The Way We Live Now, Anthony Trollope [good story books to read .txt] 📗

want him to know. It is such a come down, Mrs. Hurtle.”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of in that. What you have to be ashamed of is jilting him. It was a bad thing to do;⁠—wasn’t it, Ruby?”

“I didn’t mean nothing bad, Mrs. Hurtle; only why couldn’t he say what he had to say himself, instead of bringing another to say it for him? What would you feel, Mrs. Hurtle, if a man was to come and say it all out of another man’s mouth?”

“I don’t think I should much care if the thing was well said at last. You know he meant it.”

“Yes;⁠—I did know that.”

“And you know he means it now?”

“I’m not so sure about that. He’s gone back to Bungay, and he isn’t no good at writing letters no more than at speaking. Oh⁠—he’ll go and get somebody else now.”

“Of course he will if he hears nothing about you. I think I’d better tell him. I know what would happen.”

“What would happen, Mrs. Hurtle?”

“He’d be up in town again in half a jiffey to see what sort of a place you’d got. Now, Ruby, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, if you’ll say the word. I’ll have him up here at once and you shan’t go to Mrs. Buggins’.” Ruby dropped her hands and stood still, staring at Mrs. Hurtle. “I will. But if he comes you mustn’t behave this time as you did before.”

“But I’m to go to Mrs. Buggins’ tomorrow.”

“We’ll send to Mrs. Buggins and tell her to get somebody else. You’re breaking your heart about going there;⁠—are you not?”

“I don’t like it, Mrs. Hurtle.”

“And this man will make you mistress of his house. You say he isn’t good at speaking; but I tell you I never came across an honester man in the whole course of my life, or one who I think would treat a woman better. What’s the use of a glib tongue if there isn’t a heart with it? What’s the use of a lot of tinsel and lacker, if the real metal isn’t there? Sir Felix Carbury could talk, I dare say, but you don’t think now he was a very fine fellow.”

“He was so beautiful, Mrs. Hurtle!”

“But he hadn’t the spirit of a mouse in his bosom. Well, Ruby, you have one more choice left you. Shall it be John Crumb or Mrs. Buggins?”

“He wouldn’t come, Mrs. Hurtle.”

“Leave that to me, Ruby. May I bring him if I can?” Then Ruby in a very low whisper told Mrs. Hurtle, that if she thought proper she might bring John Crumb back again. “And there shall be no more nonsense?”

“No,” whispered Ruby.

On that same night a letter was sent to Mrs. Buggins, which Mrs. Hurtle also composed, informing that lady that unforeseen circumstances prevented Ruby Ruggles from keeping the engagement she had made; to which a verbal answer was returned that Ruby Ruggles was an impudent hussey. And then Mrs. Hurtle in her own name wrote a short note to Mr. John Crumb.

Dear Mr. Crumb,

If you will come back to London I think you will find Miss Ruby Ruggles all that you desire.

Yours faithfully,

Winifred Hurtle.

“She’s had a deal more done for her than I ever knew to be done for young women in my time,” said Mrs. Pipkin, “and I’m not at all so sure that she has deserved it.”

“John Crumb will think she has.”

“John Crumb’s a fool;⁠—and as to Ruby; well, I haven’t got no patience with girls like them. Yes; it is for the best; and as for you, Mrs. Hurtle, there’s no words to say how good you’ve been. I hope, Mrs. Hurtle, you ain’t thinking of going away because this is all done.”

LXXXI Mr. Cohenlupe Leaves London

Dolly Longestaffe had found himself compelled to go to Fetter Lane immediately after that meeting in Bruton Street at which he had consented to wait two days longer for the payment of his money. This was on a Wednesday, the day appointed for the payment being Friday. He had undertaken that, on his part, Squercum should be made to desist from further immediate proceedings, and he could only carry out his word by visiting Squercum. The trouble to him was very great, but he began to feel that he almost liked it. The excitement was nearly as good as that of loo. Of course it was a “horrid bore,”⁠—this having to go about in cabs under the sweltering sun of a London July day. Of course it was a “horrid bore,”⁠—this doubt about his money. And it went altogether against the grain with him that he should be engaged in any matter respecting the family property in agreement with his father and Mr. Bideawhile. But there was an importance in it that sustained him amidst his troubles. It is said that if you were to take a man of moderate parts and make him Prime Minister out of hand, he might probably do as well as other Prime Ministers, the greatness of the work elevating the man to its own level. In that way Dolly was elevated to the level of a man of business, and felt and enjoyed his own capacity. “By George!” It depended chiefly upon him whether such a man as Melmotte should or should not be charged before the Lord Mayor. “Perhaps I oughtn’t to have promised,” he said to Squercum, sitting in the lawyer’s office on a high-legged stool with a cigar in his mouth. He preferred Squercum to any other lawyer he had met because Squercum’s room was untidy and homely, because there was nothing awful about it, and because he could sit in what position he pleased, and smoke all the time.

“Well; I don’t think you ought, if you ask me,” said Squercum.

“You weren’t there to be asked, old fellow.”

“Bideawhile shouldn’t have asked you to agree to anything in my absence,” said Squercum indignantly. “It was a very unprofessional thing on his part, and so I shall take an opportunity of telling him.”

“It was you told me to go.”

“Well;⁠—yes. I wanted you to see what