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

world, to the begetting of children, and carving and paying and struggling and fretting for the same, without having first been in love with four or five possible mothers for them, and probably with two or three at the same time. And yet these men are, as a rule, worthy of the excellent wives that ultimately fall to their lot. In this way Lord Lufton had, to a certain extent, been in love with Griselda. There had been one moment in his life in which he would have offered her his hand, had not her discretion been so excellent; and though that moment never returned, still he suffered from some feeling akin to disappointment when he learned that Griselda had been won and was to be worn. He was, then, a dog in the manger, you will say. Well; and are we not all dogs in the manger, more or less actively? Is not that manger-doggishness one of the most common phases of the human heart?

But not the less was Lord Lufton truly in love with Lucy Robarts. Had he fancied that any Dumbello was carrying on a siege before that fortress, his vexation would have manifested itself in a very different manner. He could joke about Griselda Grantly with a frank face and a happy tone of voice; but had he heard of any tidings of a similar import with reference to Lucy, he would have been past all joking, and I much doubt whether it would not even have affected his appetite.

“Mother,” he said to Lady Lufton a day or two after the declaration of Griselda’s engagement, “I am going to Norway to fish.”

“To Norway⁠—to fish!”

“Yes. We’ve got rather a nice party. Clontarf is going, and Culpepper⁠—”

“What, that horrid man!”

“He’s an excellent hand at fishing;⁠—and Haddington Peebles, and⁠—and⁠—there’ll be six of us altogether; and we start this day week.”

“That’s rather sudden, Ludovic.”

“Yes, it is sudden; but we’re sick of London. I should not care to go so soon myself, but Clontarf and Culpepper say that the season is early this year. I must go down to Framley before I start⁠—about my horses; and therefore I came to tell you that I shall be there tomorrow.”

“At Framley tomorrow! If you could put it off for three days I should be going myself.”

But Lord Lufton could not put it off for three days. It may be that on this occasion he did not wish for his mother’s presence at Framley while he was there; that he conceived that he should be more at his ease in giving orders about his stable if he were alone while so employed. At any rate he declined her company, and on the following morning did go down to Framley by himself.

“Mark,” said Mrs. Robarts, hurrying into her husband’s book-room about the middle of the day, “Lord Lufton is at home. Have you heard it?”

“What! here at Framley?”

“He is over at Framley Court; so the servants say. Carson saw him in the paddock with some of the horses. Won’t you go and see him?”

“Of course I will,” said Mark, shutting up his papers. “Lady Lufton can’t be here, and if he is alone he will probably come and dine.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Mrs. Robarts, thinking of poor Lucy.

“He is not in the least particular. What does for us will do for him. I shall ask him, at any rate.” And without further parley the clergyman took up his hat and went off in search of his friend.

Lucy Robarts had been present when the gardener brought in tidings of Lord Lufton’s arrival at Framley, and was aware that Fanny had gone to tell her husband.

“He won’t come here, will he?” she said, as soon as Mrs. Robarts returned.

“I can’t say,” said Fanny. “I hope not. He ought not to do so, and I don’t think he will. But Mark says that he will ask him to dinner.”

“Then, Fanny, I must be taken ill. There is nothing else for it.”

“I don’t think he will come. I don’t think he can be so cruel. Indeed, I feel sure that he won’t; but I thought it right to tell you.”

Lucy also conceived that it was improbable that Lord Lufton should come to the parsonage under the present circumstances; and she declared to herself that it would not be possible that she should appear at table if he did do so; but, nevertheless, the idea of his being at Framley was, perhaps, not altogether painful to her. She did not recognize any pleasure as coming to her from his arrival, but still there was something in his presence which was, unconsciously to herself, soothing to her feelings. But that terrible question remained;⁠—how was she to act if it should turn out that he was coming to dinner?

“If he does come, Fanny,” she said, solemnly, after a pause, “I must keep to my own room, and leave Mark to think what he pleases. It will be better for me to make a fool of myself there, than in his presence in the drawing-room.”

Mark Robarts took his hat and stick and went over at once to the home paddock, in which he knew that Lord Lufton was engaged with the horses and grooms. He also was in no supremely happy frame of mind, for his correspondence with Mr. Tozer was on the increase. He had received notice from that indefatigable gentleman that certain “overdue bills” were now lying at the bank in Barchester, and were very desirous of his, Mr. Robarts’s, notice. A concatenation of certain peculiarly unfortunate circumstances made it indispensably necessary that Mr. Tozer should be repaid, without further loss of time, the various sums of money which he had advanced on the credit of Mr. Robarts’s name,etc., etc., etc. No absolute threat was put forth, and, singular to say, no actual amount was named. Mr. Robarts, however, could not but observe, with a most painfully accurate attention, that mention was made, not of an overdue bill, but of overdue bills. What if Mr. Tozer were