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

castles, with cruel dungeons, into which hardly a ray of light could find its way. In all these edifices his imagination pictured to him Lily as the wife of Mr. Crosbie. He accepted that as a fact, and then went to work in his misery, making her as wretched as himself, through the misconduct and harshness of her husband. He tried to think, and to resolve what he would do; but there is no task so hard as that of thinking, when the mind has an objection to the matter brought before it. The mind, under such circumstances, is like a horse that is brought to the water, but refuses to drink. So Johnny returned to his home, still doubting whether or no he would answer Amelia’s letter. And if he did not answer it, how would he conduct himself on his return to Burton Crescent?

I need hardly say that Miss Roper, in writing her letter, had been aware of all this, and that Johnny’s position had been carefully prepared for him by⁠—his affectionate sweetheart.

XI Social Life

Mr. and Mrs. Lupex had eaten a sweetbread together in much connubial bliss on that day which had seen Cradell returning to Mrs. Roper’s hospitable board. They had together eaten a sweetbread, with some other delicacies of the season, in the neighbourhood of the theatre, and had washed down all unkindness with bitter beer and brandy-and-water. But of this reconciliation Cradell had not heard; and when he saw them come together into the drawing-room, a few minutes after the question he had addressed to Miss Spruce, he was certainly surprised.

Lupex was not an ill-natured man, nor one naturally savage by disposition. He was a man fond of sweetbread and little dinners, and one to whom hot brandy-and-water was too dear. Had the wife of his bosom been a good helpmate to him, he might have gone through the world, if not respectably, at any rate without open disgrace. But she was a woman who left a man no solace except that to be found in brandy-and-water. For eight years they had been man and wife; and sometimes⁠—I grieve to say it⁠—he had been driven almost to hope that she would commit a married woman’s last sin, and leave him. In his misery, any mode of escape would have been welcome to him. Had his energy been sufficient he would have taken his scene-painting capabilities off to Australia⁠—or to the farthest shifting of scenes known on the world’s stage. But he was an easy, listless, self-indulgent man; and at any moment, let his misery be as keen as might be, a little dinner, a few soft words, and a glass of brandy-and-water would bring him round. The second glass would make him the fondest husband living; but the third would restore to him the memory of all his wrongs, and give him courage against his wife or all the world⁠—even to the detriment of the furniture around him, should a stray poker chance to meet his hand. All these peculiarities of his character were not, however, known to Cradell; and when our friend saw him enter the drawing-room with his wife on his arm, he was astonished.

“Mr. Cradell, your hand,” said Lupex, who had advanced as far as the second glass of brandy-and-water, but had not been allowed to go beyond it. “There has been a misunderstanding between us; let it be forgotten.”

“Mr. Cradell, if I know him,” said the lady, “is too much the gentleman to bear any anger when a gentleman has offered him his hand.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” said Cradell, “I’m quite⁠—indeed, I’m delighted to find there’s nothing wrong after all.” And then he shook hands with both of them; whereupon Miss Spruce got up, curtseyed low, and also shook hands with the husband and wife.

“You’re not a married man, Mr. Cradell,” said Lupex, “and, therefore, you cannot understand the workings of a husband’s heart. There have been moments when my regard for that woman has been too much for me.”

“Now, Lupex, don’t,” said she, playfully tapping him with an old parasol which she still held.

“And I do not hesitate to say that my regard for her was too much for me on that night when I sent for you to the dining-room.”

“I’m glad it’s all put right now,” said Cradell.

“Very glad, indeed,” said Miss Spruce.

“And, therefore, we need not say any more about it,” said Mrs. Lupex.

“One word,” said Lupex, waving his hand. “Mr. Cradell, I greatly rejoice that you did not obey my summons on that night. Had you done so⁠—I confess it now⁠—had you done so, blood would have been the consequence. I was mistaken. I acknowledge my mistake;⁠—but blood would have been the consequence.”

“Dear, dear, dear,” said Miss Spruce.

“Miss Spruce,” continued Lupex, “there are moments when the heart becomes too strong for a man.”

“I dare say,” said Miss Spruce.

“Now, Lupex, that will do,” said his wife.

“Yes; that will do. But I think it right to tell Mr. Cradell that I am glad he did not come to me. Your friend, Mr. Cradell, did me the honour of calling on me at the theatre yesterday, at half-past four; but I was in the slings then, and could not very well come down to him. I shall be happy to see you both any day at five, and to bury all unkindness with a chop and glass at the Pot and Poker, in Bow-street.”

“I’m sure you’re very kind,” said Cradell.

“And Mrs. Lupex will join us. There’s a delightful little snuggery upstairs at the Pot and Poker; and if Miss Spruce will condescend to⁠—”

“Oh, I’m an old woman, sir.”

“No⁠—no⁠—no,” said Lupex, “I deny that. Come, Cradell, what do you say?⁠—just a snug little dinner for four, you know.”

It was, no doubt, pleasant to see Mr. Lupex in his present mood⁠—much pleasanter than in that other mood of which blood would have been the consequence; but pleasant as he now was, it was, nevertheless, apparent that he was not quite sober. Cradell, therefore, did not settle the day for the