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

you forget I am a man now,” and he stooped his head as she again pressed her lips upon his forehead.

“I don’t care what none of ’em say,” said her ladyship, quite going back to her old days; “I will kiss my own boy; so I will. Eh, but Master Frank, this is good of you. A sight of you is good for sore eyes; and my eyes have been sore enough too since I saw you;” and she put her apron up to wipe away a tear.

“Yes,” said Frank, gently trying to disengage himself, but not successfully; “yes, you have had a great loss, Lady Scatcherd. I was so sorry when I heard of your grief.”

“You always had a soft, kind heart, Master Frank; so you had. God’s blessing on you! What a fine man you have grown! Deary me! Well, it seems as though it were only just t’other day like.” And she pushed him a little off from her, so that she might look the better into his face.

“Well. Is it all right? I suppose you would hardly know me again now I’ve got a pair of whiskers?”

“Know you! I should know you well if I saw but the heel of your foot. Why, what a head of hair you have got, and so dark too! but it doesn’t curl as it used once.” And she stroked his hair, and looked into his eyes, and put her hand to his cheeks. “You’ll think me an old fool, Master Frank: I know that; but you may think what you like. If I live for the next twenty years you’ll always be my own boy; so you will.”

By degrees, slow degrees, Frank managed to change the conversation, and to induce Lady Scatcherd to speak on some other topic than his own infantine perfections. He affected an indifference as he spoke of her guest, which would have deceived no one but Lady Scatcherd; but her it did deceive; and then he asked where Mary was.

“She’s just gone out on her donkey⁠—somewhere about the place. She rides on a donkey mostly every day. But you’ll stop and take a bit of dinner with us? Eh, now do ’ee, Master Frank.”

But Master Frank excused himself. He did not choose to pledge himself to sit down to dinner with Mary. He did not know in what mood they might return with regard to each other at dinnertime. He said, therefore, that he would walk out and, if possible, find Miss Thorne; and that he would return to the house again before he went.

Lady Scatcherd then began making apologies for Sir Louis. He was an invalid; the doctor had been with him all the morning, and he was not yet out of his room.

These apologies Frank willingly accepted, and then made his way as he could on to the lawn. A gardener, of whom he inquired, offered to go with him in pursuit of Miss Thorne. This assistance, however, he declined, and set forth in quest of her, having learnt what were her most usual haunts. Nor was he directed wrongly; for after walking about twenty minutes, he saw through the trees the legs of a donkey moving on the greensward, at about two hundred yards from him. On that donkey doubtless sat Mary Thorne.

The donkey was coming towards him; not exactly in a straight line, but so much so as to make it impossible that Mary should not see him if he stood still. He did stand still, and soon emerging from the trees, Mary saw him all but close to her.

Her heart gave a leap within her, but she was so far mistress of herself as to repress any visible sign of outward emotion. She did not fall from her donkey, or scream, or burst into tears. She merely uttered the words, “Mr. Gresham!” in a tone of not unnatural surprise.

“Yes,” said he, trying to laugh, but less successful than she had been in suppressing a show of feeling. “Mr. Gresham! I have come over at last to pay my respects to you. You must have thought me very uncourteous not to do so before.”

This she denied. “She had not,” she said, “thought him at all uncivil. She had come to Boxall Hill to be out of the way; and, of course, had not expected any such formalities.” As she uttered this she almost blushed at the abrupt truth of what she was saying. But she was taken so much unawares that she did not know how to make the truth other than abrupt.

“To be out of the way!” said Frank. “And why should you want to be out of the way?”

“Oh! there were reasons,” said she, laughing. “Perhaps I have quarrelled dreadfully with my uncle.”

Frank at the present moment had not about him a scrap of badinage. He had not a single easy word at his command. He could not answer her with anything in guise of a joke; so he walked on, not answering at all.

“I hope all my friends at Greshamsbury are well,” said Mary. “Is Beatrice quite well?”

“Quite well,” said he.

“And Patience?”

“What, Miss Oriel; yes, I believe so. I haven’t seen her this day or two.” How was it that Mary felt a little flush of joy, as Frank spoke in this indifferent way about Miss Oriel’s health?

“I thought she was always a particular friend of yours,” said she.

“What! who? Miss Oriel? So she is! I like her amazingly; so does Beatrice.” And then he walked about six steps in silence, plucking up courage for the great attempt. He did pluck up his courage and then rushed at once to the attack.

“Mary!” said he, and as he spoke he put his hand on the donkey’s neck, and looked tenderly into her face. He looked tenderly, and, as Mary’s ear at once told her, his voice sounded more soft than it had ever sounded before. “Mary, do you remember the last time that we were together?”

Mary did remember it well. It