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

or ten thousand a year, and such coins usually current in the world’s markets. He was a rich man and a baronet, and Mary was an unmarried girl without a portion. In Sir Louis’s estimation he was offering everything, and asking for nothing. He certainly had some idea that girls were apt to be coy, and required a little wooing in the shape of presents, civil speeches⁠—perhaps kisses 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 Eskimo, 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 someone 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