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

wife of your own, if ever you do have one, you’ll find you’ll have trouble enough then without anybody else interfering with you. Not but what I believe you’re innocent as a lamb about Mrs. Lupex; that is, as far as any harm goes. But you’ve got yourself into all this trouble by meddling, and was like enough to get yourself choked upstairs by that man. And who’s to wonder when you go on pretending to be in love with a woman in that way, and she old enough to be your mother? What would your mamma say if she saw you at it?”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Cradell.

“It’s all very well your laughing, but I hate such folly. If I see a young man in love with a young woman, I respect him for it;” and then she looked at Johnny Eames. “I respect him for it⁠—even though he may now and then do things as he shouldn’t. They most of ’em does that. But to see a young man like you, Mr. Cradell, dangling after an old married woman, who doesn’t know how to behave herself; and all just because she lets him to do it;⁠—ugh!⁠—an old broomstick with a petticoat on would do just as well! It makes me sick to see it, and that’s the truth of it. I don’t call it manly; and it ain’t manly, is it, Miss Spruce?”

“Of course I know nothing about it,” said the lady to whom the appeal was thus made. “But a young gentleman should keep himself to himself till the time comes for him to speak out⁠—begging your pardon all the same, Mr. Cradell.”

“I don’t see what a married woman should want with anyone after her but her own husband,” said Amelia.

“And perhaps not always that,” said John Eames.

It was about an hour after this when the front-door bell was rung, and a scream from Jemima announced to them all that some critical moment had arrived. Amelia, jumping up, opened the door, and then the rustle of a woman’s dress was heard on the lower stairs. “Oh, laws, ma’am, you have given us sich a turn,” said Jemima. “We all thought you was run away.”

“It’s Mrs. Lupex,” said Amelia. And in two minutes more that ill-used lady was in the room.

“Well, my dears,” said she, gaily, “I hope nobody has waited dinner.”

“No; we didn’t wait dinner,” said Mrs. Roper, very gravely.

“And where’s my Orson? Didn’t he dine at home? Mr. Cradell, will you oblige me by taking my shawl? But perhaps you had better not. People are so censorious; ain’t they, Miss Spruce? Mr. Eames shall do it; and everybody knows that that will be quite safe. Won’t it, Miss Amelia?”

“Quite, I should think,” said Amelia. And Mrs. Lupex knew that she was not to look for an ally in that quarter on the present occasion. Eames got up to take the shawl, and Mrs. Lupex went on.

“And didn’t Orson dine at home? Perhaps they kept him down at the theatre. But I’ve been thinking all day what fun it would be when he thought his bird was flown.”

“He did dine at home,” said Mrs. Roper; “and he didn’t seem to like it. There wasn’t much fun, I can assure you.”

“Ah, wasn’t there, though? I believe that man would like to have me tied to his buttonhole. I came across a few friends⁠—lady friends, Mr. Cradell, though two of them had their husbands; so we made a party, and just went down to Hampton Court. So my gentleman has gone again, has he? That’s what I get for gadding about myself, isn’t it, Miss Spruce?”

Mrs. Roper, as she went to bed that night, made up her mind that, whatever might be the cost and trouble of doing so, she would lose no further time in getting rid of her married guests.

XLII Lily’s Bedside

Lily Dale’s constitution was good, and her recovery was retarded by no relapse or lingering debility; but, nevertheless, she was forced to keep her bed for many days after the fever had left her. During all this period Dr. Crofts came every day. It was in vain that Mrs. Dale begged him not to do so; telling him in simple words that she felt herself bound not to accept from him all this continuation of his unremunerated labours now that the absolute necessity for them was over. He answered her only by little jokes, or did not answer her at all; but still he came daily, almost always at the same hour, just as the day was waning, so that he could sit for a quarter of an hour in the dusk, and then ride home to Guestwick in the dark. At this time Bell had been admitted into her sister’s room, and she would always meet Dr. Crofts at Lily’s bedside; but she never sat with him alone, since the day on which he had offered her his love with half-articulated words, and she had declined it with words also half-articulated. She had seen him alone since that, on the stairs, or standing in the hall, but she had not remained with him, talking to him after her old fashion, and no further word of his love had been spoken in speech either half or wholly articulate.

Nor had Bell spoken of what had passed to anyone else. Lily would probably have told both her mother and sister instantly; but then no such scene as that which had taken place with Bell would have been possible with Lily. In whatever way the matter might have gone with her, there would certainly have been some clear tale to tell when the interview was over. She would have known whether or no she loved the man, or could love him, and would have given him some true and intelligible answer. Bell had not done so, but had given him an answer which, if true, was not intelligible, and if intelligible was not true. And yet, when she had gone away to think over what had passed, she had