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

it was evident that the squire paused in order that she might ask some question of him. “Mary,” said he, at last, “I’ll tell you what it is that I have come to say to you.” Whereupon she put the piece of needlework which was in her hands down upon the workbasket before her, and settled herself to listen to him.

“I wish to speak to you about Bell.”

“About Bell?” said Mrs. Dale, as though much surprised that he should have anything to say to her respecting her eldest daughter.

“Yes, about Bell. Here’s Lily going to be married, and it will be well that Bell should be married too.”

“I don’t see that at all,” said Mrs. Dale. “I am by no means in a hurry to be rid of her.”

“No, I dare say not. But, of course, you only regard her welfare, and I can truly say that I do the same. There would be no necessity for hurry as to a marriage for her under ordinary circumstances, but there may be circumstances to make such a thing desirable, and I think that there are.” It was evident from the squire’s tone and manner that he was very much in earnest; but it was also evident that he found some difficulty in opening out the budget with which he had prepared himself. He hesitated a little in his voice, and seemed to be almost nervous. Mrs. Dale, with some little spice of ill-nature, altogether abstained from assisting him. She was jealous of interference from him about her girls, and though she was of course bound to listen to him, she did so with a prejudice against and almost with a resolve to oppose anything that he might say. When he had finished his little speech about circumstances, the squire paused again; but Mrs. Dale still sat silent, with her eyes fixed upon his face.

“I love your children very dearly,” said he, “though I believe you hardly give me credit for doing so.”

“I am sure you do,” said Mrs. Dale, “and they are both well aware of it.”

“And I am very anxious that they should be comfortably established in life. I have no children of my own, and those of my two brothers are everything to me.”

Mrs. Dale had always considered it as a matter of course that Bernard should be the squire’s heir, and had never felt that her daughters had any claim on that score. It was a well-understood thing in the family that the senior male Dale should have all the Dale property and all the Dale money. She fully recognized even the propriety of such an arrangement. But it seemed to her that the squire was almost guilty of hypocrisy in naming his nephew and his two nieces together, as though they were the joint heirs of his love. Bernard was his adopted son, and no one had begrudged to the uncle the right of making such adoption. Bernard was everything to him, and as being his heir was bound to obey him in many things. But her daughters were no more to him than any nieces might be to any uncle. He had nothing to do with their disposal in marriage; and the mother’s spirit was already up in arms and prepared to do battle for her own independence, and for that of her children. “If Bernard would marry well,” said she, “I have no doubt it would be a comfort to you,”⁠—meaning to imply thereby that the squire had no right to trouble himself about any other marriage.

“That’s just it,” said the squire. “It would be a great comfort to me. And if he and Bell could make up their minds together, it would, I should think, be a great comfort to you also.”

“Bernard and Bell!” exclaimed Mrs. Dale. No idea of such a union had ever yet come upon her, and now in her surprise she sat silent. She had always liked Bernard Dale, having felt for him more family affection than for any other of the Dale family beyond her own hearth. He had been very intimate in her house, having made himself almost as a brother to her girls. But she had never thought of him as a husband for either of them.

“Then Bell has not spoken to you about it,” said the squire.

“Never a word.”

“And you had never thought about it?”

“Certainly not.”

“I have thought about it a great deal. For some years I have always been thinking of it. I have set my heart upon it, and shall be very unhappy if it cannot be brought about. They are both very dear to me⁠—dearer than anybody else. If I could see them man and wife, I should not much care then how soon I left the old place to them.”

There was a purer touch of feeling in this than the squire had ever before shown in his sister-in-law’s presence, and more heartiness than she had given him the credit of possessing. And she could not but acknowledge to herself that her own child was included in this unexpected warmth of love, and that she was bound at any rate to entertain some gratitude for such kindness.

“It is good of you to think of her,” said the mother; “very good.”

“I think a great deal about her,” said the squire. “But that does not much matter now. The fact is, that she has declined Bernard’s offer.”

“Has Bernard offered to her?”

“So he tells me; and she has refused him. It may perhaps be natural that she should do so, never having taught herself to look at him in the light of a lover. I don’t blame her at all. I am not angry with her.”

“Angry with her! No. You can hardly be angry with her for not being in love with her cousin.”

“I say that I am not angry with her. But I think she might undertake to consider the question. You would like such a match, would you not?”

Mrs. Dale did not at first make any answer, but began to revolve the