Doctor Thorne, Anthony Trollope [an ebook reader .TXT] 📗

the evening was over, had discussed it with Lady Arabella.

Her ladyship was not at first inclined to make much of Sir Louis, and expressed herself as but little inclined to agree with Mr. Gazebee when that gentleman suggested that he should be treated with civility at Greshamsbury. But she was at last talked over. She found it pleasant enough to have more to do with the secret management of the estate than Mr. Gresham himself; and when Mr. Gazebee proved to her, by sundry nods and winks, and subtle allusions to her own infinite good sense, that it was necessary to catch this obscene bird which had come to prey upon the estate, by throwing a little salt upon his tail, she also nodded and winked, and directed Augusta to prepare the salt according to order.

“But won’t it be odd, Mr. Gazebee, asking him out of Dr. Thorne’s house?”

“Oh, we must have the doctor, too, Lady Arabella; by all means ask the doctor also.”

Lady Arabella’s brow grew dark. “Mr. Gazebee,” she said, “you can hardly believe how that man has behaved to me.”

“He is altogether beneath your anger,” said Mr. Gazebee, with a bow.

“I don’t know: in one way he may be, but not in another. I really do not think I can sit down to table with Doctor Thorne.”

But, nevertheless, Mr. Gazebee gained his point. It was now about a week since Sir Omicron Pie had been at Greshamsbury, and the squire had, almost daily, spoken to his wife as to that learned man’s advice. Lady Arabella always answered in the same tone: “You can hardly know, Mr. Gresham, how that man has insulted me.” But, nevertheless, the physician’s advice had not been disbelieved: it tallied too well with her own inward convictions. She was anxious enough to have Doctor Thorne back at her bedside, if she could only get him there without damage to her pride. Her husband, she thought, might probably send the doctor there without absolute permission from herself; in which case she would have been able to scold, and show that she was offended; and, at the same time, profit by what had been done. But Mr. Gresham never thought of taking so violent a step as this, and, therefore, Dr. Fillgrave still came, and her ladyship’s finesse was wasted in vain.

But Mr. Gazebee’s proposition opened a door by which her point might be gained. “Well,” said she, at last, with infinite self-denial, “if you think it is for Mr. Gresham’s advantage, and if he chooses to ask Dr. Thorne, I will not refuse to receive him.”

Mr. Gazebee’s next task was to discuss the matter with the squire. Nor was this easy, for Mr. Gazebee was no favourite with Mr. Gresham. But the task was at last performed successfully. Mr. Gresham was so glad at heart to find himself able, once more, to ask his old friend to his own house; and, though it would have pleased him better that this sign of relenting on his wife’s part should have reached him by other means, he did not refuse to take advantage of it; and so he wrote the above letter to Dr. Thorne.

The doctor, as we have said, read it twice; and he at once resolved stoutly that he would not go.

“Oh, do, do go!” said Mary. She well knew how wretched this feud had made her uncle. “Pray, pray go!”

“Indeed, I will not,” said he. “There are some things a man should bear, and some he should not.”

“You must go,” said Mary, who had taken the note from her uncle’s hand, and read it. “You cannot refuse him when he asks you like that.”

“It will greatly grieve me; but I must refuse him.”

“I also am angry, uncle; very angry with Lady Arabella; but for him, for the squire, I would go to him on my knees if he asked me in that way.”

“Yes; and had he asked you, I also would have gone.”

“Oh! now I shall be so wretched. It is his invitation, not hers: Mr. Gresham could not ask me. As for her, do not think of her; but do, do go when he asks you like that. You will make me so miserable if you do not. And then Sir Louis cannot go without you,”⁠—and Mary pointed upstairs⁠—“and you may be sure that he will go.”

“Yes; and make a beast of himself.”

This colloquy was cut short by a message praying the doctor to go up to Sir Louis’s room. The young man was sitting in his dressing-gown, drinking a cup of coffee at his toilet-table, while Joe was preparing his razor and hot water. The doctor’s nose immediately told him that there was more in the coffee-cup than had come out of his own kitchen, and he would not let the offence pass unnoticed.

“Are you taking brandy this morning, Sir Louis?”

“Just a little chasse-café,” said he, not exactly understanding the word he used. “It’s all the go now; and a capital thing for the stomach.”

“It’s not a capital thing for your stomach;⁠—about the least capital thing you can take; that is, if you wish to live.”

“Never mind about that now, doctor, but look here. This is what we call the civil thing⁠—eh?” and he showed the Greshamsbury note. “Not but what they have an object, of course. I understand all that. Lots of girls there⁠—eh?”

The doctor took the note and read it. “It is civil,” said he; “very civil.”

“Well; I shall go, of course. I don’t bear malice because he can’t pay me the money he owes me. I’ll eat his dinner, and look at the girls. Have you an invite too, doctor?”

“Yes; I have.”

“And you’ll go?”

“I think not; but that need not deter you. But, Sir Louis⁠—”

“Well! eh! what is it?”

“Step downstairs a moment,” said the doctor, turning to the servant, “and wait till you are called for. I wish to speak to your master.” Joe, for a moment, looked up at the baronet’s face, as though he wanted but the slightest encouragement to disobey the doctor’s orders; but not seeing it, he slowly retired, and placed himself,