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

to demand from him the instant repayment of nine hundred pounds? Hitherto he had merely written to Mr. Sowerby, and he might have had an answer from that gentleman this morning, but no such answer had as yet reached him. Consequently he was not, at the present moment, in a very happy frame of mind.

He soon found himself with Lord Lufton and the horses. Four or five of them were being walked slowly about the paddock in the care of as many men or boys, and the sheets were being taken off them⁠—off one after another, so that their master might look at them with the more accuracy and satisfaction. But though Lord Lufton was thus doing his duty, and going through his work, he was not doing it with his whole heart⁠—as the head groom perceived very well. He was fretful about the nags, and seemed anxious to get them out of his sight as soon as he had made a decent pretext of looking at them.

“How are you, Lufton?” said Robarts, coming forward. “They told me that you were down, and so I came across at once.”

“Yes; I only got here this morning, and should have been over with you directly. I am going to Norway for six weeks or so, and it seems that the fish are so early this year, that we must start at once. I have a matter on which I want to speak to you before I leave; and, indeed, it was that which brought me down more than anything else.”

There was something hurried and not altogether easy about his manner as he spoke, which struck Robarts, and made him think that this promised matter to be spoken of would not be agreeable in discussion. He did not know whether Lord Lufton might not again be mixed up with Tozer and the bills.

“You will dine with us today,” he said, “if, as I suppose, you are all alone.”

“Yes, I am all alone.”

“Then you’ll come?”

“Well, I don’t quite know. No, I don’t think I can go over to dinner. Don’t look so disgusted. I’ll explain it all to you just now.”

What could there be in the wind; and how was it possible that Tozer’s bill should make it inexpedient for Lord Lufton to dine at the parsonage? Robarts, however, said nothing further about it at the moment, but turned off to look at the horses.

“They are an uncommonly nice set of animals,” said he.

“Well, yes; I don’t know. When a man has four or five horses to look at, somehow or other he never has one fit to go. That chestnut mare is a picture, now that nobody wants her; but she wasn’t able to carry me well to hounds a single day last winter. Take them in, Pounce; that’ll do.”

“Won’t your lordship run your eye over the old black ’oss?” said Pounce, the head groom, in a melancholy tone; “he’s as fine, sir⁠—as fine as a stag.”

“To tell you the truth, I think they’re too fine; but that’ll do; take them in. And now, Mark, if you’re at leisure, we’ll take a turn round the place.”

Mark, of course, was at leisure, and so they started on their walk.

“You’re too difficult to please about your stable,” Robarts began.

“Never mind the stable now,” said Lord Lufton. “The truth is, I am not thinking about it. Mark,” he then said, very abruptly, “I want you to be frank with me. Has your sister ever spoken to you about me?”

“My sister; Lucy?”

“Yes; your sister Lucy.”

“No, never; at least nothing especial; nothing that I can remember at this moment.”

“Nor your wife?”

“Spoken about you!⁠—Fanny? Of course she has, in an ordinary way. It would be impossible that she should not. But what do you mean?”

“Have either of them told you that I made an offer to your sister?”

“That you made an offer to Lucy?”

“Yes, that I made an offer to Lucy.”

“No; nobody has told me so. I have never dreamed of such a thing; nor, as far as I believe, have they. If anybody has spread such a report, or said that either of them have hinted at such a thing, it is a base lie. Good heavens! Lufton, for what do you take them?”

“But I did,” said his lordship.

“Did what?” said the parson.

“I did make your sister an offer.”

“You made Lucy an offer of marriage!”

“Yes, I did;⁠—in as plain language as a gentleman could use to a lady.”

“And what answer did she make?”

“She refused me. And now, Mark, I have come down here with the express purpose of making that offer again. Nothing could be more decided than your sister’s answer. It struck me as being almost uncourteously decided. But still it is possible that circumstances may have weighed with her, which ought not to weigh with her. If her love be not given to anyone else, I may still have a chance of it. It’s the old story of faint heart, you know: at any rate, I mean to try my luck again; and thinking over it with deliberate purpose, I have come to the conclusion that I ought to tell you before I see her.”

Lord Lufton in love with Lucy! As these words repeated themselves over and over again within Mark Robarts’s mind, his mind added to them notes of surprise without end. How had it possibly come about⁠—and why? In his estimation his sister Lucy was a very simple girl⁠—not plain indeed, but by no means beautiful; certainly not stupid, but by no means brilliant. And then, he would have said, that of all men whom he knew, Lord Lufton would have been the last to fall in love with such a girl as his sister. And now, what was he to say or do? What views was he bound to hold? In what direction should he act? There was Lady Lufton on the one side, to whom he owed everything. How would life be possible to him in that parsonage⁠—within a few yards of her