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

way into his own house by the back door, after finishing his surgical operation. Bridget was recounting to her champion the fracas that had occurred; and he, as was so natural, was expressing his admiration at her valour. XXXV Sir Louis Goes Out to Dinner

The next day Joe did not make his appearance, and Sir Louis, with many execrations, was driven to the terrible necessity of dressing himself. Then came an unexpected difficulty: how were they to get up to the house? Walking out to dinner, though it was merely through the village and up the avenue, seemed to Sir Louis to be a thing impossible. Indeed, he was not well able to walk at all, and positively declared that he should never be able to make his way over the gravel in pumps. His mother would not have thought half as much of walking from Boxall Hill to Greshamsbury and back again. At last, the one village fly was sent for, and the matter was arranged.

When they reached the house, it was easy to see that there was some unwonted bustle. In the drawing-room there was no one but Mr. Mortimer Gazebee, who introduced himself to them both. Sir Louis, who knew that he was only an attorney, did not take much notice of him, but the doctor entered into conversation.

“Have you heard that Mr. Gresham has come home?” said Mr. Gazebee.

“Mr. Gresham! I did not know that he had been away.”

“Mr. Gresham, junior, I mean.” No, indeed; the doctor had not heard. Frank had returned unexpectedly just before dinner, and he was now undergoing his father’s smiles, his mother’s embraces, and his sisters’ questions.

“Quite unexpectedly,” said Mr. Gazebee. “I don’t know what has brought him back before his time. I suppose he found London too hot.”

“Deuced hot,” said the baronet. “I found it so, at least. I don’t know what keeps men in London when it’s so hot; except those fellows who have business to do: they’re paid for it.”

Mr. Mortimer Gazebee looked at him. He was managing an estate which owed Sir Louis an enormous sum of money, and, therefore, he could not afford to despise the baronet; but he thought to himself, what a very abject fellow the man would be if he were not a baronet, and had not a large fortune!

And then the squire came in. His broad, honest face was covered with a smile when he saw the doctor.

“Thorne,” he said, almost in a whisper, “you’re the best fellow breathing; I have hardly deserved this.” The doctor, as he took his old friend’s hand, could not but be glad that he had followed Mary’s counsel.

“So Frank has come home?”

“Oh, yes; quite unexpectedly. He was to have stayed a week longer in London. You would hardly know him if you met him. Sir Louis, I beg your pardon.” And the squire went up to his other guest, who had remained somewhat sullenly standing in one corner of the room. He was the man of highest rank present, or to be present, and he expected to be treated as such.

“I am happy to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Mr. Gresham,” said the baronet, intending to be very courteous. “Though we have not met before, I very often see your name in my accounts⁠—ha! ha! ha!” and Sir Louis laughed as though he had said something very good.

The meeting between Lady Arabella and the doctor was rather distressing to the former; but she managed to get over it. She shook hands with him graciously, and said that it was a fine day. The doctor said that it was fine, only perhaps a little rainy. And then they went into different parts of the room.

When Frank came in, the doctor hardly did know him. His hair was darker than it had been, and so was his complexion; but his chief disguise was in a long silken beard, which hung down over his cravat. The doctor had hitherto not been much in favour of long beards, but he could not deny that Frank looked very well with the appendage.

“Oh, doctor, I am so delighted to find you here,” said he, coming up to him; “so very, very glad:” and, taking the doctor’s arm, he led him away into a window, where they were alone. “And how is Mary?” said he, almost in a whisper. “Oh, I wish she were here! But, doctor, it shall all come in time. But tell me, doctor, there is no news about her, is there?”

“News⁠—what news?”

“Oh, well; no news is good news: you will give her my love, won’t you?”

The doctor said that he would. What else could he say? It appeared quite clear to him that some of Mary’s fears were groundless.

Frank was again very much altered. It has been said, that though he was a boy at twenty-one, he was a man at twenty-two. But now, at twenty-three, he appeared to be almost a man of the world. His manners were easy, his voice under his control, and words were at his command: he was no longer either shy or noisy; but, perhaps, was open to the charge of seeming, at least, to be too conscious of his own merits. He was, indeed, very handsome; tall, manly, and powerfully built, his form was such as women’s eyes have ever loved to look upon. “Ah, if he would but marry money!” said Lady Arabella to herself, taken up by a mother’s natural admiration for her son. His sisters clung round him before dinner, all talking to him at once. How proud a family of girls are of one, big, tall, burly brother!

“You don’t mean to tell me, Frank, that you are going to eat soup with that beard?” said the squire, when they were seated round the table. He had not ceased to rally his son as to this patriarchal adornment; but, nevertheless, anyone could have seen, with half an eye, that he was as proud of it as were the others.

“Don’t I,