He Knew He Was Right, Anthony Trollope [children's ebooks free online .TXT] 📗
- Author: Anthony Trollope
- Performer: -
Book online «He Knew He Was Right, Anthony Trollope [children's ebooks free online .TXT] 📗». Author Anthony Trollope
‘To Niddon Park again?’
‘Yes; it is so beautiful! And I should like to see it by the morning
light. There is plenty of time.’
So they walked to Niddon Park in the morning, as they had done on the
preceding evening. Their conversation at first regarded Trevelyan and
his wife, and the old trouble; but Nora could not keep herself from
speaking of Hugh Stanbury.
‘He would not have come,’ she said, ‘unless Louis had sent him.’
‘He would not have come now, I think.’
‘Of course not; why should he before Parliament was hardly over, too?
But he won’t remain in town now, will he?’
‘He says somebody must remain and I think he will be in London till
near Christmas.’
‘How disagreeable! But I suppose he doesn’t care. It’s all the same to
a man like him. They don’t shut the clubs up, I dare say. Will he come
here at Christmas?’
‘Either then or for the New Year—just for a day or two.’
‘We shall be gone then, I suppose?’ said Nora.
‘That must depend on Mr Trevelyan,’ said Priscilla.
‘What a life for two women to lead to depend upon the caprice of a man
who must be mad! Do you think that Mr Trevelyan will care for what your
brother says to him?’
‘I do not know Mr Trevelyan’.
‘He is very fond of your brother, and I suppose men friends do listen
to each other. They never seem to listen to women. Don’t you think
that, after all, they despise women? They look on them as dainty,
foolish things.’
‘Sometimes women despise men,’ said Priscilla.
‘Not very often do they? And then women are so dependent on men. A
woman can get nothing without a man.’
‘I manage to get on somehow,’ said Priscilla.
‘No, you don’t, Miss Stanbury, if you think of it. You want mutton. And
who kills the sheep?’
‘But who cooks it?’
‘But the men-cooks are the best,’ said Nora; ‘and the men-tailors, and
the men to wait at table, and the men poets, and the men-painters, and
the men-nurses. All the things that women do, men do better.’
‘There are two things they can’t do,’ said Priscilla.
‘What are they?’
‘They can’t suckle babies, and they can’t forget themselves.’
‘About the babies, of course not. As for forgetting themselves I am not
quite so sure that I can forget myself. That is just where your brother
went down last night.’
They had at this moment reached the top of the steep slope below which
the river ran brawling among the rocks, and Nora seated herself exactly
where she had sat on the previous evening.
‘I have been down scores of times,’ said Priscilla.
‘Let us go now.’
‘You wouldn’t go when Hugh asked you yesterday.’
‘I didn’t care then. But do come now if you don’t mind the climb.’ Then
they went down the slope and reached the spot from whence Hugh Stanbury
had jumped from rock to rock across the stream. ‘You have never been
out there, have you?’ said Nora.
‘On the rocks? Oh, dear, no! I should be sure to fall.’
‘But he went; just like a goat.’
‘That’s one of the things that men can do, I suppose,’ said Priscilla.
‘But I don’t see any great glory in being like a goat.’
‘I do. I should like to be able to go, and I think I’ll try. It is so
mean to be dainty and weak.’
‘I don’t think it at all dainty to keep dry feet.’
‘But he didn’t get his feet wet,’ said Nora. ‘Or if he did, he didn’t
mind. I can see at once that I should be giddy and tumble down if I
tried it.’
‘Of course you would.’
‘But he didn’t tumble down.’
‘He has been doing it all his life,’ said Priscilla.
‘He can’t do it up in London. When I think of myself, Miss Stanbury, I
am so ashamed. There is nothing that I can do. I couldn’t write an
article for a newspaper.’
‘I think I could. But I fear no one would read it.’
‘They read his,’ said Nora, ‘or else he wouldn’t be paid for writing
them.’ Then they climbed back again up the hill, and during the
climbing there were no words spoken. The slope was not much of a hill,
was no more than the fall from the low ground of the valley to the
course which the river had cut for itself; but it was steep while it
lasted; and both the young women were forced to pause for a minute
before they could proceed upon their journey. As they walked home
Priscilla spoke of the scenery, and of the country, and of the nature
of the life which she and her mother and sister had passed at Nuncombe
Putney. Nora said but little till they were just entering the village,
and then she went back to the subject of her thoughts. ‘I would
sooner,’ said she, ‘write for a newspaper than do anything else in the
world.’
‘Why so?’
‘Because it is so noble to teach people everything! And then a man who
writes for a newspaper must know so many things himself! I believe
there are women who do it, but very few. One or two have done it, I
know.’
‘Go and tell that to Aunt Stanbury, and hear what she will say about
such women.’
‘I suppose she is very prejudiced.’
‘Yes; she is; but she is a clever woman. I am inclined to think women
had better not write for newspapers.’
‘And why not?’ Nora asked.
‘My reasons would take me a week to explain, and I doubt whether I have
them very clear in my own head. In the first place there is that
difficulty about the babies. Most of them must get married, you know.’
‘But not all,’ said Nora.
‘No; thank God; not all.’
‘And if you are not married you might write for a newspaper. At any
rate, if I were you, I should be very proud of my brother.’
‘Aunt Stanbury is not at all proud of her nephew,’ said Priscilla, as
they entered the house.
A THIRD PARTY IS SO OBJECTIONABLE
Hugh Stanbury went in search of Trevelyan immediately on his return to
London, and found his friend at his rooms in Lincoln’s Inn.
‘I have executed my commission,’ said Hugh, endeavouring to speak of
what he had done in a cheery voice.
‘I am much obliged to you, Stanbury very much; but I do not know that I
need trouble you to tell me anything about it.’
‘And why not?’
‘I have learned it all from that man.’
‘What man?’
‘From Bozzle. He has come back, and has been with me, and has learned
everything.’
‘Look here, Trevelyan, when you asked me to go down to Devonshire, you
promised me that there should be nothing more about Bozzle. I expect
you to put that rascal, and all that he has told you, out of your head
altogether. You are bound to do so for my sake, and you will be very
wise to do so for your own.’
‘I was obliged to see him when he came.’
‘Yes, and to pay him, I do not doubt. But that is all done, and should
be forgotten.’
‘I can’t forget it. Is it true or untrue that he found that man down
there? Is it true or untrue that my wife received Colonel Osborne at
your mother’s house? Is it true or untrue that Colonel Osborne went
down there with the express object of seeing her? Is it true or untrue
that they had corresponded? It is nonsense to bid me to forget all
this. You might as well ask me to forget that I had desired her neither
to write to him, nor to see him.’
‘If I understand the matter,’ said Trevelyan, ‘you are incorrect in one
of your assertions.’
‘In which?’
‘You must excuse me if I am wrong, Trevelyan; but I don’t think you
ever did tell your wife not to see this man, or not to write to him?’
‘I never told her! I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘Not in so many words. It is my belief that she has endeavoured to obey
implicitly every clear instruction that you have given her.’
‘You are wrong absolutely and altogether wrong. Heaven and earth! Do
you mean to tell me now, after all that has taken place, that she did
not know my wishes?’
‘I have not said that. But you, have chosen to place her in such a
position, that though your word would go for much with her, she cannot
bring herself to respect your wishes.’
‘And you call that being dutiful and affectionate!’
‘I call it human and reasonable; and I think that it is compatible with
duty and affection. Have you consulted her wishes?’
‘Always!’
‘Consult them now then, and bid her come back to you.’
‘No never! As far as I can see, I will never do so. The moment she is
away from me this man goes to her, and she receives him. She must have
known that she was wrong and you must know it.’
‘I do not think that she is half so wrong as you yourself,’ said
Stanbury. To this Trevelyan made no answer, and they both remained
silent some minutes. Stanbury had a communication to make before he
went, but it was one which he wished to delay as long as there was a
chance that his friend’s heart might be softened, one which he need not
make if Trevelyan would consent to receive his wife back to his house.
There was the day’s paper lying on the table, and Stanbury had taken it
up and was reading it or pretending to read it.
‘I will tell you what I propose to do,’ said Trevelyan.
‘Well.’
‘It is best both for her and for me that we should be apart.’
‘I cannot understand how you can be so mad as to say so.’
‘You don’t understand what I feel. Heaven and earth! To have a man
coming and going. But, never mind. You do not see it, and nothing will
make you see it. And there is no reason why you should.’
‘I certainly do not see it. I do not believe that your wife cares more
for Colonel Osborne, except as an old friend of her father’s, than she
does for the fellow that sweeps the crossing. It is a matter in which I
am bound to tell you what I think.’
‘Very well. Now, if you have freed your mind, I will tell you my
purpose. I am bound to do so, because your people are concerned in it.
I shall go abroad.’
‘And leave her in England?’
‘Certainly. She will be safer here than she can be abroad unless she
should choose to go back with her father to the islands.’
‘And take the boy?’
‘No I could not permit that. What I intend is this. I will give her 800
pounds a year, as long as I have reason to believe that she has no
communication whatever, either by word of mouth or by letter, with that
man. If she does, I will put the case immediately into the hands of my
lawyer,
Comments (0)