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

not only penniless, but nameless, fatherless, worse than motherless! It was incredible that Dr. Thorne, with his generally exalted ideas as to family, should speak in this cold way as to a projected marriage between the heir of Greshamsbury and his brother’s bastard child!

“But, doctor,” repeated the squire.

The doctor put one leg over the other, and began to rub his calf. “Squire,” said he. “I think I know all that you would say, all that you mean. And you don’t like to say it, because you would not wish to pain me by alluding to Mary’s birth.”

“But, independently of that, what would they live on?” said the squire, energetically. “Birth is a great thing, a very great thing. You and I think exactly alike about that, so we need have no dispute. You are quite as proud of Ullathorne as I am of Greshamsbury.”

“I might be if it belonged to me.”

“But you are. It is no use arguing. But, putting that aside altogether, what would they live on? If they were to marry, what would they do? Where would they go? You know what Lady Arabella thinks of such things; would it be possible that they should live up at the house with her? Besides, what a life would that be for both of them! Could they live here? Would that be well for them?”

The squire looked at the doctor for an answer; but he still went on rubbing his calf. Mr. Gresham, therefore, was constrained to continue his expostulation.

“When I am dead there will still, I hope, be something;⁠—something left for the poor fellow. Lady Arabella and the girls would be better off, perhaps, than now, and I sometimes wish, for Frank’s sake, that the time had come.”

The doctor could not now go on rubbing his leg. He was moved to speak, and declared that, of all events, that was the one which would be furthest from Frank’s heart. “I know no son,” said he, “who loves his father more dearly than he does.”

“I do believe it,” said the squire; “I do believe it. But yet, I cannot but feel that I am in his way.”

“No, squire, no; you are in no one’s way. You will find yourself happy with your son yet, and proud of him. And proud of his wife, too. I hope so, and I think so: I do, indeed, or I should not say so, squire; we will have many a happy day yet together, when we shall talk of all these things over the dining-room fire at Greshamsbury.”

The squire felt it kind in the doctor that he should thus endeavour to comfort him; but he could not understand, and did not inquire, on what basis these golden hopes was founded. It was necessary, however, to return to the subject which he had come to discuss. Would the doctor assist him in preventing this marriage? That was now the one thing necessary to be kept in view.

“But, doctor, about the young people; of course they cannot marry, you are aware of that.”

“I don’t know that exactly.”

“Well, doctor, I must say I thought you would feel it.”

“Feel what, squire?”

“That, situated as they are, they ought not to marry.”

“That is quite another question. I have said nothing about that either to you or to anybody else. The truth is, squire, I have never interfered in this matter one way or the other; and I have no wish to do so now.”

“But should you not interfere? Is not Mary the same to you as your own child?”

Dr. Thorne hardly knew how to answer this. He was aware that his argument about not interfering was in fact absurd. Mary could not marry without his interference; and had it been the case that she was in danger of making an improper marriage, of course he would interfere. His meaning was, that he would not at the present moment express any opinion; he would not declare against a match which might turn out to be in every way desirable; nor, if he spoke in favour of it, could he give his reasons for doing so. Under these circumstances, he would have wished to say nothing, could that only have been possible.

But as it was not possible, and as he must say something, he answered the squire’s last question by asking another. “What is your objection, squire?”

“Objection! Why, what on earth would they live on?”

“Then I understand, that if that difficulty were over, you would not refuse your consent merely because of Mary’s birth?”

This was a manner in which the squire had by no means expected to have the affair presented to him. It seemed so impossible that any sound-minded man should take any but his view of the case, that he had not prepared himself for argument. There was every objection to his son marrying Miss Thorne; but the fact of their having no income between them, did certainly justify him in alleging that first.

“But that difficulty can’t be got over, doctor. You know, however, that it would be cause of grief to us all to see Frank marry much beneath his station; that is, I mean, in family. You should not press me to say this, for you know that I love Mary dearly.”

“But, my dear friend, it is necessary. Wounds sometimes must be opened in order that they may be healed. What I mean is this;⁠—and, squire, I’m sure I need not say to you that I hope for an honest answer⁠—were Mary Thorne an heiress; had she, for instance, such wealth as that Miss Dunstable that we hear of; in that case would you object to the match?”

When the doctor declared that he expected an honest answer the squire listened with all his ears; but the question, when finished, seemed to have no bearing on the present case.

“Come, squire, speak your mind faithfully. There was some talk once of Frank’s marrying Miss Dunstable; did you mean to object to that match?”

“Miss Dunstable was legitimate; at least, I presume so.”

“Oh, Mr. Gresham! has