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

“Here comes the prince of matadores,” said the earl.

“No, my lord; you’re the prince. I’m only your first follower.” Though he could contrive that his words should be gay, his looks were sheepish, and when he gave his hand to the squire it was only by a struggle that he could bring himself to look straight into the old man’s face.

“I’m very glad to see you, John,” said the squire, “very glad indeed.”

“And so am I,” said Bell. “I have been so happy to hear that you have been promoted at your office, and so is mamma.”

“I hope Mrs. Dale is quite well,” said he;⁠—“and Lily.” The word had been pronounced, but it had been done with so manifest an effort that all in the room were conscious of it, and paused as Bell prepared her little answer.

“My sister has been very ill, you know⁠—with scarlatina. But she has recovered with wonderful quickness, and is nearly well again now. She will be so glad to see you if you will go over.”

“Yes; I shall certainly go over,” said John.

“And now shall I show you your room, Miss Dale?” said Lady Julia. And so the party was broken up, and the ice had been broken.

The squire had been told that his niece Bell had accepted Dr. Crofts, and he had signified a sort of acquiescence in the arrangement, saying that if it were to be so, he had nothing to say against Dr. Crofts. He spoke this in a melancholy tone of voice, wearing on his face that look of subdued sorrow which was now almost habitual to him. It was to Mrs. Dale that he spoke on the subject. “I could have wished that it might have been otherwise,” he said, “as you are well aware. I had family reasons for wishing that it might be otherwise. But I have nothing to say against it. Dr. Crofts, as her husband, shall be welcome to my house.” Mrs. Dale, who had expected much worse than this, began to thank him for his kindness, and to say that she also would have preferred to see her daughter married to her cousin. “But in such a matter the decision should be left entirely to the girl. Don’t you think so?”

“I have not a word to say against her,” he repeated. Then Mrs. Dale left him, and told her daughter that her uncle’s manner of receiving the news had been, for him, very gracious. “You were his favourite, but Lily will be so now,” said Mrs. Dale.

“I don’t care a bit about that;⁠—or, rather, I do care, and think it will be in every way better. But as I, who am the naughty one, will go away, and as Lily, who is the good one, will remain with you, doesn’t it almost seem a pity that you should be leaving the house?”

Mrs. Dale thought it was almost a pity, but she could not say so now. “You think Lily will remain,” she said.

“Yes, mamma; I feel sure she will.”

“She was always very fond of John Eames;⁠—and he is doing so well.”

“It will be of no use, mamma. She is fond of him⁠—very fond. In a sort of a way she loves him⁠—so well, that I feel sure she never mentions his name without some inward reference to her old childish thoughts and fancies. If he had come before Mr. Crosbie it would have all been well with her. But she cannot do it now. Her pride would prevent her, even if her heart permitted it. Oh! dear; it’s very wrong of me to say so, after all that I have said before; but I almost wish you were not going. Uncle Christopher seems to be less hard than he used to be; and as I was the sinner, and as I am disposed of⁠—”

“It is too late now, my dear.”

“And we should neither of us have the courage to mention it to Lily,” said Bell.

On the following morning the squire sent for his sister-in-law, as it was his wont to do when necessity came for any discussion on matters of business. This was perfectly understood between them, and such sending was not taken as indicating any lack of courtesy on the part of Mr. Dale. “Mary,” he said, as soon as Mrs. Dale was seated, “I shall do for Bell exactly what I have proposed to do for Lily. I had intended more than that once, of course. But then it would all have gone into Bernard’s pocket; as it is, I shall make no difference between them. They shall each have a hundred a year⁠—that is, when they marry. You had better tell Crofts to speak to me.”

“Mr. Dale, he doesn’t expect it. He does not expect a penny.”

“So much the better for him; and, indeed, so much the better for her. He won’t make her the less welcome to his home because she brings some assistance to it.”

“We have never thought of it⁠—any of us. The offer has come so suddenly that I don’t know what I ought to say.”

“Say⁠—nothing. If you choose to make me a return for it⁠—; but I am only doing what I conceive to be my duty, and have no right to ask for a kindness in return.”

“But what kindness can we show you, Mr. Dale?”

“Remain in that house.” In saying these last words he spoke as though he were again angry⁠—as though he were again laying down the law to them⁠—as though he were telling her of a duty which was due to him and incumbent on her. His voice was as stern and his face as acid as ever. He said that he was asking for a kindness; but surely no man ever asked for kindness in a voice so peremptory. “Remain in that house.” Then he turned himself in towards his table as though he had no more to say.

But Mrs. Dale was beginning, now at last, to understand something of his mind and real character.