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

before, and was pleased by her enthusiasm. He understood perfectly that

she was thinking of her own position, though she had entertained no

idea that he would so read her meaning; and he felt that it was

incumbent on him to undeceive her, and make her know that she was not

one of those women who are ‘just there and that’s all.’ ‘One does see

such a woman as that now and again,’ he said.

‘There are hundreds of them,’ said Dorothy. ‘And of course it can’t be

helped.’

‘Such as Arabella French,’ said he, laughing.

‘Well yes; if she is one. It is very easy to see the difference. Some

people are of use and are always doing things. There are others,

generally women, who have nothing to do, but who can’t be got rid of.

It is a melancholy sort of feeling.’

‘You at least are not one of them.’

‘I didn’t mean to complain about myself,’ she said. ‘I have got a great

deal to make me happy.’

‘I don’t suppose you regard yourself as an Arabella French,’ said he.

‘How angry Miss French would be if she heard you.. She considers

herself to be one of the reigning beauties of Exeter.’

‘She has had a very long reign, and dominion of that sort to be

successful ought to be short.’

‘That is spiteful, Mr Burgess.’

‘I don’t feel spiteful against her, poor woman. I own I do not love

Camilla. Not that I begrudge Camilla her present prosperity.’

‘Nor I either, Mr Burgess.’

‘She and Mr Gibson will do very well together, I dare say.’

‘I hope they will,’ said Dorothy, ‘and I do not see any reason against

it. They have known each other a long time.’

‘A very long time,’ said Brooke. Then he paused for a minute, thinking

how he might best tell her that which he had now resolved should be

told on this occasion. Dorothy finished her tea and got up as though

she were about to go to her duty upstairs. She had been as yet hardly

an hour in the room, and the period of her relief was not fairly over.

But there had come something of a personal flavour in their

conversation which prompted her, unconsciously, to leave him. She had,

without any special indication of herself, included herself among that

company of old maids who are born and live and die without that vital

interest in the affairs of life which nothing but family duties, the

care of children, or at least of a husband, will give to a woman. If

she had not meant this she had felt it. He had understood her meaning,

or at least her feeling, and had taken upon himself to assure her that

she was not one of the company whose privations she had endeavoured to

describe. Her instinct rather than her reason put her at once upon her

guard, and she prepared to leave the room. ‘You are not going yet,’ he

said.

‘I think I might as well. Martha has so much to do, and she comes to me

again at five in the morning.’

‘Don’t go quite yet,’ he said, pulling out his watch. ‘I know all about

the hours, and it wants twenty minutes to the proper time.’

‘There is no proper time, Mr Burgess.’

‘Then you can remain a few minutes longer. The fact is, I’ve got

something I want to say to you.’

He was now standing between her and the door, so that she could not get

away from him; but at this moment she was absolutely ignorant of his

purpose, expecting nothing of love from him more than she would from

Sir Peter Mancrudy. Her face had become flushed when she made her long

speech, but there was no blush on it as she answered him now. ‘Of

course, I can wait,’ she said, ‘if you have anything to say to me.’

‘Well I have. I should have said it before, only that that other man

was here.’ He was blushing now up to the roots of his hair, and felt

that he was in a difficulty. There are men, to whom such moments of

their lives are pleasurable, but Brooke Burgess was not one of them. He

would have been glad to have had it done and over so that then he might

take pleasure in it.

‘What man?’ asked Dorothy, in perfect innocence.

‘Mr Gibson, to be sure. I don’t know that there is anybody else.’

‘Oh, Mr Gibson. He never comes here now, and I don’t suppose he will

again. Aunt Stanbury is so very angry with him.’

‘I don’t care whether he comes or not. What I mean is this. When I was

here before, I was told that you were going to marry him.’

‘But I wasn’t.’

‘How was I to know that, when you didn’t tell me? I certainly did know

it after I came back from Dartmoor.’ He paused a moment, as though she

might have a word to say. She had no word to say, and did not in the

least know what was coming. She was so far from anticipating the truth,

that she was composed and easy in her mind. ‘But all that is of no use

at all,’ he continued. ‘When I was here before Miss Stanbury wanted you

to marry Mr Gibson; and, of course, I had nothing to say about it. Now

I want you to marry me.’

‘Mr Burgess!’

‘Dorothy, my darling, I love you better than all the world. I do,

indeed.’ As soon as he had commenced his protestations he became

profuse enough with them, and made a strong attempt to support them by

the action of his hands. But she retreated from him step by step, till

she had regained her chair by the tea-table, and there she seated

herself safely, as she thought; but he was close to her, over her

shoulder, still continuing his protestations, offering up his vows, and

imploring her to reply to him. She, as yet, had not answered him by a

word, save by that one half-terrified exclamation of his name. ‘Tell

me, at any rate, that you believe me, when I assure you that I love

you,’ he said. The room was going round with Dorothy, and the world was

going round, and there had come upon her so strong a feeling of the

disruption of things in general, that she was at the moment anything

but happy. Had it been possible for her to find that the last ten

minutes had been a dream, she would at this moment have wished that it

might become one. A trouble had come upon her, out of which she did not

see her way. To dive among the waters in warm weather is very pleasant;

there is nothing pleasanter. But when the young swimmer first feels the

thorough immersion of his plunge, there comes upon him a strong desire

to be quickly out again. He will remember afterwards how joyous it was;

but now, at this moment, the dry land is everything to him. So it was

with Dorothy. She had thought of Brooke Burgess as one of those bright

ones of the world, with whom everything is happy and pleasant, whom

everybody loves, who may have whatever they please, whose lines have

been laid in pleasant places. She thought of him as a man who might

some day make some woman very happy as his wife. To be the wife of such

a man was, in Dorothy’s estimation, one of those blessed chances which

come to some women, but which she never regarded as being within her

own reach. Though she had thought much about him, she had never thought

of him as a possible possession for herself; and now that he was

offering himself to her, she was not at once made happy by his love.

Her ideas of herself and of her life were all dislocated for the

moment, and she required to be alone, that she might set herself in

order, and try herself all over, and find whether her bones were

broken.‘say that you believe me,’ he repeated.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered.

‘I’ll tell you what to say. Say at once that you will be my wife.’

‘I can’t say that, Mr Burgess.’

‘Why not? Do you mean that you cannot love me?’

‘I think, if you please, I’ll go up to Aunt Stanbury. It is time for

me; indeed it is; and she will be wondering, and Martha will be put

out. Indeed I must go up.’

‘And will you not answer me?’

‘I don’t know what to say. You must give me a little time to consider.

I don’t quite think you’re serious.’

‘Heaven and earth!’ began Brooke.

‘And I’m sure it would never do. At any rate, I must go now. I must,

indeed.’

And so she escaped, and went up to her aunt’s room, which she reached

at ten minutes after her usual time, and before Martha had begun to be

put out. She was very civil to Martha, as though Martha had been

injured; and she put her hand on her aunt’s arm, with a soft,

caressing, apologetic touch, feeling conscious that she had given cause

for offence. ‘What has he been saying to you?’ said her aunt, as soon

as Martha had closed the door. This was a question which Dorothy,

certainly, could not answer. Miss Stanbury meant nothing by it nothing

beyond a sick woman’s desire that something of the conversation of

those who were not sick should be retailed to her; but to Dorothy the

question meant so much! How should her aunt have known that he had said

anything? She sat herself down and waited, giving no answer to the

question. ‘I hope he gets his meals comfortably,’ said Miss Stanbury.

‘I am sure he does,’ said Dorothy, infinitely relieved. Then, knowing

how important it was that her aunt should sleep, she took up the volume

of Jeremy Taylor, and, with so great a burden on her mind, she went on

painfully and distinctly with the second sermon on the Marriage Ring.

She strove valiantly to keep her mind to the godliness of the

discourse, so that it might be of some possible service to herself; and

to keep her voice to the tone that might be of service to her aunt.

Presently she heard the grateful sound which indicated her aunt’s

repose, but she knew of experience that were she to stop, the sound and

the sleep would come to an end also. For a whole hour she persevered,

reading the sermon of the Marriage Ring with such attention to the

godly principles of the teaching as she could give with that terrible

burden upon her mind.

‘Thank you thank you; that will do, my dear. Shut it up,’ said the sick

woman. ‘It’s time now for the draught.’ Then Dorothy moved quietly

about the room, and did her nurse’s work with soft hand, and soft

touch, and soft tread. After that her aunt kissed her, and bade her sit

down and sleep.

‘I’ll go on reading, aunt, if you’ll let me,’ said Dorothy. But Miss

Stanbury, who was not a cruel woman, would have no more of the reading,

and Dorothy’s mind was left at liberty to think of the proposition that

had been made to her. To one resolution she came very quickly. The

period of her aunt’s illness could not be a proper time for marriage

vows, or the amenities of lovemaking. She did not feel that he, being

a man, had offended; but