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

then, feeling a not unnatural anxiety as to the present state of Miss Dunstable’s worldly concerns, he took an opportunity of falling back on that part of the conversation which Mrs. Proudie had exercised so much tact in avoiding.

“And was it sold?” said he.

“Sold! what sold?”

“You were saying about the business⁠—that you came back without going to bed because of selling the business.”

“Oh!⁠—the ointment. No; it was not sold. After all, the affair did not come off, and I might have remained and had another roll in the snow. Wasn’t it a pity?”

“So,” said Frank to himself, “if I should do it, I should be owner of the ointment of Lebanon: how odd!” And then he gave her his arm and handed her down to dinner.

He certainly found that the dinner was less dull than any other he had sat down to at Courcy Castle. He did not fancy that he should ever fall in love with Miss Dunstable; but she certainly was an agreeable companion. She told him of her tour, and the fun she had in her journeys; how she took a physician with her for the benefit of her health, whom she generally was forced to nurse; of the trouble it was to her to look after and wait upon her numerous servants; of the tricks she played to bamboozle people who came to stare at her; and, lastly, she told him of a lover who followed her from country to country, and was now in hot pursuit of her, having arrived in London the evening before she left.

“A lover?” said Frank, somewhat startled by the suddenness of the confidence.

“A lover⁠—yes⁠—Mr. Gresham; why should I not have a lover?”

“Oh!⁠—no⁠—of course not. I dare say you have a good many.”

“Only three or four, upon my word; that is, only three or four that I favour. One is not bound to reckon the others, you know.”

“No, they’d be too numerous. And so you have three whom you favour, Miss Dunstable;” and Frank sighed, as though he intended to say that the number was too many for his peace of mind.

“Is not that quite enough? But of course I change them sometimes;” and she smiled on him very good-naturedly. “It would be very dull if I were always to keep the same.”

“Very dull indeed,” said Frank, who did not quite know what to say.

“Do you think the countess would mind my having one or two of them here if I were to ask her?”

“I am quite sure she would,” said Frank, very briskly. “She would not approve of it at all; nor should I.”

“You⁠—why, what have you to do with it?”

“A great deal⁠—so much so that I positively forbid it; but, Miss Dunstable⁠—”

“Well, Mr. Gresham?”

“We will contrive to make up for the deficiency as well as possible, if you will permit us to do so. Now for myself⁠—”

“Well, for yourself?”

At this moment the countess gleamed her accomplished eye round the table, and Miss Dunstable rose from her chair as Frank was preparing his attack, and accompanied the other ladies into the drawing-room.

His aunt, as she passed him, touched his arm lightly with her fan, so lightly that the action was perceived by no one else. But Frank well understood the meaning of the touch, and appreciated the approbation which it conveyed. He merely blushed, however, at his own dissimulation; for he felt more certain that ever that he would never marry Miss Dunstable, and he felt nearly equally sure that Miss Dunstable would never marry him.

Lord de Courcy was now at home; but his presence did not add much hilarity to the claret-cup. The young men, however, were very keen about the election, and Mr. Nearthewinde, who was one of the party, was full of the most sanguine hopes.

“I have done one good at any rate,” said Frank; “I have secured the chorister’s vote.”

“What! Bagley?” said Nearthewinde. “The fellow kept out of my way, and I couldn’t see him.”

“I haven’t exactly seen him,” said Frank; “but I’ve got his vote all the same.”

“What! by a letter?” said Mr. Moffat.

“No, not by letter,” said Frank, speaking rather low as he looked at the bishop and the earl; “I got a promise from his wife: I think he’s a little in the henpecked line.”

“Ha⁠—ha⁠—ha!” laughed the good bishop, who, in spite of Frank’s modulation of voice, had overheard what had passed. “Is that the way you manage electioneering matters in our cathedral city? Ha⁠—ha⁠—ha!” The idea of one of his choristers being in the henpecked line was very amusing to the bishop.

“Oh, I got a distinct promise,” said Frank, in his pride; and then added incautiously, “but I had to order bonnets for the whole family.”

“Hush-h-h-h-h!” said Mr. Nearthewinde, absolutely flabbergasted by such imprudence on the part of one of his client’s friends. “I am quite sure that your order had no effect, and was intended to have no effect on Mr. Bagley’s vote.”

“Is that wrong?” said Frank; “upon my word I thought that it was quite legitimate.”

“One should never admit anything in electioneering matters, should one?” said George, turning to Mr. Nearthewinde.

“Very little, Mr. de Courcy; very little indeed⁠—the less the better. It’s hard to say in these days what is wrong and what is not. Now, there’s Reddypalm, the publican, the man who has the Brown Bear. Well, I was there, of course: he’s a voter, and if any man in Barchester ought to feel himself bound to vote for a friend of the duke’s, he ought. Now, I was so thirsty when I was in that man’s house that I was dying for a glass of beer; but for the life of me I didn’t dare order one.”

“Why not?” said Frank, whose mind was only just beginning to be enlightened by the great doctrine of purity of election as practised in English provincial towns.

“Oh, Closerstil had some fellow looking at me; why, I can’t walk down that town without having my very steps counted. I like sharp fighting myself, but I never go so sharp as that.”

“Nevertheless I