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

this task as best he might. He was goaded to it by the accusations which Miss Dunstable brought against him; and he began to feel, that though her invective against him might be bitter when he had told the truth, they could not be so bitter as those she now kept hinting at under her mistaken impression as to his views. He had never had any strong propensity for money-hunting; but now that offence appeared in his eyes abominable, unmanly, and disgusting. Any imputation would be better than that.

“Miss Dunstable, I never for a moment thought of doing what you accuse me of; on my honour, I never did. I have been very foolish⁠—very wrong⁠—idiotic, I believe; but I have never intended that.”

“Then, Mr. Gresham, what did you intend?”

This was rather a difficult question to answer; and Frank was not very quick in attempting it. “I know you will not forgive me,” he said at last; “and, indeed, I do not see how you can. I don’t know how it came about; but this is certain, Miss Dunstable; I have never for a moment thought about your fortune; that is, thought about it in the way of coveting it.”

“You never thought of making me your wife, then?”

“Never,” said Frank, looking boldly into her face.

“You never intended really to propose to go with me to the altar, and then make yourself rich by one great perjury?”

“Never for a moment,” said he.

“You have never gloated over me as the bird of prey gloats over the poor beast that is soon to become carrion beneath its claws? You have not counted me out as equal to so much land, and calculated on me as a balance at your banker’s? Ah, Mr. Gresham,” she continued, seeing that he stared as though struck almost with awe by her strong language; “you little guess what a woman situated as I am has to suffer.”

“I have behaved badly to you, Miss Dunstable, and I beg your pardon; but I have never thought of your money.”

“Then we will be friends again, Mr. Gresham, won’t we? It is so nice to have a friend like you. There, I think I understand it now; you need not tell me.”

“It was half by way of making a fool of my aunt,” said Frank, in an apologetic tone.

“There is merit in that, at any rate,” said Miss Dunstable. “I understand it all now; you thought to make a fool of me in real earnest. Well, I can forgive that; at any rate it is not mean.”

It may be, that Miss Dunstable did not feel much acute anger at finding that this young man had addressed her with words of love in the course of an ordinary flirtation, although that flirtation had been unmeaning and silly. This was not the offence against which her heart and breast had found peculiar cause to arm itself; this was not the injury from which she had hitherto experienced suffering.

At any rate, she and Frank again became friends, and, before the evening was over, they perfectly understood each other. Twice during this long tête-à-tête Lady de Courcy came into the room to see how things were going on, and twice she went out almost unnoticed. It was quite clear to her that something uncommon had taken place, was taking place, or would take place; and that should this be for weal or for woe, no good could now come from her interference. On each occasion, therefore, she smiled sweetly on the pair of turtledoves, and glided out of the room as quietly as she had glided into it.

But at last it became necessary to remove them; for the world had gone to bed. Frank, in the meantime, had told to Miss Dunstable all his love for Mary Thorne, and Miss Dunstable had enjoined him to be true to his vows. To her eyes there was something of heavenly beauty in young, true love⁠—of beauty that was heavenly because it had been unknown to her.

“Mind you let me hear, Mr. Gresham,” said she. “Mind you do; and, Mr. Gresham, never, never forget her for one moment; not for one moment, Mr. Gresham.”

Frank was about to swear that he never would⁠—again, when the countess, for the third time, sailed into the room.

“Young people,” said she, “do you know what o’clock it is?”

“Dear me, Lady de Courcy, I declare it is past twelve; I really am ashamed of myself. How glad you will be to get rid of me tomorrow!”

“No, no, indeed we shan’t; shall we, Frank?” and so Miss Dunstable passed out.

Then once again the aunt tapped her nephew with her fan. It was the last time in her life that she did so. He looked up in her face, and his look was enough to tell her that the acres of Greshamsbury were not to be reclaimed by the ointment of Lebanon.

Nothing further on the subject was said. On the following morning Miss Dunstable took her departure, not much heeding the rather cold words of farewell which her hostess gave her; and on the following day Frank started for Greshamsbury.

XXI Mr. Moffat Falls Into Trouble

We will now, with the reader’s kind permission, skip over some months in our narrative. Frank returned from Courcy Castle to Greshamsbury, and having communicated to his mother⁠—much in the same manner as he had to the countess⁠—the fact that his mission had been unsuccessful, he went up after a day or two to Cambridge. During his short stay at Greshamsbury he did not even catch a glimpse of Mary. He asked for her, of course, and was told that it was not likely that she would be at the house just at present. He called at the doctor’s, but she was denied to him there; “she was out,” Janet said⁠—“probably with Miss Oriel.” He went to the parsonage and found Miss Oriel at home; but Mary had not been seen that morning. He then returned to the house; and, having come to