The Way We Live Now, Anthony Trollope [good story books to read .txt] 📗

Then, as he took his leave, she stood close against him, and put her cheek up for him to kiss. There are moments in which a man finds it utterly impossible that he should be prudent⁠—as to which, when he thought of them afterwards, he could never forgive himself for prudence, let the danger have been what it may. Of course he took her in his arms, and kissed her lips as well as her cheeks.

The statement made by Ruby as to her connection with Mrs. Pipkin was quite true. Ruby’s father had married a Pipkin whose brother had died leaving a widow behind him at Islington. The old man at Sheep’s Acre farm had greatly resented this marriage, had never spoken to his daughter-in-law⁠—or to his son after the marriage, and had steeled himself against the whole Pipkin race. When he undertook the charge of Ruby he had made it matter of agreement that she should have no intercourse with the Pipkins. This agreement Ruby had broken, corresponding on the sly with her uncle’s widow at Islington. When therefore she ran away from Suffolk she did the best she could with herself in going to her aunt’s house. Mrs. Pipkin was a poor woman, and could not offer a permanent home to Ruby; but she was good-natured, and came to terms. Ruby was to be allowed to stay at any rate for a month, and was to work in the house for her bread. But she made it a part of her bargain that she should be allowed to go out occasionally. Mrs. Pipkin immediately asked after a lover. “I’m all right,” said Ruby. If the lover was what he ought to be, had he not better come and see her? This was Mrs. Pipkin’s suggestion. Mrs. Pipkin thought that scandal might in this way be avoided. “That’s as it may be, by-and-by,” said Ruby. Then she told all the story of John Crumb:⁠—how she hated John Crumb; how resolved she was that nothing should make her marry John Crumb. And she gave her own account of that night on which John Crumb and Mr. Mixet ate their supper at the farm, and of the manner in which her grandfather had treated her because she would not have John Crumb. Mrs. Pipkin was a respectable woman in her way, always preferring respectable lodgers if she could get them;⁠—but bound to live. She gave Ruby very good advice. Of course if she was “dead-set” against John Crumb, that was one thing! But then there was nothing a young woman should look to so much as a decent house over her head⁠—and victuals. “What’s all the love in the world, Ruby, if a man can’t do for you?” Ruby declared that she knew somebody who could do for her, and could do very well for her. She knew what she was about, and wasn’t going to be put off it. Mrs. Pipkin’s morals were good wearing morals, but she was not straitlaced. If Ruby chose to manage in her own way about her lover she must. Mrs. Pipkin had an idea that young women in these days did have, and would have, and must have more liberty than was allowed when she was young. The world was being changed very fast. Mrs. Pipkin knew that as well as others. And therefore when Ruby went to the theatre once and again⁠—by herself as far as Mrs. Pipkin knew, but probably in company with her lover⁠—and did not get home till past midnight, Mrs. Pipkin said very little about it, attributing such novel circumstances to the altered condition of her country. She had not been allowed to go to the theatre with a young man when she had been a girl⁠—but that had been in the earlier days of Queen Victoria, fifteen years ago, before the new dispensation had come. Ruby had never yet told the name of her lover to Mrs. Pipkin, having answered all inquiries by saying that she was all right. Sir Felix’s name had never even been mentioned in Islington till Paul Montague had mentioned it. She had been managing her own affairs after her own fashion⁠—not altogether with satisfaction, but still without interruption; but now she knew that interference would come. Mr. Montague had found her out, and had told her grandfather’s landlord. The Squire would be after her, and then John Crumb would come, accompanied of course by Mr. Mixet⁠—and after that, as she said to herself on retiring to the couch which she shared with two little Pipkins, “the fat would be in the fire.”

“Who do you think was at our place yesterday?” said Ruby one evening to her lover. They were sitting together at a music-hall⁠—half music-hall, half theatre, which pleasantly combined the allurements of the gin-palace, the theatre, and the ballroom, trenching hard on those of other places. Sir Felix was smoking, dressed, as he himself called it, “incognito,” with a Tom-and-Jerry hat, and a blue silk cravat, and a green coat. Ruby thought it was charming. Felix entertained an idea that were his West End friends to see him in this attire they would not know him. He was smoking, and had before him a glass of hot brandy and water, which was common to himself and Ruby. He was enjoying life. Poor Ruby! She was half-ashamed of herself, half-frightened, and yet supported by a feeling that it was a grand thing to have got rid of restraints, and be able to be with her young man. Why not? The Miss Longestaffes were allowed to sit and dance and walk about with their young men⁠—when they had any. Why was she to be given up to a great mass of stupid dust like John Crumb, without seeing anything of the world? But yet as she sat sipping her lover’s brandy and water between eleven and twelve at the music-hall in the City Road, she was not altogether comfortable. She saw things