He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (books you need to read .txt) 📕
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with the intention of thwarting her, that they should think evil things
of poor Dorothy, that they should half despise Mr Gibson, and yet
resolve to keep their hold upon him as a chattel and a thing of value
that was almost their own, was not perhaps much to their discredit.
‘You are a good deal at the house in the Close now,’ said Arabella, in
her lowest voice, in a voice so low that it was almost melancholy.
‘Well; yes. Miss Stanbury, you know, has always been a staunch friend
of mine. And she takes an interest in my little church.’ People say
that girls are sly; but men can be sly, too, sometimes.
‘It seems that she has taken you so much away from us, Mr Gibson.’
‘I don’t know why you should say that, Miss French.’
‘Perhaps I am wrong. One is apt to be sensitive about one’s friends. We
seem to have known you so well. There is nobody else in Exeter that
mamma regards as she does you. But, of course, if you are happy with
Miss Stanbury that is everything.’
‘I am speaking of the old lady,’ said Mr Gibson, who, in spite of his
slyness, was here thrown a little off his guard.
‘And I am speaking of the old lady too,’ said Arabella. ‘Of whom else
should I be speaking?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Of course,’ continued Arabella, ‘I hear what people say about the
niece. One cannot help what one hears, you know, Mr Gibson; but I don’t
believe that, I can assure you.’ As she said this, she looked into his
face, as though waiting for an answer; but Mr Gibson had no answer
ready. Then Arabella told herself that if anything was to be done it
must be done at once. What use was there in beating round the bush,
when the only chance of getting the game was to be had by dashing at
once into the thicket. ‘I own I should be glad,’ she said, turning her
eyes away from him, ‘if I could hear from your own mouth that it is not
true.’
Mr Gibson’s position was one not to be envied. Were he willing to tell
the very secrets of his soul to Miss French with the utmost candour, he
could not answer her question either one way or the other, and he was
not willing to tell her any of his secrets. It was certainly the fact,
too, that there had been tender passages between him and Arabella. Now,
when there have been such passages, and the gentleman is cross-examined
by the lady, as Mr Gibson was being cross-examined at the present
moment, the gentleman usually teaches himself to think that a little
falsehood is permissible. A gentleman can hardly tell a lady that he
has become tired of her, and has changed his mind. He feels the matter,
perhaps, more keenly even than she does; and though, at all other times
he may be a very Paladin in the cause of truth, in such strait as this
he does allow himself some latitude.
‘You are only joking, of course,’ he said.
‘Indeed, I am not joking. I can assure you, Mr Gibson, that the welfare
of the friends whom I really love can never be a matter of joke to me.
Mrs Crumbie says that you positively are engaged to marry Dorothy
Stanbury.’
‘What does Mrs Crumbie know about it?’
‘I dare say nothing; It is not so is it?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘And there is nothing in it is there?’
‘I wonder why people make these reports,’ said Mr Gibson,
prevaricating.
‘It is a fabrication from beginning to end, then?’ said Arabella,
pressing the matter quite home. At this time she was very close to him,
and though her words were severe, the glance from her eyes was soft.
And the scent from her hair was not objectionable to him as it would
have been to Miss Stanbury. And the mode of her headdress was not
displeasing to him. And the folds of her dress, as they fell across his
knee, were welcome to his feelings. He knew that he was as one under
temptation, but he was not strong enough to bid the tempter avaunt.
‘Say that it is so, Mr Gibson!’
‘Of course, it is not so,’ said Mr Gibson lying.
‘I am so glad. For, of course, Mr Gibson, when we heard it we thought a
great deal about it. A man’s happiness depends so much on whom he
marries doesn’t it? And a clergyman’s more than anybody else’s. And we
didn’t think she was quite the sort of woman that you would like. You
see, she has had no advantages, poor thing! She has been shut up in a
little country cottage all her life, just a labourer’s hovel, no more,
and though it wasn’t her fault, of course, and we all pitied her, and
were so glad when Miss Stanbury brought her to the Close—still, you
know, though one was very glad of her as an acquaintance, yet, you
know, as a wife and for such a dear, dear friend.’ She went on, and
said many other things with equal enthusiasm, and then wiped her eyes,
and then smiled and laughed. After that she declared that she was quite
happy, so happy; and so she left him. The poor man, after the falsehood
had been extracted from him, said nothing more; but sat, in patience,
listening to the raptures and enthusiasm of his friend. He knew that he
had disgraced himself; and he knew also that his disgrace would be
known, if Dorothy Stanbury should accept his offer on the morrow. And
yet how hardly he had been used! What answer could he have given
compatible both with the truth and with his own personal dignity?
About half an hour afterwards, he was walking back to Exeter with
Brooke Burgess, and then Brooke did ask him a question or two.
‘Nice girls those Frenches, I think,’ said Brooke.
‘Very nice,’ said Mr Gibson.
‘How Miss Stanbury does hate them,’ says Brooke.
‘Not hate them, I hope,’ said Mr Gibson.
‘She doesn’t love them does she?’
‘Well, as for love, yes; in one sense I hope she does. Miss Stanbury,
you know, is a woman who expresses herself strongly.’
‘What would she say, if she were told that you and I were going to
marry those two girls? We are both favourites, you know.’
‘Dear me! What a very odd supposition,’ said Mr Gibson.
‘For my part, I don’t think I shall,’ said Brooke.
‘I don’t suppose I shall either,’ said Mr Gibson, with a gravity which
was intended to convey some smattering of rebuke.
‘A fellow might do worse, you know,’ said Brooke. ‘For my part, I
rather like girls with chignons, and all that sort of get-up. But the
worst of it is, one can’t marry two at a time.’
‘That would be bigamy,’ said Mr Gibson. ‘Just so,’ said Brooke.
MISS STANBURY’S WRATH
Punctually at eleven o’clock on the Friday morning Mr Gibson knocked at
the door of the house in the Close. The reader must not imagine that he
had ever wavered in his intention with regard to Dorothy Stanbury,
because he had been driven into a corner by the pertinacious ingenuity
of Miss French. He never for a moment thought of being false to Miss
Stanbury, the elder. Falseness of that nature would have been ruinous
to him, would have made him a marked man in the city all his days, and
would probably have reached even to the bishop’s ears. He was neither
bad enough, nor audacious enough, nor foolish enough, for such perjury
as that. And, moreover, though the wiles of Arabella had been potent
with him, he very much preferred Dorothy Stanbury. Seven years of
flirtation with a young lady is more trying to the affection than any
duration of matrimony. Arabella had managed to awaken something of the
old glow, but Mr Gibson, as soon as he was alone, turned from her
mentally in disgust. No! Whatever little trouble there might be in his
way, it was clearly his duty to marry Dorothy Stanbury. She had the
sweetest temper in the world, and blushed with the prettiest blush! She
would have, moreover, two thousand pounds on the day she married, and
there was no saying what other and greater pecuniary advantages might
follow. His mind was quite made up; and during the whole morning he had
been endeavouring to drive all disagreeable reminiscences of Miss
French from his memory, and to arrange the words with which he would
make his offer to Dorothy. He was aware that he need not be very
particular about his words, as Dorothy, from the bashfulness of her
nature, would be no judge of eloquence at such a time. But still, for
his own sake, there should be some form of expression, some propriety
of diction. Before eleven o’clock he had it all by heart, and had
nearly freed himself from the uneasiness of his falsehood to Arabella.
He had given much serious thought to the matter, and had quite resolved
that he was right in his purpose, and that he could marry Dorothy with
a pure conscience, and with a true promise of a husband’s love. ‘Dear
Dolly!’ he said to himself, with something of enthusiasm as he walked
across the Close. And he looked up to the house as he came to it. There
was to be his future home. There was not one of the prebends who had a
better house. And there was a dovelike softness about Dorothy’s eyes,
and a winning obedience in her manner, that were charming. His lines
had fallen to him in very pleasant places. Yes he would go up to her
and take her at once by the hand, and ask her whether she would be his,
now and for ever. He would not let go her hand, till he had brought her
so close to him that she could hide her blushes on his shoulder. The
whole thing had been so well conceived, had become so clear to his
mind, that he felt no hesitation or embarrassment as he knocked at the
door. Arabella French would, no doubt, hear of it soon. Well she must
hear of it. After all she could do him no injury.
He was shewn up at once into the drawing-room, and there he found Miss
Stanbury the elder.
‘Oh, Mr Gibson!’ she said at once.
‘Is anything the matter with dear Dorothy?’
‘She is the most obstinate, pigheaded young woman I ever came across
since the world began.’
‘You don’t say so! But what is it, Miss Stanbury?’
‘What is it? Why just this. Nothing on earth that I can say to her will
induce her to come down and speak to you.’
‘Have I offended her?’
‘Offended a fiddlestick! Offence indeed! An offer from an honest man,
with her friends’ approval, and a fortune at her back as though she had
been born with a gold spoon in her mouth! And she tells me that she
can’t, and won’t, and wouldn’t, and shouldn’t, as though I were asking
her to walk the streets. I declare I don’t know what has come to the
young women or what it is they want. One would have thought that butter
wouldn’t melt in her mouth.’
‘But what is the reason, Miss Stanbury?’
‘Oh, reason! You don’t suppose people give reasons in these days. What
reason have they when they dress themselves up with bandboxes on their
sconces? Just
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