘I wish you would,’ said Brooke.

‘I shouldn’t know how to begin. I shouldn’t, indeed. I don’t know what

flirting means, and I don’t know who does know. When young ladies and

gentlemen go out, I suppose they are intended to talk to each other.’

‘But very often they, don’t, you know.’

‘I call that stupid,’ said Camilla. ‘And yet, when they do, all the old

maids say that the girls are flirting. I’ll tell you one thing, Mr

Burgess. I don’t care what any old maid says about me. I always talk to

people that I like, and if they choose to call me a flirt, they may.

It’s my opinion that still waters run the deepest.’

‘No doubt the noisy streams are very shallow,’ said Brooke.

‘You may call me a shallow stream if you like, Mr Burgess.’

‘I meant nothing of the kind.’

‘But what do you call Dorothy Stanbury? That’s what I call still water.

She runs deep enough.’

‘The quietest young lady I ever saw in my life.’

‘Exactly. So quiet, but so clever. What do you think of Mr Gibson?’

‘Everybody is asking me what I think of Mr Gibson.’

‘You know what they say. They say he is to marry Dorothy Stanbury. Poor

man! I don’t think his own consent has ever been asked yet but,

nevertheless, it’s settled.’

‘Just at present he seems to me to be what shall I say? I oughtn’t to

say flirting with your sister; ought I?’

‘Miss Stanbury would say so if she were here, no doubt. But the fact

is, Mr Burgess, we’ve known him almost since we were infants, and of

course we take an interest in his welfare. There has never been

anything more than that. Arabella is nothing more to him than I am.

Once, indeed—but, however that does not signify. It would be nothing to

us, if he really liked Dorothy Stanbury. But as far as we can see, and

we do see a good deal of him, there is no such feeling on his part. Of

course we haven’t asked. We should not think of such a thing. Mr Gibson

may do just as he likes for us. But I am not quite sure that Dorothy

Stanbury is just the girl that would make him a good wife. Of course

when you’ve known a person seven or eight years you do get anxious

about his happiness. Do you know, we think her perhaps a little sly.’

In the meantime, Mr Gibson was completely subject to the individual

charms of Arabella. Camilla had been quite correct in a part of her

description of their intimacy. She and her sister had known Mr Gibson

for seven or eight years; but nevertheless the intimacy could not with

truth be said to have commenced during the infancy of the young ladies,

even if the word were used in its legal sense. Seven or eight years,

however, is a long acquaintance; and there was, perhaps, something of a

real grievance in this Stanbury intervention. If it be a recognised

fact in society that young ladies are in want of husbands, and that an

effort on their part towards matrimony is not altogether impossible, it

must be recognised also that failure will be disagreeable, and

interference regarded with animosity. Miss Stanbury the elder was

undoubtedly interfering between Mr Gibson and the Frenches; and it is

neither manly nor womanly to submit to interference with one’s dearest

prospects. It may, perhaps, be admitted that the Miss Frenches had

shown too much open ardour in their pursuit of Mr Gibson. Perhaps there

should have been no ardour and no pursuit. It may be that the theory of

womanhood is right which forbids to women any such attempts, which

teaches them that they must ever be the pursued, never the pursuers. As

to that there shall be no discourse at present. But it must be granted

that whenever the pursuit has been attempted, it is not in human nature

to abandon it without an effort. That the French girls should be very

angry with Miss Stanbury, that they