Framley Parsonage, Anthony Trollope [popular e readers txt] 📗

the circumstances, was she at all displeased at finding herself endowed with the power of rescuing the Sowerby portion of the Chaldicotes property from the duke’s clutches. Why had the duke meddled with her, or with her friend, as to the other property? Therefore it was arranged that the full amount due to the duke on mortgage should be ready for immediate payment; but it was arranged also that the security as held by Miss Dunstable should be very valid.

Miss Dunstable, at Boxall Hill or at Greshamsbury, was a very different person from Miss Dunstable in London; and it was this difference which so much vexed Mrs. Gresham; not that her friend omitted to bring with her into the country her London wit and aptitude for fun, but that she did not take with her up to town the genuine goodness and love of honesty which made her loveable in the country. She was as it were two persons, and Mrs. Gresham could not understand that any lady should permit herself to be more worldly at one time of the year than at another⁠—or in one place than in any other.

“Well, my dear, I am heartily glad we’ve done with that,” Miss Dunstable said to her, as she sat herself down to her desk in the drawing-room on the first morning after her arrival at Boxall Hill.

“What does ‘that’ mean?” said Mrs. Gresham.

“Why, London and smoke and late hours, and standing on one’s legs for four hours at a stretch on the top of one’s own staircase, to be bowed at by anyone who chooses to come. That’s all done⁠—for one year, at any rate.”

“You know you like it.”

“No, Mary; that’s just what I don’t know. I don’t know whether I like it or not. Sometimes, when the spirit of that dearest of all women, Mrs. Harold Smith, is upon me, I think that I do like it; but then again, when other spirits are on me, I think that I don’t.”

“And who are the owners of the other spirits?”

“Oh! you are one, of course. But you are a weak little thing, by no means able to contend with such a Samson as Mrs. Harold. And then you are a little given to wickedness yourself, you know. You’ve learned to like London well enough since you sat down to the table of Dives. Your uncle⁠—he’s the real impracticable, unapproachable Lazarus who declares that he can’t come down because of the big gulf. I wonder how he’d behave, if somebody left him ten thousand a year?”

“Uncommonly well, I am sure.”

“Oh, yes; he is a Lazarus now, so of course we are bound to speak well of him; but I should like to see him tried. I don’t doubt but what he’d have a house in Belgrave Square, and become noted for his little dinners before the first year of his trial was over.”

“Well, and why not? You would not wish him to be an anchorite?”

“I am told that he is going to try his luck⁠—not with ten thousand a year, but with one or two.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jane tells me that they all say at Greshamsbury that he is going to marry Lady Scatcherd.” Now Lady Scatcherd was a widow living in those parts; an excellent woman, but one not formed by nature to grace society of the highest order.

“What!” exclaimed Mrs. Gresham, rising up from her chair while her eyes flashed with anger at such a rumour.

“Well, my dear, don’t eat me. I don’t say it is so; I only say that Jane said so.”

“Then you ought to send Jane out of the house.”

“You may be sure of this, my dear: Jane would not have told me if somebody had not told her.”

“And you believed it?”

“I have said nothing about that.”

“But you look as if you had believed it.”

“Do I? Let us see what sort of a look it is, this look of faith.” And Miss Dunstable got up and went to the glass over the fireplace. “But, Mary, my dear, ain’t you old enough to know that you should not credit people’s looks? You should believe nothing nowadays; and I did not believe the story about poor Lady Scatcherd. I know the doctor well enough to be sure that he is not a marrying man.”

“What a nasty, hackneyed, false phrase that is⁠—that of a marrying man! It sounds as though some men were in the habit of getting married three or four times a month.”

“It means a great deal all the same. One can tell very soon whether a man is likely to marry or no.”

“And can one tell the same of a woman?”

“The thing is so different. All unmarried women are necessarily in the market; but if they behave themselves properly they make no signs. Now there was Griselda Grantly; of course she intended to get herself a husband, and a very grand one she has got; but she always looked as though butter would not melt in her mouth. It would have been very wrong to call her a marrying girl.”

“Oh, of course she was,” says Mrs. Gresham, with that sort of acrimony which one pretty young woman so frequently expresses with reference to another. “But if one could always tell of a woman, as you say you can of a man, I should be able to tell of you. Now, I wonder whether you are a marrying woman? I have never been able to make up my mind yet.”

Miss Dunstable remained silent for a few moments, as though she were at first minded to take the question as being, in some sort, one made in earnest; but then she attempted to laugh it off. “Well, I wonder at that,” said she, “as it was only the other day I told you how many offers I had refused.”

“Yes; but you did not tell me whether any had been made that you meant to accept.”

“None such was ever made to me. Talking of that, I shall never forget your cousin, the Honourable George.”

“He is not