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

Miss Dunstable, though she had come by train, had brought with her her own carriage, her own horses, her own coachman and footman, and her own maid, of course. She had also brought with her half a score of trunks, full of wearing apparel; some of them nearly as rich as that wonderful box which was stolen a short time since from the top of a cab. But she brought all these things, not in the least because she wanted them herself, but because she had been instructed to do so.

Frank was a little more than ordinarily careful in dressing. He spoilt a couple of white neckties before he was satisfied, and was rather fastidious as the set of his hair. There was not much of the dandy about him in the ordinary meaning of the word; but he felt that it was incumbent on him to look his best, seeing what it was expected that he should now do. He certainly did not mean to marry Miss Dunstable; but as he was to have a flirtation with her, it was well that he should do so under the best possible auspices.

When he entered the drawing-room he perceived at once that the lady was there. She was seated between the countess and Mrs. Proudie; and mammon, in her person, was receiving worship from the temporalities and spiritualities of the land. He tried to look unconcerned, and remained in the farther part of the room, talking with some of his cousins; but he could not keep his eye off the future possible Mrs. Frank Gresham; and it seemed as though she was as much constrained to scrutinise him as he felt to scrutinise her.

Lady de Courcy had declared that she was looking extremely well, and had particularly alluded to her distingué appearance. Frank at once felt that he could not altogether go along with his aunt in this opinion. Miss Dunstable might be very well; but her style of beauty was one which did not quite meet with his warmest admiration.

In age she was about thirty; but Frank, who was no great judge in these matters, and who was accustomed to have very young girls round him, at once put her down as being ten years older. She had a very high colour, very red cheeks, a large mouth, big white teeth, a broad nose, and bright, small, black eyes. Her hair also was black and bright, but very crisp, and strong, and was combed close round her face in small crisp black ringlets. Since she had been brought out into the fashionable world some one of her instructors in fashion had given her to understand that curls were not the thing. “They’ll always pass muster,” Miss Dunstable had replied, “when they are done up with banknotes.” It may therefore be presumed that Miss Dunstable had a will of her own.

“Frank,” said the countess, in the most natural and unpremeditated way, as soon as she caught her nephew’s eye, “come here. I want to introduce you to Miss Dunstable.” The introduction was then made. “Mrs. Proudie, would you excuse me? I must positively go and say a few words to Mrs. Barlow, or the poor woman will feel herself huffed;” and, so saying, she moved off, leaving the coast clear for Master Frank.

He of course slipped into his aunt’s place, and expressed a hope that Miss Dunstable was not fatigued by her journey.

“Fatigued!” said she, in a voice rather loud, but very good-humoured, and not altogether unpleasing; “I am not to be fatigued by such a thing as that. Why, in May we came through all the way from Rome to Paris without sleeping⁠—that is, without sleeping in a bed⁠—and we were upset three times out of the sledges coming over the Simplon. It was such fun! Why, I wasn’t to say tired even then.”

“All the way from Rome to Paris!” said Mrs. Proudie⁠—in a tone of astonishment, meant to flatter the heiress⁠—“and what made you in such a hurry?”

“Something about money matters,” said Miss Dunstable, speaking rather louder than usual. “Something to do with the ointment. I was selling the business just then.”

Mrs. Proudie bowed, and immediately changed the conversation. “Idolatry is, I believe, more rampant than ever in Rome,” said she; “and I fear there is no such thing at all as Sabbath observance.”

“Oh, not in the least,” said Miss Dunstable, with rather a joyous air; “Sundays and weekdays are all the same there.”

“How very frightful!” said Mrs. Proudie.

“But it’s a delicious place. I do like Rome, I must say. And as for the Pope, if he wasn’t quite so fat he would be the nicest old fellow in the world. Have you been in Rome, Mrs. Proudie?”

Mrs. Proudie sighed as she replied in the negative, and declared her belief that danger was to be apprehended from such visits.

“Oh!⁠—ah!⁠—the malaria⁠—of course⁠—yes; if you go at the wrong time; but nobody is such a fool as that now.”

“I was thinking of the soul, Miss Dunstable,” said the lady-bishop, in her peculiar, grave tone. “A place where there are no Sabbath observances⁠—”

“And have you been in Rome, Mr. Gresham?” said the young lady, turning almost abruptly round to Frank, and giving a somewhat uncivilly cold shoulder to Mrs. Proudie’s exhortation. She, poor lady, was forced to finish her speech to the Honourable George, who was standing near to her. He having an idea that bishops and all their belongings, like other things appertaining to religion, should, if possible, be avoided; but if that were not possible, should be treated with much assumed gravity, immediately put on a long face, and remarked that⁠—“it was a deuced shame: for his part he always liked to see people go quiet on Sundays. The parsons had only one day out of seven, and he thought they were fully entitled to that.” Satisfied with which, or not satisfied, Mrs. Proudie had to remain silent till dinnertime.

“No,” said Frank; “I never was in Rome. I was in Paris once, and that’s all.” And