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

not a widow. I don’t like widows marrying. But of course you could guess if you would; of course it was Mary Thorne. But I soon saw Mary would not do, for two reasons; Caleb would never have liked her well enough nor would she ever have liked him.”

“Not like him! oh I hope she will; I do so love Mary Thorne.”

“So do I, dearly; and so does Caleb; but he could never have loved her as he loves you.”

“But, Patience, have you told Mary?”

“No, I have told no one, and shall not without your leave.”

“Ah, you must tell her. Tell it her with my best, and kindest, warmest love. Tell her how happy I am, and how I long to talk to her. Tell that I will have her for my bridesmaid. Oh! I do hope that before that all this horrid quarrel will be settled.”

Patience undertook the commission, and did tell Mary; did give her also the message which Beatrice had sent. And Mary was rejoiced to hear it; for though, as Patience had said of her, she had never herself felt any inclination to fall in love with Mr. Oriel, she believed him to be one in whose hands her friend’s happiness would be secure. Then, by degrees, the conversation changed from the loves of Mr. Oriel and Beatrice to the troubles of Frank Gresham and herself.

“She says, that let what will happen you shall be one of her bridesmaids.”

“Ah, yes, dear Trichy! that was settled between us in auld lang syne; but those settlements are all unsettled now, must all be broken. No, I cannot be her bridesmaid; but I shall yet hope to see her once before her marriage.”

“And why not be her bridesmaid? Lady Arabella will hardly object to that.”

“Lady Arabella!” said Mary, curling her lip with deep scorn. “I do not care that for Lady Arabella,” and she let her silver thimble fall from her fingers on to the table. “If Beatrice invited me to her wedding, she might manage as to that; I should ask no question as to Lady Arabella.”

“Then why not come to it?”

She remained silent for a while, and then boldly answered. “Though I do not care for Lady Arabella, I do care for Mr. Gresham:⁠—and I do care for his son.”

“But the squire always loved you.”

“Yes, and therefore I will not be there to vex his sight. I will tell you the truth, Patience. I can never be in that house again till Frank Gresham is a married man, or till I am about to be a married woman. I do not think they have treated me well, but I will not treat them ill.”

“I am sure you will not do that,” said Miss Oriel.

“I will endeavour not to do so; and, therefore, will go to none of their fêtes! No, Patience.” And then she turned her head to the arm of the sofa, and silently, without audible sobs, hiding her face, she endeavoured to get rid of her tears unseen. For one moment she had all but resolved to pour out the whole truth of her love into her friend’s ears; but suddenly she changed her mind. Why should she talk of her own unhappiness? Why should she speak of her own love when she was fully determined not to speak of Frank’s promises.

“Mary, dear Mary.”

“Anything but pity, Patience; anything but that,” said she, convulsively, swallowing down her sobs, and rubbing away her tears. “I cannot bear that. Tell Beatrice from me, that I wish her every happiness; and, with such a husband, I am sure she will be happy. I wish her every joy; give her my kindest love; but tell her I cannot be at her marriage. Oh, I should so like to see her; not there, you know, but here, in my own room, where I still have liberty to speak.”

“But why should you decide now? She is not to be married yet, you know.”

“Now, or this day twelvemonth, can make no difference. I will not go into that house again, unless⁠—but never mind; I will not go into it all; never, never again. If I could forgive her for myself, I could not forgive her for my uncle. But tell me, Patience, might not Beatrice now come here? It is so dreadful to see her every Sunday in church and never to speak to her, never to kiss her. She seems to look away from me as though she too had chosen to quarrel with me.”

Miss Oriel promised to do her best. She could not imagine, she said, that such a visit could be objected to on such an occasion. She would not advise Beatrice to come without telling her mother; but she could not think that Lady Arabella would be so cruel as to make any objection, knowing, as she could not but know, that her daughter, when married, would be at liberty to choose her own friends.

“Goodbye, Mary,” said Patience. “I wish I knew how to say more to comfort you.”

“Oh, comfort! I don’t want comfort. I want to be let alone.”

“That’s just it: you are so ferocious in your scorn, so unbending, so determined to take all the punishment that comes in your way.”

“What I do take, I’ll take without complaint,” said Mary; and then they kissed each other and parted.

XXXIII A Morning Visit

It must be remembered that Mary, among her miseries, had to suffer this: that since Frank’s departure, now nearly twelve months ago, she had not heard a word about him; or rather, she had only heard that he was very much in love with some lady in London. This news reached her in a manner so circuitous, and from such a doubtful source; it seemed to her to savour so strongly of Lady Arabella’s precautions, that she attributed it at once to malice, and blew it to the winds. It might not improbably be the case that Frank was untrue to her; but she