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also. The civil speeches he had, he thought, done, and

imagined that they had been well received. The other things were to

follow; an Arab pony, for instance,—and the kisses probably with it;

and then all these difficulties would be smoothed.

 

But he did not for a moment conceive that there would be any

difficulty with the uncle. How should there be? Was he not a baronet

with ten thousand a year coming to him? Had he not everything which

fathers want for portionless daughters, and uncles for dependant

nieces? Might he not well inform the doctor that he had something to

tell him for his advantage?

 

And yet, to tell the truth, the doctor did not seem to be overjoyed

when the announcement was first made to him. He was by no means

overjoyed. On the contrary, even Sir Louis could perceive his

guardian’s surprise was altogether unmixed with delight.

 

What a question was this that was asked him! What would he think of

a marriage between Mary Thorne—his Mary and Sir Louis Scatcherd?

Between the alpha of the whole alphabet, and him whom he could not

but regard as the omega! Think of it! Why he would think of it as

though a lamb and a wolf were to stand at the altar together. Had Sir

Louis been a Hottentot, or an Esquimaux, the proposal could not have

astonished him more. The two persons were so totally of a different

class, that the idea of the one falling in love with the other had

never occurred to him. “What would you think of Miss Mary Thorne?”

Sir Louis had asked; and the doctor, instead of answering him

with ready and pleased alacrity, stood silent, thunderstruck with

amazement.

 

“Well, wouldn’t she be a good wife?” said Sir Louis, rather in a tone

of disgust at the evident disapproval shown at his choice. “I thought

you’d have been so delighted.”

 

“Mary Thorne!” ejaculated the doctor at last. “Have you spoken to my

niece about this, Sir Louis?”

 

“Well, I have and yet I haven’t; I haven’t, and yet in a manner I

have.”

 

“I don’t understand you,” said the doctor.

 

“Why, you see, I haven’t exactly popped to her yet; but I have been

doing the civil; and if she’s up to snuff, as I take her to be, she

knows very well what I’m after by this time.”

 

Up to snuff! Mary Thorne, his Mary Thorne, up to snuff! To snuff too

of such a very disagreeable description!

 

“I think, Sir Louis, that you are in mistake about this. I think you

will find that Mary will not be disposed to avail herself of the

great advantages—for great they undoubtedly are—which you are able

to offer to your intended wife. If you will take my advice, you will

give up thinking of Mary. She would not suit you.”

 

“Not suit me! Oh, but I think she just would. She’s got no money, you

mean?”

 

“No, I did not mean that. It will not signify to you whether your

wife has money or not. You need not look for money. But you should

think of some one more nearly of your own temperament. I am quite

sure that my niece would refuse you.”

 

These last words the doctor uttered with much emphasis. His intention

was to make the baronet understand that the matter was quite

hopeless, and to induce him if possible to drop it on the spot. But

he did not know Sir Louis; he ranked him too low in the scale of

human beings, and gave him no credit for any strength of character.

Sir Louis in his way did love Mary Thorne; and could not bring

himself to believe that Mary did not, or at any rate, would not soon

return his passion. He was, moreover, sufficiently obstinate, firm we

ought perhaps to say,—for his pursuit in this case was certainly not

an evil one,—and he at once made up his mind to succeed in spite of

the uncle.

 

“If she consents, however, you will do so too?” asked he.

 

“It is impossible she should consent,” said the doctor.

 

“Impossible! I don’t see anything at all impossible. But if she

does?”

 

“But she won’t.”

 

“Very well,—that’s to be seen. But just tell me this, if she does,

will you consent?”

 

“The stars would fall first. It’s all nonsense. Give it up, my dear

friend; believe me you are only preparing unhappiness for yourself;”

and the doctor put his hand kindly on the young man’s arm. “She will

not, cannot accept such an offer.”

 

“Will not! cannot!” said the baronet, thinking over all the reasons

which in his estimation could possibly be inducing the doctor to be

so hostile to his views, and shaking the hand off his arm. “Will not!

cannot! But come, doctor, answer my question fairly. If she’ll have

me for better or worse, you won’t say aught against it; will you?”

 

“But she won’t have you; why should you give her and yourself the

pain of a refusal?”

 

“Oh, as for that, I must stand my chances like another. And as for

her, why d–-, doctor, you wouldn’t have me believe that any young

lady thinks it so very dreadful to have a baronet with ten thousand

pounds a year at her feet, specially when that same baronet ain’t

very old, nor yet particularly ugly. I ain’t so green as that,

doctor.”

 

“I suppose she must go through it, then,” said the doctor, musing.

 

“But, Dr Thorne, I did look for a kinder answer from you, considering

all that you so often say about your great friendship with my father.

I did think you’d at any rate answer me when I asked you a question.”

 

But the doctor did not want to answer that special question. Could

it be possible that Mary should wish to marry this odious man, could

such a state of things be imagined to be the case, he would not

refuse his consent, infinitely as he would be disgusted by her

choice. But he would not give Sir Louis any excuse for telling Mary

that her uncle approved of so odious a match.

 

“I cannot say that in any case I should approve of such a marriage,

Sir Louis. I cannot bring myself to say so; for I know it would make

you both miserable. But on that matter my niece will choose wholly

for herself.”

 

“And about the money, doctor?”

 

“If you marry a decent woman you shall not want the means of

supporting her decently,” and so saying the doctor walked away,

leaving Sir Louis to his meditations.

CHAPTER XXIX

The Donkey Ride

 

Sir Louis, when left to himself, was slightly dismayed and somewhat

discouraged; but he was not induced to give up his object. The first

effort of his mind was made in conjecturing what private motive

Dr Thorne could possibly have in wishing to debar his niece from

marrying a rich young baronet. That the objection was personal to

himself, Sir Louis did not for a moment imagine. Could it be that the

doctor did not wish that his niece should be richer, and grander, and

altogether bigger than himself? Or was it possible that his guardian

was anxious to prevent him from marrying from some view of the

reversion of the large fortune? That there was some such reason, Sir

Louis was well sure; but let it be what it might, he would get the

better of the doctor. “He knew,” so he said to himself, “what stuff

girls were made of. Baronets did not grow like blackberries.” And so,

assuring himself with such philosophy, he determined to make his

offer.

 

The time he selected for doing this was the hour before dinner; but

on the day on which his conversation with the doctor had taken place,

he was deterred by the presence of a strange visitor. To account for

this strange visit it will be necessary that we should return to

Greshamsbury for a few minutes.

 

Frank, when he returned home for his summer vacation, found that

Mary had again flown; and the very fact of her absence added fuel to

the fire of his love, more perhaps than even her presence might have

done. For the flight of the quarry ever adds eagerness to the pursuit

of the huntsman. Lady Arabella, moreover, had a bitter enemy; a

foe, utterly opposed to her side in the contest, where she had once

fondly looked for her staunchest ally. Frank was now in the habit

of corresponding with Miss Dunstable, and received from her most

energetic admonitions to be true to the love which he had sworn. True

to it he resolved to be; and therefore, when he found that Mary was

flown, he resolved to fly after her.

 

He did not, however, do this till he had been in a measure provoked

to it by it by the sharp-tongued cautions and blunted irony of his

mother. It was not enough for her that she had banished Mary out of

the parish, and made Dr Thorne’s life miserable; not enough that

she harassed her husband with harangues on the constant subject of

Frank’s marrying money, and dismayed Beatrice with invectives against

the iniquity of her friend. The snake was so but scotched; to kill it

outright she must induce Frank utterly to renounce Miss Thorne.

 

This task she essayed, but not exactly with success. “Well, mother,”

said Frank, at last turning very red, partly with shame, and partly

with indignation, as he made the frank avowal, “since you press me

about it, I tell you fairly that my mind is made up to marry Mary

sooner or later, if—”

 

“Oh, Frank! good heavens! you wicked boy; you are saying this

purposely to drive me distracted.”

 

“If,” continued Frank, not attending to his mother’s interjections,

“if she will consent.”

 

“Consent!” said Lady Arabella. “Oh, heavens!” and falling into the

corner of the sofa, she buried her face in her handkerchief.

 

“Yes, mother, if she will consent. And now that I have told you so

much, it is only just that I should tell you this also; that as far

as I can see at present I have no reason to hope that she will do

so.”

 

“Oh, Frank, the girl is doing all she can to catch you,” said Lady

Arabella,—not prudently.

 

“No, mother; there you wrong her altogether; wrong her most cruelly.”

 

“You ungracious, wicked boy! you call me cruel!”

 

“I don’t call you cruel; but you wrong her cruelly, most cruelly.

When I have spoken to her about this—for I have spoken to her—she

has behaved exactly as you would have wanted her to do; but not at

all as I wished her. She has given me no encouragement. You have

turned her out among you”—Frank was beginning to be very bitter

now—“but she has done nothing to deserve it. If there has been any

fault it has been mine. But it is well that we should all understand

each other. My intention is to marry Mary if I can.” And, so

speaking, certainly without due filial respect, he turned towards the

door.

 

“Frank,” said his mother, raising herself up with energy to make one

last appeal. “Frank, do you wish to see me die of a broken heart?”

 

“You know, mother, I would wish to make you happy, if I could.”

 

“If you wish to see me ever happy again, if you do not wish to see

me sink broken-hearted to my grave, you must give up this mad idea,

Frank,”—and now all Lady Arabella’s energy came out. “Frank there is

but one course left open to

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