The Small House at Allington by Anthony Trollope (the kiss of deception read online txt) 📕

ungrateful, because Bell had recommended the book. “All the books have got to be so stupid! I think I’ll read Pilgrims Progress again.”

“What do you say to Robinson Crusoe?” said Bell.

“Or Paul and Virginia?” said Lily. “But I believe I’ll have Pilgrims Progress. I never can understand it, but I rather think that makes it nicer.”

“I hate books I can’t understand,” said Bell. “I like a book to be clear as running water, so that the whole meaning may be seen at once.”

“The quick seeing of the meaning must depend a little on the reader, must it not?” said Mrs. Dale.

“The reader mustn’t be a fool, of course,” said Bell.

“But then so many readers are fools,” said Lily. “And yet they get something out of their reading. Mrs. Crump is always poring over the Revelations, and nearly knows them by heart. I don’t think she could interpret a single image, but she has a hazy, misty idea of the truth. That’s why she likes it⁠—because it’s too beautiful to be understood; and that’s why I like Pilgrims Progress.” After which Bell offered to get the book in question.

“No, not now,” said Lily. “I’ll go on with this, as you say it’s so grand. The personages are always in their tantrums, and go on as though they were mad. Mamma, do you know where they’re going for the honeymoon?”

“No, my dear.”

“He used to talk to me about going to the lakes.” And then there was another pause, during which Bell observed that her mother’s face became clouded with anxiety. “But I won’t think of it any more,” continued Lily; “I will fix my mind to something.” And then she got up from her chair. “I don’t think it would have been so difficult if I had not been ill.”

“Of course it would not, my darling.”

“And I’m going to be well again now, immediately. Let me see: I was told to read Carlyle’s History of the French Revolution, and I think I’ll begin now.” It was Crosbie who had told her to read the book, as both Bell and Mrs. Dale were well aware. “But I must put it off till I can get it down from the other house.”

“Jane shall fetch it, if you really want it,” said Mrs. Dale.

“Bell shall get it, when she goes up in the afternoon; will you, Bell? And I’ll try to get on with this stuff in the meantime.” Then again she sat with her eyes fixed upon the pages of the book. “I’ll tell you what, mamma⁠—you may have some comfort in this: that when today’s gone by, I shan’t make a fuss about any other day.”

“Nobody thinks that you are making a fuss, Lily.”

“Yes, but I am. Isn’t it odd, Bell, that it should take place on Valentine’s day? I wonder whether it was so settled on purpose, because of the day. Oh, dear, I used to think so often of the letter that I should get from him on this day, when he would tell me that I was his valentine. Well; he’s got another⁠—valen⁠—tine⁠—now.” So much she said with articulate voice, and then she broke down, bursting out into convulsive sobs, and crying in her mother’s arms as though she would break her heart. And yet her heart was not broken, and she was still strong in that resolve which she had made, that her grief should not overpower her. As she had herself said, the thing would not have been so difficult, had she not been weakened by illness.

“Lily, my darling; my poor, ill-used darling.”

“No, mamma, I won’t be that.” And she struggled grievously to get the better of the hysterical attack which had overpowered her. “I won’t be regarded as ill-used; not as specially ill-used. But I am your darling, your own darling. Only I wish you’d beat me and thump me when I’m such a fool, instead of pitying me. It’s a great mistake being soft to people when they make fools of themselves. There, Bell; there’s your stupid book, and I won’t have any more of it. I believe it was that that did it.” And she pushed the book away from her.

After this little scene she said no further word about Crosbie and his bride on that day, but turned the conversation towards the prospect of their new house at Guestwick.

“It will be a great comfort to be nearer Dr. Crofts; won’t it, Bell?”

“I don’t know,” said Bell.

“Because if we are ill, he won’t have such a terrible distance to come.”

“That will be a comfort for him, I should think,” said Bell, very demurely.

In the evening the first volume of the French Revolution had been procured, and Lily stuck to her reading with laudable perseverance; till at eight her mother insisted on her going to bed, queen as she was.

“I don’t believe a bit, you know, that the king was such a bad man as that,” she said.

“I do,” said Bell.

“Ah, that’s because you’re a radical. I never will believe that kings are so much worse than other people. As for Charles the First, he was about the best man in history.”

This was an old subject of dispute; but Lily on the present occasion was allowed her own way⁠—as being an invalid.

XLV Valentine’s Day in London

The fourteenth of February in London was quite as black, and cold, and as wintersome as it was at Allington, and was, perhaps, somewhat more melancholy in its coldness. Nevertheless Lady Alexandrina De Courcy looked as bright as bridal finery could make her, when she got out of her carriage and walked into St. James’s church at eleven o’clock on that morning.

It had been finally arranged that the marriage should take place in London. There were certainly many reasons which would have made a marriage from Courcy Castle more convenient. The De Courcy family were all assembled at their country family residence, and could therefore have been present at the ceremony without cost