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

in which you speak of those whose conduct from first to last has been superlatively excellent? If she is open to blame at all, it is⁠—it is⁠—”

But here Mrs. Robarts stopped herself. In defending her sister she had worked herself almost into a passion; but such a state of feeling was not customary to her, and now that she had spoken her mind she sank suddenly into silence.

“It seems to me, Fanny, that you almost regret Miss Robarts’ decision,” said Lady Lufton.

“My wish in this matter is for her happiness, and I regret anything that may mar it.”

“You think nothing then of our welfare, and yet I do not know to whom I might have looked for hearty friendship and for sympathy in difficulties, if not to you?”

Poor Mrs. Robarts was almost upset by this. A few months ago, before Lucy’s arrival, she would have declared that the interests of Lady Lufton’s family would have been paramount with her, after and next to those of her own husband. And even now, it seemed to argue so black an ingratitude on her part⁠—this accusation that she was indifferent to them! From her childhood upwards she had revered and loved Lady Lufton, and for years had taught herself to regard her as an epitome of all that was good and gracious in woman. Lady Lufton’s theories of life had been accepted by her as the right theories, and those whom Lady Lufton had liked she had liked. But now it seemed that all these ideas which it had taken a life to build up were to be thrown to the ground, because she was bound to defend a sister-in-law whom she had only known for the last eight months. It was not that she regretted a word that she had spoken on Lucy’s behalf. Chance had thrown her and Lucy together, and, as Lucy was her sister, she should receive from her a sister’s treatment. But she did not the less feel how terrible would be the effect of any disseverance from Lady Lufton.

“Oh, Lady Lufton,” she said, “do not say that.”

“But, Fanny, dear, I must speak as I find. You were talking about clouds just now, and do you think that all this is not a cloud in my sky? Ludovic tells me that he is attached to Miss Robarts, and you tell me that she is attached to him; and I am called upon to decide between them. Her very act obliges me to do so.”

“Dear Lady Lufton,” said Mrs. Robarts, springing from her seat. It seemed to her at the moment as though the whole difficulty were to be solved by an act of grace on the part of her old friend.

“And yet I cannot approve of such a marriage,” said Lady Lufton.

Mrs. Robarts returned to her seat, saying nothing further.

“Is not that a cloud on one’s horizon?” continued her ladyship. “Do you think that I can be basking in the sunshine while I have such a weight upon my heart as that? Ludovic will soon be home, but instead of looking to his return with pleasure I dread it. I would prefer that he should remain in Norway. I would wish that he should stay away for months. And, Fanny, it is a great addition to my misfortune to feel that you do not sympathize with me.”

Having said this, in a slow, sorrowful, and severe tone, Lady Lufton got up and took her departure. Of course Mrs. Robarts did not let her go without assuring her that she did sympathize with her⁠—did love her as she ever had loved her. But wounds cannot be cured as easily as they may be inflicted, and Lady Lufton went her way with much real sorrow at her heart. She was proud and masterful, fond of her own way, and much too careful of the worldly dignities to which her lot had called her: but she was a woman who could cause no sorrow to those she loved without deep sorrow to herself.

XLII Touching Pitch

In these hot midsummer days, the end of June and the beginning of July, Mr. Sowerby had but an uneasy time of it. At his sister’s instance, he had hurried up to London, and there had remained for days in attendance on the lawyers. He had to see new lawyers, Miss Dunstable’s men of business, quiet old cautious gentlemen whose place of business was in a dark alley behind the Bank, Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile by name, who had no scruple in detaining him for hours while they or their clerks talked to him about anything or about nothing. It was of vital consequence to Mr. Sowerby that this business of his should be settled without delay, and yet these men, to whose care this settling was now confided, went on as though law processes were a sunny bank on which it delighted men to bask easily. And then, too, he had to go more than once to South Audley Street, which was a worse infliction; for the men in South Audley Street were less civil now than had been their wont. It was well understood there that Mr. Sowerby was no longer a client of the duke’s, but his opponent; no longer his nominee and dependant, but his enemy in the county. “Chaldicotes,” as old Mr. Gumption remarked to young Mr. Gagebee; “Chaldicotes, Gagebee, is a cooked goose, as far as Sowerby is concerned. And what difference could it make to him whether the duke is to own it or Miss Dunstable? For my part I cannot understand how a gentleman like Sowerby can like to see his property go into the hands of a gallipot wench whose money still smells of bad drugs. And nothing can be more ungrateful,” he said, “than Sowerby’s conduct. He has held the county for five-and-twenty years without expense; and now that the time for payment has come, he begrudges the price.” He called it no better than cheating, he did not⁠—he, Mr. Gumption. According to