Doctor Thorne, Anthony Trollope [best book reader .txt] 📗

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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 got Bagley’s vote,” said Frank, persisting in praise

of his own electioneering prowess; “and you may be sure of this, Mr

Nearthewinde, none of Closerstil’s men were looking at me when I got

it.”

 

“Who’ll pay for the bonnets, Frank?” said George.

 

“Oh, I’ll pay for them if Moffat won’t. I think I shall keep an

account there; they seem to have good gloves and those sort of

things.”

 

“Very good, I have no doubt,” said George.

 

“I suppose your lordship will be in town soon after the meeting of

Parliament?” said the bishop, questioning the earl.

 

“Oh! yes; I suppose I must be there. I am never allowed to remain

very long in quiet. It is a great nuisance; but it is too late to

think of that now.”

 

“Men in high places, my lord, never were, and never will be, allowed

to consider themselves. They burn their torches not in their own

behalf,” said the bishop, thinking, perhaps, as much of himself as he

did of his noble friend. “Rest and quiet are the comforts of those

who have been content to remain in obscurity.”

 

“Perhaps so,” said the earl, finishing his glass of claret with

an air of virtuous resignation. “Perhaps so.” His own martyrdom,

however, had not been severe, for the rest and quiet of home had

never been peculiarly satisfactory to his tastes. Soon after this

they all went to the ladies.

 

It was some little time before Frank could find an opportunity of

recommencing his allotted task with Miss Dunstable. She got into

conversation with the bishop and some other people, and, except that

he took her teacup and nearly managed to squeeze one of her fingers

as he did so, he made very little further progress till towards the

close of the evening.

 

At last he found her so nearly alone as to admit of his speaking to

her in his low confidential voice.

 

“Have you managed that matter with my aunt?”

 

“What matter?” said Miss Dunstable; and her voice was not low, nor

particularly confidential.

 

“About those three or four gentlemen whom you wish to invite here?”

 

“Oh! my attendant knights! no, indeed; you gave me such very slight

hope of success; besides, you said something about my not wanting

them.”

 

“Yes I did; I really think they’d be quite unnecessary. If you should

want any one to defend you—”

 

“At these coming elections, for instance.”

 

“Then, or at any other time, there are plenty here who will be ready

to stand up for you.”

 

“Plenty! I don’t want plenty: one good lance in the olden days was

always worth more than a score of ordinary men-at-arms.”

 

“But you talked about three or four.”

 

“Yes; but then you see, Mr Gresham, I have never yet found the one

good lance—at least, not good enough to suit my ideas of true

prowess.”

 

What could Frank do but declare that he was ready to lay his own in

rest, now and always in her behalf? His aunt had been quite angry

with him, and had thought that he turned her into ridicule, when he

spoke of making an offer to her guest that very evening; and yet here

he was so placed that he had hardly an alternative. Let his inward

resolution to abjure the heiress be ever so strong, he was now in a

position which allowed him no choice in the matter. Even Mary Thorne

could hardly have blamed him for saying, that so far as his own

prowess went, it was quite at Miss Dunstable’s service. Had Mary been

looking on, she, perhaps, might have thought that he could have done

so with less of that look of devotion which he threw into his eyes.

 

“Well, Mr Gresham, that’s very civil—very civil indeed,” said Miss

Dunstable. “Upon my word, if a lady wanted a true knight she might

do worse than trust to you. Only I fear that your courage is of so

exalted a nature that you would be ever ready to do battle for any

beauty who might be in distress—or, indeed, who might not. You could

never confine your valour to the protection of one maiden.”

 

“Oh, yes! but I would though if I liked her,” said Frank. “There

isn’t a more constant fellow in the world than I am in that way—you

try me, Miss Dunstable.”

 

“When young ladies make such trials as that, they sometimes find it

too late to go back if the trial doesn’t succeed, Mr Gresham.”

 

“Oh, of course there’s always some risk. It’s like hunting; there

would be no fun if there was no danger.”

 

“But if you get a tumble one day you can retrieve your honour the

next; but a poor girl, if she once trusts a man who says that he

loves her, has no such chance. For myself, I would never listen to a

man unless I’d known him for seven years at least.”

 

“Seven years!” said Frank, who could not help thinking that in seven

years’ time Miss Dunstable would be almost an old woman. “Seven days

is enough to know any person.”

 

“Or perhaps seven hours; eh, Mr Gresham?”

 

“Seven hours—well, perhaps seven hours, if they happen to be a good

deal together during the time.”

 

“There’s nothing after all like love at first sight, is there, Mr

Gresham?”

 

Frank knew well enough that she was quizzing him, and could not

resist the temptation he felt to be revenged on her. “I am sure it’s

very pleasant,” said he; “but as for myself, I have never experienced

it.”

 

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Miss Dunstable. “Upon my word, Mr Gresham, I

like you amazingly. I didn’t expect to meet anybody down here that

I should like half so much. You must come and see me in London, and

I’ll introduce you to my three knights,” and so saying, she moved

away and fell into conversation with some of the higher powers.

 

Frank felt himself to be rather snubbed, in spite of the strong

expression which Miss Dunstable had made in his favour. It was not

quite clear to him that she did not take him for a boy. He was, to be

sure, avenged on her for that by taking her for a middle-aged woman;

but, nevertheless, he was hardly satisfied with himself; “I might

give her a heartache yet,” said he to himself, “and she might find

afterwards that she was left in the lurch with all her money.” And

so he retired, solitary, into a far part of the room, and began to

think of Mary Thorne. As he did so, and as his eyes fell upon Miss

Dunstable’s stiff curls, he almost shuddered.

 

And then the ladies retired. His aunt, with a good-natured smile on

her face, come to him as she was leaving the room, the last of the

bevy, and putting her hand on his arm, led him out into a small

unoccupied chamber which opened from the grand saloon.

 

“Upon my word, Master Frank,” said she, “you seem to be losing no

time with the heiress. You have quite made an impression already.”

 

“I don’t know much about that, aunt,” said he, looking rather

sheepish.

 

“Oh, I declare you have; but, Frank, my dear boy, you should not

precipitate these sort of things too much. It is well to take a

little more time: it is more valued; and perhaps, you know, on the

whole—”

 

Perhaps Frank might know; but it was clear that Lady de Courcy did

not: at any rate, she did not know how to express herself. Had she

said out her mind plainly, she would probably have spoken thus: “I

want you to make love to Miss Dunstable, certainly; or at any rate to

make an offer to her; but you need not make a show of yourself and of

her, too, by doing it so openly as all that.” The countess, however,

did not want to reprimand her obedient nephew, and therefore did not

speak out her thoughts.

 

“Well?” said Frank, looking up into her face.

 

“Take a leetle more time—that is all, my dear boy; slow and sure,

you know;” so the countess again patted his arm and went away to bed.

 

“Old fool!” muttered Frank to himself, as he returned to the room

where the men were still standing. He was right in this: she was an

old fool, or she would have seen that there was no chance whatever

that her nephew and Miss Dunstable should become man and wife.

 

“Well Frank,” said the Honourable John; “so you’re after the heiress

already.”

 

“He won’t give any of us a chance,” said the Honourable George.

“If he goes on in that way she’ll be Mrs Gresham before a month is

over. But, Frank, what will she say of your manner of looking for

Barchester votes?”

 

“Mr Gresham is certainly an excellent hand at canvassing,” said Mr

Nearthewinde; “only a little too open in his manner of proceeding.”

 

“I got that chorister for you at any rate,” said Frank. “And you

would never have had him without me.”

 

“I don’t think half so much of the chorister’s vote as that of Miss

Dunstable,” said the Honourable George: “that’s the interest that is

really worth looking after.”

 

“But, surely,” said Mr Moffat, “Miss Dunstable has no property in

Barchester?” Poor man! his heart was so intent on his election that

he had not a moment to devote to the claims of love.