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

taking a high hand with him. Besides, Mr. Gresham was not a man who could ever be severe with a son whose individual conduct had been so good as Frank’s. This marriage was, in his view, a misfortune to be averted if possible⁠—to be averted by any possible means; but, as far as Frank was concerned, it was to be regarded rather as a monomania than a crime.

“I did feel so certain that he would have succeeded with Miss Dunstable,” said the mother, almost crying.

“I thought it impossible but that at his age a twelvemonth’s knocking about the world would cure him,” said the father.

“I never heard of a boy being so obstinate about a girl,” said the mother. “I’m sure he didn’t get it from the de Courcys:” and then, again, they talked it over in all its bearings.

“But what are they to live upon?” said Lady Arabella, appealing, as it were, to some impersonation of reason. “That’s what I want him to tell me. What are they to live upon?”

“I wonder whether de Courcy could get him into some embassy?” said the father. “He does talk of a profession.”

“What! with the girl and all?” asked Lady Arabella with horror, alarmed at the idea of such an appeal being made to her noble brother.

“No; but before he marries. He might be broken of it that way.”

“Nothing will break him,” said the wretched mother; “nothing⁠—nothing. For my part, I think that he is possessed. Why was she brought here? Oh, dear! oh, dear! Why was she ever brought into this house?”

This last question Mr. Gresham did not think it necessary to answer. That evil had been done, and it would be useless to dispute it. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said he. “I’ll speak to the doctor himself.”

“It’s not the slightest use,” said Lady Arabella. “He will not assist us. Indeed, I firmly believe it’s all his own doing.”

“Oh, nonsense! that really is nonsense, my love.”

“Very well, Mr. Gresham. What I say is always nonsense, I know; you have always told me so. But yet, see how things have turned out. I knew how it would be when she was first brought into the house.” This assertion was rather a stretch on the part of Lady Arabella.

“Well, it is nonsense to say that Frank is in love with the girl at the doctor’s bidding.”

“I think you know, Mr. Gresham, that I don’t mean that. What I say is this, that Dr. Thorne, finding what an easy fool Frank is⁠—”

“I don’t think he’s at all easy, my love; and certainly is not a fool.”

“Very well, have it your own way. I’ll not say a word more. I’m struggling to do my best, and I’m browbeaten on every side. God knows I am not in a state of health to bear it!” And Lady Arabella bowed her head into her pocket-handkerchief.

“I think, my dear, if you were to see Mary herself it might do some good,” said the squire, when the violence of his wife’s grief had somewhat subsided.

“What! go and call upon this girl?”

“Yes; you can send Beatrice to give her notice, you know. She never was unreasonable, and I do not think that you would find her so. You should tell her, you know⁠—”

“Oh, I should know very well what to tell her, Mr. Gresham.”

“Yes, my love; I’m sure you would; nobody better. But what I mean is, that if you are to do any good, you should be kind in your manner. Mary Thorne has a spirit that you cannot break. You may perhaps lead, but nobody can drive her.”

As this scheme originated with her husband, Lady Arabella could not, of course, confess that there was much in it. But, nevertheless, she determined to attempt it, thinking that if anything could be efficacious for good in their present misfortunes, it would be her own diplomatic powers. It was, therefore, at last settled between them, that he should endeavour to talk over the doctor, and that she would do the same with Mary.

“And then I will speak to Frank,” said Lady Arabella. “As yet he has never had the audacity to open his mouth to me about Mary Thorne, though I believe he declares his love openly to everyone else in the house.”

“And I will get Oriel to speak to him,” said the squire.

“I think Patience might do more good. I did once think he was getting fond of Patience, and I was quite unhappy about it then. Ah, dear! I should be almost pleased at that now.”

And thus it was arranged that all the artillery of Greshamsbury was to be brought to bear at once on Frank’s love, so as to crush it, as it were, by the very weight of metal.

It may be imagined that the squire would have less scruple in addressing the doctor on this matter than his wife would feel; and that his part of their present joint undertaking was less difficult than hers. For he and the doctor had ever been friends at heart. But, nevertheless, he did feel much scruple, as, with his stick in hand, he walked down to the little gate which opened out near the doctor’s house.

This feeling was so strong, that he walked on beyond this door to the entrance, thinking of what he was going to do, and then back again. It seemed to be his fate to be depending always on the clemency or consideration of Dr. Thorne. At this moment the doctor was imposing the only obstacle which was offered to the sale of a great part of his estate. Sir Louis, through his lawyer, was pressing the doctor to sell, and the lawyer was loudly accusing the doctor of delaying to do so. “He has the management of your property,” said Mr. Finnie; “but he manages it in the interest of his own friend. It is quite clear, and we will expose it.” “By all means,” said Sir Louis. “It is a d⁠⸺⁠d shame, and it shall be exposed.” Of all this