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

really think you may: you have known her now for a considerable time; and, as far as I can judge, she is very fond of you.”

“Nonsense, aunt,” said Frank; “she doesn’t care a button for me.”

“I think differently; and lookers-on, you know, always understand the game best. I suppose you are not afraid to ask her.”

“Afraid!” said Frank, in a tone of considerable scorn. He almost made up his mind that he would ask her to show that he was not afraid. His only obstacle to doing so was, that he had not the slightest intention of marrying her.

There was to be but one other great event before the party broke up, and that was a dinner at the Duke of Omnium’s. The duke had already declined to come to Courcy; but he had in a measure atoned for this by asking some of the guests to join a great dinner which he was about to give to his neighbours.

Mr. Moffat was to leave Courcy Castle the day after the dinner-party, and he therefore determined to make his great attempt on the morning of that day. It was with some difficulty that he brought about an opportunity; but at last he did so, and found himself alone with Miss Dunstable in the walks of Courcy Park.

“It is a strange thing, is it not,” said he, recurring to his old view of the same subject, “that I should be going to dine with the Duke of Omnium⁠—the richest man, they say, among the whole English aristocracy?”

“Men of that kind entertain everybody, I believe, now and then,” said Miss Dunstable, not very civilly.

“I believe they do; but I am not going as one of the everybodies. I am going from Lord de Courcy’s house with some of his own family. I have no pride in that⁠—not the least; I have more pride in my father’s honest industry. But it shows what money does in this country of ours.”

“Yes, indeed; money does a great deal many queer things.” In saying this Miss Dunstable could not but think that money had done a very queer thing in inducing Miss Gresham to fall in love with Mr. Moffat.

“Yes; wealth is very powerful: here we are, Miss Dunstable, the most honoured guests in the house.”

“Oh! I don’t know about that; you may be, for you are a member of Parliament, and all that⁠—”

“No; not a member now, Miss Dunstable.”

“Well, you will be, and that’s all the same; but I have no such title to honour, thank God.”

They walked on in silence for a little while, for Mr. Moffat hardly knew how to manage the business he had in hand. “It is quite delightful to watch these people,” he said at last; “now they accuse us of being tuft-hunters.”

“Do they?” said Miss Dunstable. “Upon my word I didn’t know that anybody ever so accused me.”

“I didn’t mean you and me personally.”

“Oh! I’m glad of that.”

“But that is what the world says of persons of our class. Now it seems to me that the toadying is all on the other side. The countess here does toady you, and so do the young ladies.”

“Do they? if so, upon my word I didn’t know it. But, to tell the truth, I don’t think much of such things. I live mostly to myself, Mr. Moffat.”

“I see that you do, and I admire you for it; but, Miss Dunstable, you cannot always live so,” and Mr. Moffat looked at her in a manner which gave her the first intimation of his coming burst of tenderness.

“That’s as may be, Mr. Moffat,” said she.

He went on beating about the bush for some time⁠—giving her to understand how necessary it was that persons situated as they were should live either for themselves or for each other, and that, above all things, they should beware of falling into the mouths of voracious aristocratic lions who go about looking for prey⁠—till they came to a turn in the grounds; at which Miss Dunstable declared her determination of going in. She had walked enough, she said. As by this time Mr. Moffat’s immediate intentions were becoming visible she thought it prudent to retire. “Don’t let me take you in, Mr. Moffat; but my boots are a little damp, and Dr. Easyman will never forgive me if I do not hurry in as fast as I can.”

“Your feet damp?⁠—I hope not: I do hope not,” said he, with a look of the greatest solicitude.

“Oh! it’s nothing to signify; but it’s well to be prudent, you know. Good morning, Mr. Moffat.”

“Miss Dunstable!”

“Eh⁠—yes!” and Miss Dunstable stopped in the grand path. “I won’t let you return with me, Mr. Moffat, because I know you were not coming in so soon.”

“Miss Dunstable; I shall be leaving this tomorrow.”

“Yes; and I go myself the day after.”

“I know it. I am going to town and you are going abroad. It may be long⁠—very long⁠—before we meet again.”

“About Easter,” said Miss Dunstable; “that is, if the doctor doesn’t knock up on the road.”

“And I had, had wished to say something before we part for so long a time. Miss Dunstable⁠—”

“Stop!⁠—Mr. Moffat. Let me ask you one question. I’ll hear anything that you have got to say, but on one condition: that is, that Miss Augusta Gresham shall be by while you say it. Will you consent to that?”

“Miss Augusta Gresham,” said he, “has no right to listen to my private conversation.”

“Has she not, Mr. Moffat? then I think she should have. I, at any rate, will not so far interfere with what I look on as her undoubted privileges as to be a party to any secret in which she may not participate.”

“But, Miss Dunstable⁠—”

“And to tell you fairly, Mr. Moffat, any secret that you do tell me, I shall most undoubtedly repeat to her before dinner. Good morning, Mr. Moffat; my feet are certainly a little damp, and if I stay a moment longer, Dr. Easyman will put off my foreign trip for at least a week.” And so she left him standing alone in the middle of the gravel-walk.

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