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

had been taught to consider that even Camilla had consented to waive

any claim that she might have once possessed, could not refrain from

the expression of some surprise. That he should be recovered at all out

of the Stanbury clutches was very much to Mrs French—was so much that,

had time been given her for consideration, she would have acknowledged

to herself readily that the property had best be secured at once to the

family, without incurring that amount of risk, which must

unquestionably attend any attempt on her part to direct Mr Gibson’s

purpose hither or thither. But the proposition came so suddenly, that

time was not allowed to her to be altogether wise. ‘I thought it was

poor Bella,’ she said, with something of a piteous whine in her voice.

At the moment Mr Gibson was so humble, that he was half inclined to

give way even on that head. He felt himself to have been brought so low

in the market by that terrible story of Miss Stanbury’s which he had

been unable either to contradict or to explain that there was but

little power of fighting left in him. He was, however, just able to

speak a word for himself, and that sufficed, ‘I hope there has been no

mistake,’ he said; ‘but really it is Camilla that has my heart.’ Mrs

French made no rejoinder to this. It was so much to her to know that Mr

Gibson’s heart was among them at all after what had occurred in the

Close, that she acknowledged to herself after that moment of reflection

that Arabella must be sacrificed for the good of the family interests.

Poor, dear, loving, misguided, and spiritless mother! She would have

given the blood out of her bosom to get husbands for her daughters,

though it was not of her own experience that she had learned that of

all worldly goods a husband is the best. But it was the possession

which they had from their earliest years thought of acquiring, which

they first expected, for which they had then hoped, and afterwards

worked and schemed and striven with every energy and as to which they

had at last almost despaired. And now Arabella’s fire had been

rekindled with a new spark, which, alas, was to be quenched so

suddenly! ‘And am I to tell them?’ asked Mrs French, ‘with a tremor in

her voice. To this, however, Mr Gibson demurred. He said that for

certain reasons he should like a fortnight’s grace; and that at the end

of the fortnight he would be prepared to speak. The interval was

granted without further questions, and Mr Gibson was allowed to leave

the house.

After that Mrs French was not very comfortable at home. As soon as Mr

Gibson had departed, Camilla at once returned to her mother and desired

to know what had taken place. Was it true that the perjured man had

proposed to that young woman in the Close? Mrs French was not clever at

keeping a secret, and she could not keep this by her own aid. She told

all that happened to Camilla, and between them they agreed that

Arabella should be kept in ignorance till the fatal fortnight should

have passed. When Camilla was interrogated as to her own purpose, she

said she should like a day to think of it. She took the twenty-four

hours, and then made the following confession of her passion to her

mother. ‘You see, mamma, I always liked Mr Gibson, always.’

‘So did Arabella, ‘my dear before you thought of such things.’

‘I dare say that may be true, mamma; but that is not my fault. He came

here among us on such sweetly intimate terms that the feeling grew up

with me before I knew what it meant. As to any idea of cutting out

Arabella, my conscience is quite clear. If I thought there had been

anything really between them. I would have gone anywhere, to the top of

a mountain, rather than rob my sister of a heart that belonged to her.’

‘He has been so slow about it,’ said Mrs French.

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Camilla. ‘Gentlemen have to be slow, I

suppose, when they think of their incomes. He only got St.

Peter’s-cum-Pumpkin three years ago, and didn’t know for the first year

whether he could hold that and the minor canonry together. Of course a

gentleman has to think of these things before he comes forward.’

‘My dear, he has been very backward.’

‘If I’m to be Mrs Gibson, mamma, I beg that I mayn’t hear anything said

against him. Then there came all this about that young woman; and when

I saw that Arabella took on so, which I must say was very absurd, I’m

sure I put myself out of the way entirely. If I’d buried myself under

the ground I couldn’t have done it more. And it’s my belief that what

I’ve said, all for Arabella’s sake, has put the old woman into such a

rage that it has made a quarrel between him and the niece; otherwise

that wouldn’t be off. I don’t believe a word of her refusing him, and

never shall. Is it in the course of things, mamma?’ Mrs French shook

her head. ‘Of course not. Then when you question him very properly he

says that he’s devoted to poor me. If I was to refuse him, he wouldn’t

put up with Bella.’

‘I suppose not,’ said Mrs French.

‘He hates Bella. I’ve known it all along, though I wouldn’t say so. If

I were to sacrifice myself ever so it wouldn’t be of any good and I

shan’t do it.’ In this way the matter was arranged.

At the end of the fortnight, however, Mr Gibson did not come, nor at the

end of three weeks. Inquiries had of course been made, and it was

ascertained that he had gone into Cornwall for a parson’s holiday of

thirteen days. That might be all very well. A man might want the

recruiting vigour of some change of air after such scenes as those Mr

Gibson had gone through with the Stanburys, and before his proposed

encounter with new perils. And he was a man so tied by the leg that his

escape could not be for any long time. He was back on the appointed

Sunday, and on the Wednesday Mrs French, under Camilla’s instruction,

wrote to him a pretty little note. He replied that he would be with her

on the Saturday. It would then be nearly four weeks after the great day

with Miss Stanbury, but no one would be inclined to quarrel with so

short a delay as that. Arabella in the meantime had become fidgety and

unhappy. She seemed to understand that something was expected, being

quite unable to guess what that something might be. She was true

throughout these days to the simplicity of head-gear which Mr Gibson

had recommended to her, and seemed in her questions to her mother and

to Camilla to be more fearful of Dorothy Stanbury than of any other

enemy. ‘Mamma, I think you ought to tell her,’ said Camilla more than

once. But she had not been told when Mr Gibson came on the Saturday. It

may truly be said that the poor mother’s pleasure in the prospects of

one daughter was altogether destroyed by the anticipation of the other

daughter’s misery. Had Mr Gibson made Dorothy Stanbury his wife they

could have all comforted themselves together by the heat of their joint

animosity.

He came on the Saturday, and it was so managed that he was closeted

with Camilla before Arabella knew that he was in the house. There was a

quarter of an hour during which his work was easy, and perhaps

pleasant. When he began to explain his intention, Camilla, with the

utmost frankness, informed him that her mother had told her all about

it. Then she turned her face on one side and put her hand in his; he

got his arm round her waist, gave her a kiss, and the thing was done.

Camilla was fully resolved that after such a betrothal it should not be

undone. She had behaved with sisterly forbearance, and would not now

lose the reward of virtue. Not a word was said of Arabella at this

interview till he was pressed to come and drink tea with them all that

night. He hesitated a moment; and then Camilla declared, with something

perhaps of imperious roughness in her manner, that he had better face

it all at once. ‘Mamma will tell her, and she will understand,’ said

Camilla. He hesitated again, but at last promised that he would come.

Whilst he was yet in the house Mrs French had told the whole story to

her poor elder daughter. ‘What is he doing with Camilla?’ Arabella had

asked with feverish excitement.

‘Bella, darling don’t you know?’ said the mother.

‘I know nothing. Everybody keeps me in the dark, and I am badly used.

What is it that he is doing?’ Then Mrs French tried to take the poor

young woman in her arms, but Arabella would not submit to be embraced.

‘Don’t!’ she exclaimed. ‘Leave me alone. Nobody likes me, or cares a

bit about me! Why is Cammy with him there, all alone?’

‘I suppose he is asking her to be his wife.’ Then Arabella threw

herself in despair upon the bed, and wept without any further attempt

at control over her feelings. It was a death-blow to her last hope, and

all the world, as she looked upon the world then, was over for her. ‘If

I could have arranged it the other way, you know that I would,’ said

the mother.

‘Mamma,’ said Arabella jumping up, ‘he shan’t do it. He hasn’t a right.

And as for her Oh, that she should treat me in this way! Didn’t he tell

me the other night, when he drank tea here with me alone—’

‘What did he tell you, Bella?’

‘Never mind. Nothing shall ever make me speak to him again, not if he

married her three times over; nor to her. She is a nasty, sly,

good-for-nothing thing!’

‘But, Bella—’

‘Don’t talk to me, mamma. There never was such a thing done before

since people were people at all. She has been doing it all the time. I

know she has.’

Nevertheless Arabella did sit down to tea with the two lovers that

night. There was a terrible scene between her and Camilla; but Camilla

held her own; and Arabella, being the weaker of the two, was vanquished

by the expenditure of her own small energies. Camilla argued that as

her sister’s chance was gone, and as the prize had come in her own way,

there was no good reason why it should be lost to the family

altogether, because Arabella could not win it. When Arabella called her

a treacherous vixen and a heartless, profligate hussy, she spoke out

freely, and said that she wasn’t going to be abused. A gentleman to

whom she was attached had asked her for her hand, and she had given it.

If Arabella chose to make herself a fool she might but what would be

the effect? Simply that all the world would know that she, Arabella,

was disappointed. Poor Bella at last gave way, put on her discarded

chignon, and came down to tea. Mr Gibson was already in the room when

she entered it. ‘Arabella,’ he said, getting up to greet her, ‘I hope

you will congratulate me.’ He had planned his little speech and his

manner of making it, and had wisely decided that in this way might he

best get over the