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

“If you would give up your profession and remain here, she would not be so perverse.”

“I cannot do that, sir. I cannot risk the well-being of my life on such a chance.” Then his uncle had been angry with him, as well as with his niece. In his anger he determined that he would go again to his sister-in-law, and, after some unreasonable fashion, he resolved that it would become him to be very angry with her also, if she declined to assist him with all her influence as a mother.

“Why should they not both marry?” he said to himself. Lord De Guest’s offer as to young Eames had been very generous. As he had then declared, he had not been able to express his own opinion at once; but on thinking over what the earl had said, he had found himself very willing to heal the family wound in the manner proposed, if any such healing might be possible. That, however, could not be done quite as yet. When the time should come, and he thought it might come soon⁠—perhaps in the spring, when the days should be fine and the evenings again long⁠—he would be willing to take his share with the earl in establishing that new household. To Crosbie he had refused to give anything, and there was upon his conscience a shade of remorse in that he had so refused. But if Lily could be brought to love this other man, he would be more openhanded. She should have her share as though she was in fact his daughter. But then, if he intended to do so much for them at the Small House, should not they in return do something also for him? So thinking, he went again to his sister-in-law, determined to explain his views, even though it might be at the risk of some hard words between them. As regarded himself, he did not much care for hard words spoken to him. He almost expected that people’s words should be hard and painful. He did not look for the comfort of affectionate soft greetings, and perhaps would not have appreciated them had they come to him. He caught Mrs. Dale walking in the garden, and brought her into his own room, feeling that he had a better chance there than in her own house. She, with an old dislike to being lectured in that room, had endeavoured to avoid the interview, but had failed.

“So I met John Eames at the manor,” he had said to her in the garden.

“Ah, yes; and how did he get on there? I cannot conceive poor Johnny keeping holiday with the earl and his sister. How did he behave to them, and how did they behave to him?”

“I can assure you he was very much at home there.”

“Was he, indeed? Well, I hope it will do him good. He is, I’m sure, a very good young man; only rather awkward.”

“I didn’t think him awkward at all. You’ll find, Mary, that he’ll do very well;⁠—a great deal better than his father did.”

“I’m sure I hope he may.” After that Mrs. Dale made her attempt to escape; but the squire had taken her prisoner, and led her captive into the house. “Mary,” he said, as soon as he had induced her to sit down, “it is time that this should be settled between my nephew and niece.”

“I am afraid there will be nothing to settle.”

“What do you mean;⁠—that you disapprove of it?”

“By no means⁠—personally. I should approve of it very strongly. But that has nothing to do with the question.”

“Yes, it has. I beg your pardon, but it must have, and should have a great deal to do with it. Of course, I am not saying that anybody should now ever be compelled to marry anybody.”

“I hope not.”

“I never said that they ought, and never thought so. But I do think that the wishes of all her family should have very great weight with a girl that has been well brought up.”

“I don’t know whether Bell has been well brought up; but in such a matter as this nobody’s wishes would weigh a feather with her; and, indeed, I could not take upon myself even to express a wish. To you I can say that I should have been very happy if she could have regarded her cousin as you wish her to do.”

“You mean that you are afraid to tell her so?”

“I am afraid to do what I think is wrong, if you mean that.”

“I don’t think it would be wrong, and therefore I shall speak to her myself.”

“You must do as you like about that, Mr. Dale; I can’t prevent you. I shall think you wrong to harass her on such a matter, and I fear also that her answer will not be satisfactory to you. If you choose to tell her your opinion, you must do so. Of course I shall think you wrong, that’s all.”

Mrs. Dale’s voice as she said this was stern enough, and so was her countenance. She could not forbid the uncle to speak his mind to his niece, but she especially disliked the idea of any interference with her daughter. The squire got up and walked about the room, trying to compose himself that he might answer her rationally, but without anger.

“May I go now?” said Mrs. Dale.

“May you go? Of course you may go if you like it. If you think that I am intruding upon you in speaking to you of the welfare of your two girls, whom I endeavour to regard as my own daughters⁠—except in this, that I know they have never been taught to love me⁠—if you think that it is an interference on my part to show anxiety for their welfare, of course you may go.”

“I did not mean to say anything to hurt you, Mr. Dale.”

“Hurt me! What does it signify whether I am hurt or not? I have no