Doctor Thorne, Anthony Trollope [an ebook reader .TXT] 📗

“He does still take a little drop of those French drinks in the morning,” said Lady Scatcherd, in her confidence; for she was too honest to be false, even in her own cause. “He does do that, I know: but that’s nothing, my dear, to swilling all day; and everything can’t be done at once, can it, Miss Thorne?”

On this subject Mary found her tongue loosened. She could not talk about Frank Gresham, but she could speak with hope to the mother of her only son. She could say that Sir Louis was still very young; that there was reason to trust that he might now reform; that his present conduct was apparently good; and that he appeared capable of better things. So much she did say; and the mother took her sympathy for more than it was worth.

On this matter, and on this matter perhaps alone, Sir Louis and Lady Scatcherd were in accord. There was much to recommend Mary to the baronet; not only did he see her to be beautiful, and perceive her to be attractive and ladylike; but she was also the niece of the man who, for the present, held the purse-strings of his wealth. Mary, it is true, had no fortune. But Sir Louis knew that she was acknowledged to be a lady; and he was ambitious that his “lady” should be a lady. There was also much to recommend Mary to the mother, to any mother; and thus it came to pass, that Miss Thorne had no obstacle between her and the dignity of being Lady Scatcherd the second;⁠—no obstacle whatever, if only she could bring herself to wish it.

It was some time⁠—two or three weeks, perhaps⁠—before Mary’s mind was first opened to this new brilliancy in her prospects. Sir Louis at first was rather afraid of her, and did not declare his admiration in any very determined terms. He certainly paid her many compliments which, from anyone else, she would have regarded as abominable. But she did not expect great things from the baronet’s taste: she concluded that he was only doing what he thought a gentleman should do; and she was willing to forgive much for Lady Scatcherd’s sake.

His first attempts were, perhaps, more ludicrous than passionate. He was still too much an invalid to take walks, and Mary was therefore saved from his company in her rambles; but he had a horse of his own at Boxall Hill, and had been advised to ride by the doctor. Mary also rode⁠—on a donkey only, it is true⁠—but Sir Louis found himself bound in gallantry to accompany her. Mary’s steed had answered every expectation, and proved himself very quiet; so quiet, that without the admonition of a cudgel behind him, he could hardly be persuaded into the demurest trot. Now, as Sir Louis’s horse was of a very different mettle, he found it rather difficult not to step faster than his inamorata; and, let him struggle as he would, was generally so far ahead as to be debarred the delights of conversation.

When for the second time he proposed to accompany her, Mary did what she could to hinder it. She saw that he had been rather ashamed of the manner in which his companion was mounted, and she herself would have enjoyed her ride much more without him. He was an invalid, however; it was necessary to make much of him, and Mary did not absolutely refuse his offer.

“Lady Scatcherd,” said he, as they were standing at the door previous to mounting⁠—he always called his mother Lady Scatcherd⁠—“why don’t you have a horse for Miss Thorne? This donkey is⁠—is⁠—really is, so very⁠—very⁠—can’t go at all, you know?”

Lady Scatcherd began to declare that she would willingly have got a pony if Mary would have let her do so.

“Oh, no, Lady Scatcherd; not on any account. I do like the donkey so much⁠—I do indeed.”

“But he won’t go,” said Sir Louis. “And for a person who rides like you, Miss Thorne⁠—such a horsewoman you know⁠—why, you know, Lady Scatcherd, it’s positively ridiculous; d⁠⸺ absurd, you know.”

And then, with an angry look at his mother, he mounted his horse, and was soon leading the way down the avenue.

“Miss Thorne,” said he, pulling himself up at the gate, “if I had known that I was to be so extremely happy as to have found you here, I would have brought you down the most beautiful creature, an Arab. She belongs to my friend Jenkins; but I wouldn’t have stood at any price in getting her for you. By Jove! if you were on that mare, I’d back you, for style and appearance, against anything in Hyde Park.”

The offer of this sporting wager, which naturally would have been very gratifying to Mary, was lost upon her, for Sir Louis had again unwittingly got on in advance, but he stopped himself in time to hear Mary again declare her passion was a donkey.

“If you could only see Jenkins’s little mare, Miss Thorne! Only say one word, and she shall be down here before the week’s end. Price shall be no obstacle⁠—none whatever. By Jove, what a pair you would be!”

This generous offer was repeated four or five times; but on each occasion Mary only half heard what was said, and on each occasion the baronet was far too much in advance to hear Mary’s reply. At last he recollected that he wanted to call on one of the tenants, and begged his companion to allow him to ride on.

“If you at all dislike being left alone, you know⁠—”

“Oh dear no, not at all, Sir Louis. I am quite used to it.”

“Because I don’t care about it, you know; only I can’t make this horse walk the same pace as that brute.”

“You mustn’t abuse my pet, Sir Louis.”

“It’s a d⁠⸺ shame on my mother’s part;” said Sir Louis, who, even when in his best behaviour, could not quite give up his ordinary mode of conversation. “When she was