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

that though Miss Dunstable was so sprightly,

so full of fun, and so ready to chatter on all subjects, she well

knew the value of her own money, and of her position as dependent on

it: he perceived that she never flattered the countess, and seemed

to be no whit absorbed by the titled grandeur of her host’s family.

He gave her credit, therefore, for an independent spirit: and an

independent spirit in his estimation was one that placed its sole

dependence on a respectable balance at its banker’s.

 

Working on these ideas, Mr Moffat commenced operations in such manner

that his overtures to the heiress should not, if unsuccessful,

interfere with the Greshamsbury engagement. He began by making common

cause with Miss Dunstable: their positions in the world, he said to

her, were closely similar. They had both risen from the lower class

by the strength of honest industry: they were both now wealthy, and

had both hitherto made such use of their wealth as to induce the

highest aristocracy of England to admit them into their circles.

 

“Yes, Mr Moffat,” had Miss Dunstable remarked; “and if all that I

hear be true, to admit you into their very families.”

 

At this Mr Moffat slightly demurred. He would not affect, he said,

to misunderstand what Miss Dunstable meant. There had been something

said on the probability of such an event; but he begged Miss

Dunstable not to believe all that she heard on such subjects.

 

“I do not believe much,” said she; “but I certainly did think that

that might be credited.”

 

Mr Moffat then went on to show how it behoved them both, in holding

out their hands half-way to meet the aristocratic overtures that

were made to them, not to allow themselves to be made use of. The

aristocracy, according to Mr Moffat, were people of a very nice

sort; the best acquaintance in the world; a portion of mankind to be

noticed by whom should be one of the first objects in the life of the

Dunstables and the Moffats. But the Dunstables and Moffats should be

very careful to give little or nothing in return. Much, very much in

return, would be looked for. The aristocracy, said Mr Moffat, were

not a people to allow the light of their countenance to shine forth

without looking for a quid pro quo, for some compensating value.

In all their intercourse with the Dunstables and Moffats, they would

expect a payment. It was for the Dunstables and Moffats to see that,

at any rate, they did not pay more for the article they got than its

market value.

 

They way in which she, Miss Dunstable, and he, Mr Moffat, would be

required to pay would be by taking each of them some poor scion of

the aristocracy in marriage; and thus expending their hard-earned

wealth in procuring high-priced pleasures for some well-born pauper.

Against this, peculiar caution was to be used. Of course, the further

induction to be shown was this: that people so circumstanced should

marry among themselves; the Dunstables and the Moffats each with the

other, and not tumble into the pitfalls prepared for them.

 

Whether these great lessons had any lasting effect on Miss

Dunstable’s mind may be doubted. Perhaps she had already made up her

mind on the subject which Mr Moffat so well discussed. She was older

than Mr Moffat, and, in spite of his two years of parliamentary

experience, had perhaps more knowledge of the world with which she

had to deal. But she listened to what he said with complacency;

understood his object as well as she had that of his aristocratic

rival; was no whit offended; but groaned in her spirit as she thought

of the wrongs of Augusta Gresham.

 

But all this good advice, however, would not win the money for Mr

Moffat without some more decided step; and that step he soon decided

on taking, feeling assured that what he had said would have its due

weight with the heiress.

 

The party at Courcy Castle was now soon about to be broken up. The

male de Courcys were going down to a Scotch mountain. The female de

Courcys were to be shipped off to an Irish castle. Mr Moffat was to

go up to town to prepare his petition. Miss Dunstable was again about

to start on a foreign tour in behalf of her physician and attendants;

and Frank Gresham was at last to be allowed to go to Cambridge; that

is to say, unless his success with Miss Dunstable should render such

a step on his part quite preposterous.

 

“I think you may speak now, Frank,” said the countess. “I really

think you may: you have known her now for a considerable time; and,

as far as I can judge, she is very fond of you.”

 

“Nonsense, aunt,” said Frank; “she doesn’t care a button for me.”

 

“I think differently; and lookers-on, you know, always understand the

game best. I suppose you are not afraid to ask her.”

 

“Afraid!” said Frank, in a tone of considerable scorn. He almost made

up his mind that he would ask her to show that he was not afraid.

His only obstacle to doing so was, that he had not the slightest

intention of marrying her.

 

There was to be but one other great event before the party broke up,

and that was a dinner at the Duke of Omnium’s. The duke had already

declined to come to Courcy; but he had in a measure atoned for this

by asking some of the guests to join a great dinner which he was

about to give to his neighbours.

 

Mr Moffat was to leave Courcy Castle the day after the dinner-party,

and he therefore determined to make his great attempt on the morning

of that day. It was with some difficulty that he brought about an

opportunity; but at last he did so, and found himself alone with Miss

Dunstable in the walks of Courcy Park.

 

“It is a strange thing, is it not,” said he, recurring to his old

view of the same subject, “that I should be going to dine with the

Duke of Omnium—the richest man, they say, among the whole English

aristocracy?”

 

“Men of that kind entertain everybody, I believe, now and then,” said

Miss Dunstable, not very civilly.

 

“I believe they do; but I am not going as one of the everybodies.

I am going from Lord de Courcy’s house with some of his own family.

I have no pride in that—not the least; I have more pride in my

father’s honest industry. But it shows what money does in this

country of ours.”

 

“Yes, indeed; money does a great deal many queer things.” In saying

this Miss Dunstable could not but think that money had done a very

queer thing in inducing Miss Gresham to fall in love with Mr Moffat.

 

“Yes; wealth is very powerful: here we are, Miss Dunstable, the most

honoured guests in the house.”

 

“Oh! I don’t know about that; you may be, for you are a member of

Parliament, and all that—”

 

“No; not a member now, Miss Dunstable.”

 

“Well, you will be, and that’s all the same; but I have no such title

to honour, thank God.”

 

They walked on in silence for a little while, for Mr Moffat hardly

knew how to manage the business he had in hand. “It is quite

delightful to watch these people,” he said at last; “now they accuse

us of being tuft-hunters.”

 

“Do they?” said Miss Dunstable. “Upon my word I didn’t know that

anybody ever so accused me.”

 

“I didn’t mean you and me personally.”

 

“Oh! I’m glad of that.”

 

“But that is what the world says of persons of our class. Now it

seems to me that the toadying is all on the other side. The countess

here does toady you, and so do the young ladies.”

 

“Do they? if so, upon my word I didn’t know it. But, to tell the

truth, I don’t think much of such things. I live mostly to myself, Mr

Moffat.”

 

“I see that you do, and I admire you for it; but, Miss Dunstable, you

cannot always live so,” and Mr Moffat looked at her in a manner which

gave her the first intimation of his coming burst of tenderness.

 

“That’s as may be, Mr Moffat,” said she.

 

He went on beating about the bush for some time—giving her to

understand now necessary it was that persons situated as they were

should live either for themselves or for each other, and that,

above all things, they should beware of falling into the mouths of

voracious aristocratic lions who go about looking for prey—till they

came to a turn in the grounds; at which Miss Dunstable declared her

determination of going in. She had walked enough, she said. As by

this time Mr Moffat’s immediate intentions were becoming visible she

thought it prudent to retire. “Don’t let me take you in, Mr Moffat;

but my boots are a little damp, and Dr Easyman will never forgive me

if I do not hurry in as fast as I can.”

 

“Your feet damp?—I hope not: I do hope not,” said he, with a look of

the greatest solicitude.

 

“Oh! it’s nothing to signify; but it’s well to be prudent, you know.

Good morning, Mr Moffat.”

 

“Miss Dunstable!”

 

“Eh—yes!” and Miss Dunstable stopped in the grand path. “I won’t let

you return with me, Mr Moffat, because I know you were not coming in

so soon.”

 

“Miss Dunstable; I shall be leaving this to-morrow.”

 

“Yes; and I go myself the day after.”

 

“I know it. I am going to town and you are going abroad. It may be

long—very long—before we meet again.”

 

“About Easter,” said Miss Dunstable; “that is, if the doctor doesn’t

knock up on the road.”

 

“And I had, had wished to say something before we part for so long a

time. Miss Dunstable—”

 

“Stop!—Mr Moffat. Let me ask you one question. I’ll hear anything

that you have got to say, but on one condition: that is, that Miss

Augusta Gresham shall be by while you say it. Will you consent to

that?”

 

“Miss Augusta Gresham,” said he, “has no right to listen to my

private conversation.”

 

“Has she not, Mr Moffat? then I think she should have. I, at any

rate, will not so far interfere with what I look on as her undoubted

privileges as to be a party to any secret in which she may not

participate.”

 

“But, Miss Dunstable—”

 

“And to tell you fairly, Mr Moffat, any secret that you do tell me, I

shall most undoubtedly repeat to her before dinner. Good morning, Mr

Moffat; my feet are certainly a little damp, and if I stay a moment

longer, Dr Easyman will put off my foreign trip for at least a week.”

And so she left him standing alone in the middle of the gravel-walk.

 

For a moment or two, Mr Moffat consoled himself in his misfortune by

thinking how he might best avenge himself on Miss Dunstable. Soon,

however, such futile ideas left his brain. Why should he give over

the chase because the rich galleon had escaped him on this, his

first cruise in pursuit of her? Such prizes were not to be won so

easily. Her present objection clearly consisted in his engagement to

Miss Gresham, and in that only. Let that engagement be at an end,

notoriously and publicly broken off, and this objection would fall to

the ground. Yes; ships so richly freighted were not to be run down

in one summer morning’s plain sailing. Instead of