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

of Hartletop, who, for twenty years, had owned no greater potentate than herself in the realms of fashion. But Lady Dumbello was every inch as great as she; and men said, and women also, that the daughter-in-law would soon be the greater.

“I’ll be hanged if I can understand how she does it,” a certain noble peer had once said to Crosbie, standing at the door of Sebright’s, during the latter days of the last season. “She never says anything to anyone. She won’t speak ten words a whole night through.”

“I don’t think she has an idea in her head,” said Crosbie.

“Let me tell you that she must be a very clever woman,” continued the noble peer. “No fool could do as she does. Remember, she’s only a parson’s daughter; and as for beauty⁠—”

“I don’t admire her for one,” said Crosbie.

“I don’t want to run away with her, if you mean that,” said the peer; “but she is handsome, no doubt. I wonder whether Dumbello likes it.”

Dumbello did like it. It satisfied his ambition to be led about as the senior lackey in his wife’s train. He believed himself to be a great man because the world fought for his wife’s presence; and considered himself to be distinguished even among the eldest sons of marquises, by the greatness reflected from the parson’s daughter whom he had married. He had now been brought to Courcy Castle, and felt himself proud of his situation because Lady Dumbello had made considerable difficulty in according this week to the Countess De Courcy.

And Lady Julia De Guest was already there, the sister of the other old earl who lived in the next county. She had only arrived on the day before, but had been quick in spreading the news as to Crosbie’s engagement. “Engaged to one of the Dales, is he?” said the countess, with a pretty little smile, which showed plainly that the matter was one of no interest to herself. “Has she got any money?”

“Not a shilling, I should think,” said the Lady Julia.

“Pretty, I suppose?” suggested the countess.

“Why, yes; she is pretty⁠—and a nice girl. I don’t know whether her mother and uncle were very wise in encouraging Mr. Crosbie. I don’t hear that he has anything special to recommend him⁠—in the way of money I mean.”

“I dare say it will come to nothing,” said the countess, who liked to hear of girls being engaged and then losing their promised husbands. She did not know that she liked it, but she did; and already had pleasure in anticipating poor Lily’s discomfiture. But not the less was she angry with Crosbie, feeling that he was making his way into her house under false pretences.

And Alexandrina also was angry when Lady Julia repeated the same tidings in her hearing. “I really don’t think we care very much about it, Lady Julia,” said she, with a little toss of her head. “That’s three times we’ve been told of Miss Dale’s good fortune.”

“The Dales are related to you, I think?” said Margaretta.

“Not at all,” said Lady Julia, bristling up. “The lady whom Mr. Crosbie proposes to marry is in no way connected with us. Her cousin, who is the heir to the Allington property, is my nephew by his mother.” And then the subject was dropped.

Crosbie, on his arrival, was shown up into his room, told the hour of dinner, and left to his devices. He had been at the castle before, and knew the ways of the house. So he sat himself down to his table, and began a letter to Lily. But he had not proceeded far, not having as yet indeed made up his mind as to the form in which he would commence it, but was sitting idly with the pen in his hand, thinking of Lily, and thinking also how such houses as this in which he now found himself would be soon closed against him, when there came a rap at his door, and before he could answer the Honourable John entered the room.

“Well, old fellow,” said the Honourable John, “how are you?”

Crosbie had been intimate with John De Courcy, but never felt for him either friendship or liking. Crosbie did not like such men as John De Courcy; but nevertheless, they called each other old fellow, poked each other’s ribs, and were very intimate.

“Heard you were here,” continued the Honourable John; “so I thought I would come up and look after you. Going to be married, ain’t you?”

“Not that I know of,” said Crosbie.

“Come, we know better than that. The women have been talking about it for the last three days. I had her name quite pat yesterday, but I’ve forgot it now. Hasn’t got a tanner; has she?” And the Honourable John had now seated himself upon the table.

“You seem to know a great deal more about it than I do.”

“It is that old woman from Guestwick who told us, then. The women will be at you at once, you’ll find. If there’s nothing in it, it’s what I call a d⁠⸺ shame. Why should they always pull a fellow to pieces in that way? They were going to marry me the other day!”

“Were they indeed, though?”

“To Harriet Twistleton. You know Harriet Twistleton? An uncommon fine girl, you know. But I wasn’t going to be caught like that. I’m very fond of Harriet⁠—in my way, you know; but they don’t catch an old bird like me with chaff.”

“I condole with Miss Twistleton for what she has lost.”

“I don’t know about condoling. But upon my word that getting married is a very slow thing. Have you seen George’s wife?”

Crosbie declared that he had not as yet had that pleasure.

“She’s here now, you know. I wouldn’t have taken her, not if she’d had ten times thirty thousand pounds. By Jove, no. But he likes it well enough. Would you believe it now?⁠—he cares for nothing on earth except money. You never saw such a fellow. But I’ll tell you what, his nose will