Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope (good books to read for young adults TXT) 📕

in his mode of address by the communication which had so lately been made to him. Miss Dunstable was now standing on the very top of the pinnacle of wealth, and seemed to him to be not only so much above his reach, but also so far removed from his track in life, that he could not in any way put himself on a level with her. He could neither aspire so high nor descend so low; and thinking of this he spoke to Miss Dunstable as though there were some great distance between them⁠—as though there had been no hours of intimate friendship down at Greshamsbury. There had been such hours, during which Miss Dunstable and Dr. Thorne had lived as though they belonged to the same world: and this at any rate may be said of Miss Dunstable, that she had no idea of forgetting them.

Dr. Thorne merely gave her his hand, and then prepared to pass on.

“Don’t go, doctor,” she said; “for heaven’s sake, don’t go yet. I don’t know when I may catch you if you get in there. I shan’t be able to follow you for the next two hours. Lady Meredith, I am so much obliged to you for coming⁠—your mother will be here, I hope. Oh, I am so glad! From her you know that is quite a favour. You, Sir George, are half a sinner yourself, so I don’t think so much about it.”

“Oh, quite so,” said Sir George; “perhaps rather the largest half.”

“The men divide the world into gods and giants,” said Miss Dunstable. “We women have our divisions also. We are saints or sinners according to our party. The worst of it is, that we rat almost as often as you do.” Whereupon Sir George laughed and passed on.

“I know, doctor, you don’t like this kind of thing,” she continued, “but there is no reason why you should indulge yourself altogether in your own way, more than another⁠—is there, Frank?”

“I am not so sure but he does like it,” said Mr. Gresham. “There are some of your reputed friends whom he owns that he is anxious to see.”

“Are there? Then there is some hope of his ratting too. But he’ll never make a good staunch sinner; will he, Mary? You’re too old to learn new tricks; eh, doctor?”

“I am afraid I am,” said the doctor, with a faint laugh.

“Does Dr. Thorne rank himself among the army of saints?” asked Mrs. Harold Smith.

“Decidedly,” said Miss Dunstable. “But you must always remember that there are saints of different orders; are there not, Mary? and nobody supposes that the Franciscans and the Dominicans agree very well together. Dr. Thorne does not belong to the school of St. Proudie, of Barchester; he would prefer the priestess whom I see coming round the corner of the staircase, with a very famous young novice at her elbow.”

“From all that I can hear, you will have to reckon Miss Grantly among the sinners,” said Mrs. Harold Smith⁠—seeing that Lady Lufton with her young friend was approaching⁠—“unless, indeed, you can make a saint of Lady Hartletop.”

And then Lady Lufton entered the room, and Miss Dunstable came forward to meet her with more quiet respect in her manner than she had as yet shown to many of her guests. “I am much obliged to you for coming, Lady Lufton,” she said, “and the more so, for bringing Miss Grantly with you.”

Lady Lufton uttered some pretty little speech, during which Dr. Thorne came up and shook hands with her; as did also Frank Gresham and his wife. There was a county acquaintance between the Framley people and the Greshamsbury people, and therefore there was a little general conversation before Lady Lufton passed out of the small room into what Mrs. Proudie would have called the noble suite of apartments. “Papa will be here,” said Miss Grantly; “at least so I understand. I have not seen him yet myself.”

“Oh, yes, he has promised me,” said Miss Dunstable; “and the archdeacon, I know, will keep his word. I should by no means have the proper ecclesiastical balance without him.”

“Papa always does keep his word,” said Miss Grantly, in a tone that was almost severe. She had not at all understood poor Miss Dunstable’s little joke, or at any rate she was too dignified to respond to it.

“I understand that old Sir John is to accept the Chiltern Hundreds at once,” said Lady Lufton, in a half whisper to Frank Gresham. Lady Lufton had always taken a keen interest in the politics of East Barsetshire, and was now desirous of expressing her satisfaction that a Gresham should again sit for the county. The Greshams had been old county members in Barsetshire, time out of mind.

“Oh, yes; I believe so,” said Frank, blushing. He was still young enough to feel almost ashamed of putting himself forward for such high honours.

“There will be no contest, of course,” said Lady Lufton, confidentially. “There seldom is in East Barsetshire, I am happy to say. But if there were, every tenant at Framley would vote on the right side; I can assure you of that. Lord Lufton was saying so to me only this morning.”

Frank Gresham made a pretty little speech in reply, such as young sucking politicians are expected to make; and this, with sundry other small courteous murmurings, detained the Lufton party for a minute or two in the antechamber. In the meantime the world was pressing on and passing through to the four or five large reception-rooms⁠—the noble suite, which was already piercing poor Mrs. Proudie’s heart with envy to the very core. “These are the sort of rooms,” she said to herself unconsciously, “which ought to be provided by the country for the use of its bishops.”

“But the people are not brought enough together,” she said to her lord.

“No, no; I don’t think they are,” said the bishop.

“And that is so essential for a conversazione,” continued Mrs. Proudie. “Now in Gloucester Place⁠—.” But we will not record all her adverse criticisms, as Lady Lufton is waiting