Framley Parsonage, Anthony Trollope [popular e readers txt] 📗

“That was so kind of you.”

“I thought that I could explain to you more openly and more freely, what his intentions really are.”

“Oh! I have no doubt that they are honourable,” said Miss Dunstable. “He does not want to deceive me in that way, I am quite sure.”

It was impossible to help laughing, and Mrs. Harold Smith did laugh. “Upon my word, you would provoke a saint,” said she.

“I am not likely to get into any such company by the alliance that you are now suggesting to me. There are not many saints usually at Chaldicotes, I believe;⁠—always excepting my dear bishop and his wife.”

“But, my dear, what am I to say to Nathaniel?”

“Tell him, of course, how much obliged to him I am.”

“Do listen to me one moment. I daresay that I have done wrong to speak to you in such a bold, unromantic way.”

“Not at all. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. That’s what we agreed upon. But one’s first efforts in any line are always apt to be a little uncouth.”

“I will send Nathaniel to you himself.”

“No, do not do so. Why torment either him or me? I do like your brother; in a certain way I like him much. But no earthly consideration would induce me to marry him. Is it not so glaringly plain that he would marry me for my money only, that you have not even dared to suggest any other reason?”

“Of course it would have been nonsense to say that he had no regard whatever towards your money.”

“Of course it would⁠—absolute nonsense. He is a poor man with a good position, and he wants to marry me because I have got that which he wants. But, my dear, I do not want that which he has got, and therefore the bargain would not be a fair one.”

“But he would do his very best to make you happy.”

“I am so much obliged to him; but you see, I am very happy as I am. What should I gain?”

“A companion whom you confess that you like.”

“Ah! but I don’t know that I should like too much even of such a companion as your brother. No, my dear⁠—it won’t do. Believe me when I tell you, once for all, that it won’t do.”

“Do you mean, then, Miss Dunstable, that you’ll never marry?”

“Tomorrow⁠—if I met anyone that I fancied, and he would have me. But I rather think that any that I may fancy won’t have me. In the first place, if I marry anyone, the man must be quite indifferent to money.”

“Then you’ll not find him in this world, my dear.”

“Very possibly not,” said Miss Dunstable.

All that was further said upon the subject need not be here repeated. Mrs. Harold Smith did not give up her cause quite at once, although Miss Dunstable had spoken so plainly. She tried to explain how eligible would be her friend’s situation as mistress of Chaldicotes, when Chaldicotes should owe no penny to any man: and went so far as to hint that the master of Chaldicotes, if relieved of his embarrassments and known as a rich man, might in all probability be found worthy of a peerage when the gods should return to Olympus. Mr. Harold Smith, as a cabinet minister, would, of course, do his best. But it was all of no use. “It’s not my destiny,” said Miss Dunstable, “and therefore do not press it any longer.”

“But we shall not quarrel,” said Mrs. Harold Smith, almost tenderly.

“Oh, no⁠—why should we quarrel?”

“And you won’t look glum at my brother?”

“Why should I look glum at him? But, Mrs. Smith, I’ll do more than not looking glum at him. I do like you, and I do like your brother, and if I can in any moderate way assist him in his difficulties, let him tell me so.”

Soon after this, Mrs. Harold Smith went her way. Of course, she declared in a very strong manner that her brother could not think of accepting from Miss Dunstable any such pecuniary assistance as that offered⁠—and, to give her her due, such was the feeling of her mind at the moment; but as she went to meet her brother and gave him an account of this interview, it did occur to her that possibly Miss Dunstable might be a better creditor than the Duke of Omnium for the Chaldicotes property.

It cannot be held as astonishing, that that last decision on the part of the giants in the matter of the two bishoprics should have disgusted Archdeacon Grantly. He was a politician, but not a politician as they were. As is the case with all exoteric men, his political eyes saw a short way only, and his political aspirations were as limited. When his friends came into office, that bishop bill, which as the original product of his enemies had been regarded by him as being so pernicious⁠—for was it not about to be made law in order that other Proudies and suchlike might be hoisted up into high places and large incomes, to the terrible detriment of the Church?⁠—that bishop bill, I say, in the hands of his friends, had appeared to him to be a means of almost national salvation. And then, how great had been the good fortune of the giants in this matter! Had they been the originators of such a measure they would not have had a chance of success; but now⁠—now that the two bishops were falling into their mouths out of the weak hands of the gods, was not their success ensured? So Dr. Grantly had girded up his loins and marched up to the fight, almost regretting that the triumph would be so easy. The subsequent failure was very trying to his temper as a party man.

It always strikes me that the supporters of the Titans are in this respect much to be pitied. The giants themselves, those who are actually handling Pelion and breaking their shins over the