The Small House at Allington, Anthony Trollope [best ebook reader for chromebook .txt] 📗

“He may recover from his offence as he best likes.”

“My dear fellow; that’s talking wildly, you know.”

“What on earth do you suppose the earl can do to me? Do you think I’m going to live in fear of Lord De Courcy all my life, because I’m going to marry his daughter? I shall write to Alexandrina myself today, and you can tell her sister so. I’ll be up to dinner on Sunday, unless my face makes it altogether out of the question.”

“And you won’t come in time for church?”

“Would you have me go to church with such a face as this?”

Then Mr. Mortimer Gazebee went, and when he got home he told his wife that Crosbie was taking things with a high hand. “The fact is, my dear, that he’s ashamed of himself, and therefore tries to put a bold face upon it.”

“It was very foolish of him throwing himself in the way of that young man⁠—very; and so I shall tell him on Sunday. If he chooses to give himself airs to me, I shall make him understand that he is very wrong. He should remember now that the way in which he conducts himself is a matter of moment to all our family.”

“Of course he should,” said Mr. Gazebee.

When the Sunday came the red-streaky period had arrived, but had by no means as yet passed away. The men at the office had almost become used to it; but Crosbie, in spite of his determination to go down to the club, had not yet shown himself elsewhere. Of course he did not go to church, but at five he made his appearance at the house in St. John’s Wood. They always dined at five on Sundays, having some idea that by doing so they kept the Sabbath better than they would have done had they dined at seven. If keeping the Sabbath consists in going to bed early, or is in any way assisted by such a practice, they were right. To the cook that semi-early dinner might perhaps be convenient, as it gave her an excuse for not going to church in the afternoon, as the servants’ and children’s dinner gave her a similar excuse in the morning. Such little attempts at goodness⁠—proceeding half the way, or perhaps, as in this instance, one quarter of the way, on the disagreeable path towards goodness⁠—are very common with respectable people, such as Lady Amelia. If she would have dined at one o’clock, and have eaten cold meat, one perhaps might have felt that she was entitled to some praise.

“Dear, dear, dear; this is very sad, isn’t it, Adolphus?” she said on first seeing him.

“Well, it is sad, Amelia,” he said. He always called her Amelia, because she called him Adolphus; but Gazebee himself was never quite pleased when he heard it. Lady Amelia was older than Crosbie, and entitled to call him anything she liked; but he should have remembered the great difference in their rank. “It is sad, Amelia,” he said. “But will you oblige me in one thing?”

“What thing, Adolphus?”

“Not to say a word more about it. The black eye is a bad thing, no doubt, and has troubled me much; but the sympathy of my friends has troubled me a great deal more. I had all the family commiseration from Gazebee on Friday, and if it is repeated again, I shall lie down and die.”

“Shall ’oo die, uncle Dolphus, ’cause ’oo’ve got a bad eye?” asked De Courcy Gazebee, the eldest hope of the family, looking up into his face.

“No, my hero,” said Crosbie, taking the boy up into his arms, “not because I’ve got a black eye. There isn’t very much harm in that, and you’ll have a great many before you leave school. But because the people will go on talking about it.”

“But aunt Dina on’t like ’oo, if oo’ve got an ugly bad eye.”

“But, Adolphus,” said Lady Amelia, settling herself for an argument, “that’s all very well, you know⁠—and I’m sure I’m very sorry to cause you any annoyance⁠—but really one doesn’t know how to pass over such a thing without speaking of it. I have had a letter from mamma.”

“I hope Lady De Courcy is quite well.”

“Quite well, thank you. But as a matter of course she is very anxious about this affair. She had read what has been said in the newspapers, and it may be necessary that Mortimer should take it up, as the family solicitor.”

“Quite out of the question,” said Adolphus.

“I don’t think I should advise any such step as that,” said Gazebee.

“Perhaps not; very likely not. But you cannot be surprised, Mortimer, that my mother under such circumstances should wish to know what are the facts of the case.”

“Not at all surprised,” said Gazebee.

“Then once for all, I’ll tell you the facts. As I got out of the train a man I’d seen once before in my life made an attack upon me, and before the police came up, I got a blow in the face. Now you know all about it.”

At that moment dinner was announced. “Will you give Lady Amelia your arm?” said the husband.

“It’s a very sad occurrence,” said Lady Amelia with a slight toss of her head, “and, I’m afraid, will cost my sister a great deal of vexation.”

“You agree with De Courcy, do you, that aunt Dina won’t like me with an ugly black eye?”

“I really don’t think it’s a joking matter,” said the Lady Amelia. And then there was nothing more said about it during the dinner.

There was nothing more said about it during the dinner, but it was plain enough from Lady Amelia’s countenance that she was not very well pleased with her future brother-in-law’s conduct. She was very hospitable to him, pressing him to eat; but even in doing that she made repeated little references to his present unfortunate state. She told him that she did not think fried plum-pudding would be bad for him, but that she would recommend