Can You Forgive Her?

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XV.

  Paramount Crescent.

  Lady Macleod lived at No. 3, Paramount Crescent, in Cheltenham, whereshe occupied a very handsome first-floor drawing-room, with a bedroombehind it, looking over a stable-yard, and a small room which wouldhave been the dressing-room had the late Sir Archibald been alive,but which was at present called the dining-room: and in it LadyMacleod did dine whenever her larger room was to be used for anypurposes of evening company. The vicinity of the stable-yard was notregarded by the tenant as among the attractions of the house; but ithad the effect of lowering the rent, and Lady Macleod was a woman whoregarded such matters. Her income, though small, would have sufficedto enable her to live removed from such discomforts; but she was oneof those women who regard it as a duty to leave something behindthem,--even though it be left to those who do not at all want it;and Lady Macleod was a woman who wilfully neglected no duty. Soshe pinched herself, and inhaled the effluvia of the stables, andsquabbled with the cabmen, in order that she might bequeath athousand pounds or two to some Lady Midlothian, who cared, perhaps,little for her, and would hardly thank her memory for the money.

  Had Alice consented to live with her, she would have merged that dutyof leaving money behind her in that other duty of finding a home forher adopted niece. But Alice had gone away, and therefore the moneywas due to Lady Midlothian rather than to her. The saving, however,was postponed whenever Alice would consent to visit Cheltenham; and abedroom was secured for her which did not look out over the stables.Accommodation was also found for her maid much better than thatprovided for Lady Macleod's own maid. She was a hospitable, good oldwoman, painfully struggling to do the best she could in the world. Itwas a pity that she was such a bore, a pity that she was so hard tocabmen and others, a pity that she suspected all tradesmen, servants,and people generally of a rank of life inferior to her own, a pitythat she was disposed to condemn for ever and ever so many of her ownrank because they played cards on week days, and did not go to churchon Sundays,--and a pity, as I think above all, that while she wasso suspicious of the poor she was so lenient to the vices of earls,earl's sons, and such like.

  Alice, having fully considered the matter, had thought it mostprudent to tell Lady Macleod by letter what she had done in regardto Mr. Grey. There had been many objections to the writing of such aletter, but there appeared to be stronger objection to that tellingit face to face which would have been forced upon her had she notwritten. There would in such case have arisen on Lady Macleod'scountenance a sternness of rebuke which Alice did not chooseto encounter. The same sternness of rebuke would come upon thecountenance on receipt of the written information but it would comein its most aggravated form on the immediate receipt of the letter,and some of its bitterness would have passed away before Alice'sarrival. I think that Alice was right. It is better for both partiesthat any great offence should be confessed by letter.

  But Alice trembled as the cab drew up at No. 3, Paramount Crescent.She met her aunt, as was usual, just inside the drawing-room door,and she saw at once that if any bitterness had passed away from thatface, the original bitterness must indeed have been bitter. She hadso timed her letter that Lady Macleod should have no opportunity ofanswering it. The answer was written there in the mingled anger andsorrow of those austere features.

  "Alice!" she said, as she took her niece in her arms and kissed her;"oh, Alice, what is this?"

  "Yes, aunt; it is very bad, I know," and poor Alice tried to make ajest of it. "Young ladies are very wicked when they don't know theirown minds. But if they haven't known them and have been wicked, whatcan they do but repent?"

  "Repent!" said Lady Macleod. "Yes; I hope you will repent. Poor Mr.Grey;--what must he think of it?"

  "I can only hope, aunt, that he won't think of it at all for verylong."

  "That's nonsense, my dear, Of course he'll think of it, and of courseyou'll marry him."

  "Shall I, aunt?"

  "Of course you will. Why, Alice, hasn't it been all settled amongfamilies? Lady Midlothian knew all the particulars of it just aswell as I did. And is not your word pledged to him? I really don'tunderstand what you mean. I don't see how it is possible you shouldgo back. Gentlemen when they do that kind of thing are put out ofsociety;--but I really think it is worse in a woman."

  "Then they may if they please put me out of society;--only that Idon't know that I'm particularly in it."

  "And the wickedness of the thing, Alice! I'm obliged to say so."

  "When you talk to me about society, aunt, and about Lady Midlothian,I give up to you, willingly;--the more willingly, perhaps, because Idon't care much for one or the other." Here Lady Macleod tried to saya word; but she failed, and Alice went on, boldly looking up into heraunt's face, which became a shade more bitter than ever. "But whenyou tell me about wickedness and my conscience, then I must be my ownjudge. It is my conscience, and the fear of committing wickedness,that has made me do this."

  "You should submit to be guided by your elders, Alice."

  "No; my elders in such a matter as this cannot teach me. It cannot beright that I should go to a man's house and be his wife, if I do notthink that I can make him happy."

  "Then why did you accept him?"

  "Because I was mistaken. I am not going to defend that. If you chooseto scold me for that, you may do so, aunt, and I will not answer you.But as to marrying him or not marrying him now,--as to that, I mustjudge for myself."

  "It was a pity you did not know your own mind earlier."

  "It was a pity,--a great pity. I have done myself an injury that isquite irretrievable;--I know that, and am prepared to bear it. I havedone him, too, an injustice which I regret with my whole heart. Ican only excuse myself by saying that I might have done him a worseinjustice."

  All this was said at the very moment of her arrival, and the greetingdid not seem to promise much for the happiness of the next month; butperhaps it was better for them both that the attack and the defenceshould thus be made suddenly, at their first meeting. It is better topull the string at once when you are in the shower-bath, and not tostand shivering, thinking of the inevitable shock which you can onlypostpone for a few minutes. Lady Macleod in this case had pulled thestring, and thus reaped the advantage of her alacrity.

  "Well, my dear," said her ladyship, "I suppose you will like to goup-stairs and take off your bonnet. Mary shall bring you some teawhen you come down." So Alice escaped, and when she returned to thecomfort of her cup of tea in the drawing-room, the fury of the stormhad passed away. She sat talking of other things till dinner; andthough Lady Macleod did during the evening make one allusion to "poorMr. Grey," the subject was allowed to drop. Alice was very tender asto her aunt's ailments, was more than ordinarily attentive to thelong list of Cheltenham iniquities which was displayed to her, andrefrained from combating any of her aunt's religious views. Aftera while they got upon the subject of Aunt Greenow, for whose nameLady Macleod had a special aversion,--as indeed she had for all theVavasor side of Alice's family; and then Alice offered to read, anddid read to her aunt many pages out of one of those terrible books ofwrath, which from time to time come forth and tell us that there isno hope for us. Lady Macleod liked to be so told; and as she now,poor woman, could not read at nights herself, she enjoyed herevening.

  Lady Macleod no doubt did enjoy her niece's sojourn at Cheltenham,but I do not think it could have been pleasant to Alice. On thesecond day nothing was said about Mr. Grey, and Alice hoped that byher continual readings in the book of wrath her aunt's heart mightbe softened towards her. But it seemed that Lady Macleod measuredthe periods of respite, for on the third day and on the fifth shereturned to the attack. "Did John Grey still wish that the matchshould go on?" she asked, categorically. It was in vain that Alicetried to put aside the question, and begged that the matter mightnot be discussed. Lady Macleod insisted on her right to carry on theexamination, and Alice was driven to acknowledge that she believed hedid wish it. She could hardly say otherwise, seeing that she ha
d atthat moment a letter from him in her pocket, in which he still spokeof his engagement as being absolutely binding on him, and expressed ahope that this change from London to Cheltenham would bring her roundand set everything to rights. He certainly did, in a fashion, wavehis hand over her, as Kate had said of him. This letter Alice hadresolved that she would not answer. He would probably write again,and she would beg him to desist. Instead of Cheltenham bringing herround, Cheltenham had made her firmer than ever in her resolution. Iam inclined to think that the best mode of bringing her round at thismoment would have been a course of visits from her cousin George, anda series of letters from her cousin Kate. Lady Macleod's injunctionswould certainly not bring her round.

  After ten days, ten terrible days, devoted to discussions onmatrimony in the morning, and to the book of wrath in theevening,--relieved by two tea-parties, in which the sins ofCheltenham were discussed at length,--Lady Macleod herself got aletter from Mr. Grey. Mr. Grey's kindest compliments to Lady Macleod.He believed that Lady Macleod was aware of the circumstances of hisengagement with Miss Vavasor. Might he call on Miss Vavasor at LadyMacleod's house in Cheltenham? and might he also hope to have thepleasure of making Lady Macleod's acquaintance? Alice had been inthe room when her aunt received this letter, but her aunt had saidnothing, and Alice had not known from whom the letter had come.When her aunt crept away with it after breakfast she had suspectednothing, and had never imagined that Lady Macleod, in the privacy ofher own room looking out upon the stables, had addressed a letter toNethercoats. But such a letter had been addressed to Nethercoats,and Mr. Grey had been informed that he would be received in ParamountCrescent with great pleasure.

  Mr. Grey had even indicated the day on which he would come, and on themorning of that day Lady Macleod had presided over the two teacupsin a state of nervous excitement which was quite visible to Alice.More than once Alice asked little questions, not supposing that shewas specially concerned in the matter which had caused her aunt'sfidgety restlessness, but observing it so plainly that it was almostimpossible not to allude to it. "There's nothing the matter, my dear,at all," at last Lady Macleod said; but as she said so she was makingup her mind that the moment had not come in which she must appriseAlice of Mr. Grey's intended visit. As Alice had questioned her at thebreakfast table she would say nothing about it then, but waited tillthe teacups were withdrawn, and till the maid had given her lastofficious poke to the fire. Then she began. She had Mr. Grey's letterin her pocket, and as she prepared herself to speak, she pulled itout and held it on the little table before her.

  "Alice," she said, "I expect a visitor here to-day."

  Alice knew instantly who was the expected visitor. Probably any girlunder such circumstances would have known equally well. "A visitor,aunt," she said, and managed to hide her knowledge admirably.

  "Yes, Alice a visitor. I should have told you before, only Ithought,--I thought I had better not. It is Mr.--Mr. Grey."

  "Indeed, aunt! Is he coming to see you?"

  "Well;--he is desirous no doubt of seeing you more especially; but hehas expressed a wish to make my acquaintance, which I cannot, underthe circumstances, think is unnatural. Of course, Alice, he must wantto talk over this affair with your friends."

  "I wish I could have spared them," said Alice,--"I wish I could."

  "I have brought his letter here, and you can see it if you please.It is very nicely written, and as far as I am concerned I should notthink of refusing to see him. And now comes the question. What are weto do with him? Am I to ask him to dinner? I take it for granted thathe will not expect me to offer him a bed, as he knows that I live inlodgings."

  "Oh no, aunt; he certainly will not expect that."

  "But ought I to ask him to dinner? I should be most happy toentertain him, though you know how very scanty my means of doing soare;--but I really do not know how it might be,--between you and him,I mean."

  "We should not fight, aunt."

  "No, I suppose not;--but if you cannot be affectionate in your mannerto him--"

  "I will not answer for my manners, aunt; but you may be sure ofthis,--that I should be affectionate in my heart. I shall alwaysregard him as a dearly loved friend; though for many years, no doubt,I shall be unable to express my friendship."

  "That may be all very well, Alice, but it will not be what he willwant. I think upon the whole that I had better not ask him todinner."

  "Perhaps not, aunt."

  "It is a period of the day in which any special constraint amongpeople is more disagreeable than at any other time, and then atdinner the servants must see it. I think there might be someawkwardness if he were to dine here."

  "I really think there would," said Alice, anxious to have the subjectdropped.

  "I hope he won't think that I am inhospitable. I should be so happyto do the best I could for him, for I regard him, Alice, quite asthough he were to be your husband. And when anybody at all connectedwith me has come to Cheltenham I always have asked them to dine, andthen I have Gubbins's man to come and wait at table,--as you know."

  "Of all men in the world Mr. Grey is the last to think about it."

  "That should only make me the more careful. But I think it wouldperhaps be more comfortable if he were to come in the evening."

  "Much more comfortable, aunt."

  "I suppose he will be here in the afternoon, before dinner, and wehad better wait at home for him. I dare say he'll want to see youalone, and therefore I'll retire to my own rooms,"--looking overthe stables! Dear old lady. "But if you wish it, I will receive himfirst--and then Martha,"--Martha was Alice's maid--"can fetch youdown."

  This discussion as to the propriety or impropriety of giving herlover a dinner had not been pleasant to Alice, but, nevertheless,when it was over she felt grateful to Lady Macleod. There was anattempt in the arrangement to make Mr. Grey's visit as little painfulas possible; and though such a discussion at such a time might aswell have been avoided, the decision to which her ladyship had atlast come with reference both to the dinner and the management ofthe visit was, no doubt, the right one.

  Lady Macleod had been quite correct in all her anticipations. Atthree o'clock Mr. Grey was announced, and Lady Macleod, alone,received him in her drawing-room. She had intended to give him agreat deal of good advice, to bid him still keep up his heart and asit were hold up his head, to confess to him how very badly Alice wasbehaving, and to express her entire concurrence with that theory ofbodily ailment as the cause and origin of her conduct. But she foundthat Mr. Grey was a man to whom she could not give much advice. Itwas he who did the speaking at this conference, and not she. Shewas overawed by him after the first three minutes. Indeed her firstglance at him had awed her. He was so handsome,--and then, in hisbeauty, he had so quiet and almost saddened an air! Strange to saythat after she had seen him, Lady Macleod entertained for him aninfinitely higher admiration than before, and yet she was lesssurprised than she had been at Alice's refusal of him. The conferencewas very short; and Mr. Grey had not been a quarter of an hour in thehouse before Martha attended upon her mistress with her summons.

  Alice was ready and came down instantly. She found Mr. Grey standingin the middle of the room waiting to receive her, and the look ofmajesty which had cowed Lady Macleod had gone from his countenance.He could not have received her with a kinder smile, had she come tohim with a promise that she would at this meeting name the day fortheir marriage. "At any rate it does not make him unhappy," she saidto herself.

  "You are not angry," he said, "that I should have followed you allthe way here, to see you."

  "No, certainly; not angry, Mr. Grey. All anger that there may bebetween us must be on your side. I feel that thoroughly."

  "Then there shall be none on either side. Whatever may be done, Iwill not be angry with you. Your father advised me to come down hereto you."

  "You have seen him, then?"

  "Yes, I have seen him. I was in London the day you left."

  "It is so terrible to think that I should
have brought upon you allthis trouble."

  "You will bring upon me much worse trouble than that unless--.But I have not now come down here to tell you that. I believe thataccording to rule in such matters I should not have come to you atall, but I don't know that I care much about such rules."

  "It is I that have broken all rules."

  "When a lady tells a gentleman that she does not wish to see more ofhim--"

  "Oh, Mr. Grey, I have not told you that."

  "Have you not? I am glad at any rate to hear you deny it. But youwill understand what I mean. When a gentleman gets his dismissalfrom a lady he should accept it,--that is, his dismissal under suchcircumstances as I have received mine. But I cannot lay down my lovein that way; nor, maintaining my love, can I give up the battle.It seems to me that I have a right at any rate to know something ofyour comings and goings as long as,--unless, Alice, you should takeanother name than mine."

  "My intention is to keep my own." This she said in the lowestpossible tone,--almost in a whisper,--with her eyes fixed upon theground.

  "And you will not deny me that right?"

  "I cannot hinder you. Whatever you may do, I myself have sinned soagainst you that I can have no right to blame you."

  "There shall be no question between us of injury from one tothe other. In any conversation that we may have, or in anycorrespondence--"

  "Oh, Mr. Grey, do not ask me to write."

  "Listen to me. Should there be any on either side, there shall be noidea of any wrong done."

  "But I have done you wrong;--great wrong."

  "No, Alice; I will not have it so. When I asked you to accept myhand,--begging the greatest boon which it could ever come to my lotto ask from a fellow-mortal,--I knew well how great was your goodnessto me when you told me that it should be mine. Now that you refuseit, I know also that you are good, thinking that in doing so you areacting for my welfare,--thinking more of my welfare than of yourown."

  "Oh yes, yes; it is so, Mr. Grey; indeed it is so."

  "Believing that, how can I talk of wrong? That you are wrong in yourthinking on this subject,--that your mind has become twisted byfalse impressions,--that I believe. But I cannot therefore love youless,--nor, so believing, can I consider myself to be injured. Nor amI even so little selfish as you are. I think if you were my wife thatI could make you happy; but I feel sure that my happiness depends onyour being my wife."

  She looked up into his face, but it was still serene in all its manlybeauty. Her cousin George, if he were moved to strong feeling, showedit at once in his eyes,--in his mouth, in the whole visage of hiscountenance. He glared in his anger, and was impassioned in his love.But Mr. Grey when speaking of the happiness of his entire life, whenconfessing that it was now at stake with a decision against him thatwould be ruinous to it, spoke without a quiver in his voice, andhad no more sign of passion in his face than if he were telling hisgardener to move a rose tree.

  "I hope--and believe that you will find your happiness elsewhere, Mr.Grey."

  "Well; we can but differ, Alice. In that we do differ. And now I willsay one word to explain why I have come here. If I were to write toyou against your will, it would seem that I were persecuting you. Icannot bring myself to do that, even though I had the right. But if Iwere to let you go from me, taking what you have said to me and doingnothing, it would seem that I had accepted your decision as final. Ido not do so. I will not do so. I come simply to tell you that I amstill your suitor. If you will let me, I will see you again earlyin January,--as soon as you have returned to town. You will hardlyrefuse to see me."

  "No," she said; "I cannot refuse to see you."

  "Then it shall be so," he said, "and I will not trouble you withletters, nor will I trouble you longer now with words. Tell your auntthat I have said what I came to say, and that I give her my kindestthanks." Then he took her hand and pressed it,--not as George Vavasorhad pressed it,--and was gone. When Lady Macleod returned, she foundthat the question of the evening's tea arrangements had settleditself.