Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope (epub e ink reader .TXT) 📕

But the doctor did not want to answer that special question. Could it be possible that Mary should wish to marry this odious man, could such a state of things be imagined to be the case, he would not refuse his consent, infinitely as he would be disgusted by her choice. But he would not give Sir Louis any excuse for telling Mary that her uncle approved of so odious a match.

“I cannot say that in any case I should approve of such a marriage, Sir Louis. I cannot bring myself to say so; for I know it would make you both miserable. But on that matter my niece will choose wholly for herself.”

“And about the money, doctor?”

“If you marry a decent woman you shall not want the means of supporting her decently,” and so saying the doctor walked away, leaving Sir Louis to his meditations.

Sir Louis, when left to himself, was slightly dismayed and somewhat discouraged; but he was not induced to give up his object. The first effort of his mind was made in conjecturing what private motive Dr. Thorne could possibly have in wishing to debar his niece from marrying a rich young baronet. That the objection was personal to himself, Sir Louis did not for a moment imagine. Could it be that the doctor did not wish that his niece should be richer, and grander, and altogether bigger than himself? Or was it possible that his guardian was anxious to prevent him from marrying from some view of the reversion of the large fortune? That there was some such reason, Sir Louis was well sure; but let it be what it might, he would get the better of the doctor. “He knew,” so he said to himself, “what stuff girls were made of. Baronets did not grow like blackberries.” And so, assuring himself with such philosophy, he determined to make his offer.

The time he selected for doing this was the hour before dinner; but on the day on which his conversation with the doctor had taken place, he was deterred by the presence of a strange visitor. To account for this strange visit it will be necessary that we should return to Greshamsbury for a few minutes.

Frank, when he returned home for his summer vacation, found that Mary had again flown; and the very fact of her absence added fuel to the fire of his love, more perhaps than even her presence might have done. For the flight of the quarry ever adds eagerness to the pursuit of the huntsman. Lady Arabella, moreover, had a bitter enemy; a foe, utterly opposed to her side in the contest, where she had once fondly looked for her staunchest ally. Frank was now in the habit of corresponding with Miss Dunstable, and received from her most energetic admonitions to be true to the love which he had sworn. True to it he resolved to be; and therefore, when he found that Mary was flown, he resolved to fly after her.

He did not, however, do this till he had been in a measure provoked to it by it by the sharp-tongued cautions and blunted irony of his mother. It was not enough for her that she had banished Mary out of the parish, and made Dr. Thorne’s life miserable; not enough that she harassed her husband with harangues on the constant subject of Frank’s marrying money, and dismayed Beatrice with invectives against the iniquity of her friend. The snake was so but scotched; to kill it outright she must induce Frank utterly to renounce Miss Thorne.

This task she essayed, but not exactly with success. “Well, mother,” said Frank, at last turning very red, partly with shame, and partly with indignation, as he made the frank avowal, “since you press me about it, I tell you fairly that my mind is made up to marry Mary sooner or later, if⁠—”

“Oh, Frank! good heavens! you wicked boy; you are saying this purposely to drive me distracted.”

“If,” continued Frank, not attending to his mother’s interjections, “if she will consent.”

“Consent!” said Lady Arabella. “Oh, heavens!” and falling into the corner of the sofa, she buried her face in her handkerchief.

“Yes, mother, if she will consent. And now that I have told you so much, it is only just that I should tell you this also; that as far as I can see at present I have no reason to hope that she will do so.”

“Oh, Frank, the girl is doing all she can to catch you,” said Lady Arabella⁠—not prudently.

“No, mother; there you wrong her altogether; wrong her most cruelly.”

“You ungracious, wicked boy! you call me cruel!”

“I don’t call you cruel; but you wrong her cruelly, most cruelly. When I have spoken to her about this⁠—for I have spoken to her⁠—she has behaved exactly as you would have wanted her to do; but not at all as I wished her. She has given me no encouragement. You have turned her out among you”⁠—Frank was beginning to be very bitter now⁠—“but she has done nothing to deserve it. If there has been any fault it has been mine. But it is well that we should all understand each other. My intention is to marry Mary if I can.” And, so speaking, certainly without due filial respect, he turned towards the door.

“Frank,” said his mother, raising herself up with energy to make one last appeal. “Frank, do you wish to see me die of a broken heart?”

“You know, mother, I would wish to make you happy, if I could.”

“If you wish to see me ever happy again, if you do not wish to see me sink brokenhearted to my grave, you must give up this mad idea, Frank,”⁠—and now all Lady Arabella’s energy came out. “Frank there is but one course left open to you. You must marry money.” And then Lady Arabella stood up before her son as Lady Macbeth might have stood, had Lady Macbeth