Can You Forgive Her?

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  Containing an Answer to the Love Letter.

  Alice had had a week allowed to her to write her answer; but shesent it off before the full week was past. "Why should I keep him insuspense?" she said. "If it is to be so, there can be no good in notsaying so at once." Then she thought, also, that if this were to beher destiny it might be well for Mr. Grey that all his doubts on thematter should be dispelled. She had treated him badly,--very badly.She had so injured him that the remembrance of the injury must alwaysbe a source of misery to her; but she owed to him above everything tolet him know what were her intentions as soon as they were settled.She tried to console herself by thinking that the wound to him wouldbe easy to cure. "He also is not passionate," she said. But in sosaying she deceived herself. He was a man in whom Love could be verypassionate;--and was, moreover, one in whom Love could hardly berenewed.

  Each morning Kate asked her whether her answer was written; and onthe third day after Christmas, just before dinner, Alice said thatshe had written it, and that it was gone.

  "But it isn't post-day," said Kate;--for the post illuminated Vavasorbut three days a week.

  "I have given a boy sixpence to take it to Shap," said Alice,blushing.

  "And what have you said?" asked Kate, taking hold of the other's arm.

  "I have kept my promise," said Alice; "and do you keep yours byasking no further questions."

  "My sister,--my own sister," said Kate. And then, as Alice met herembrace, there was no longer any doubt as to the nature of the reply.

  After this there was of course much close discussion between them asto what other steps should now be taken. Kate wanted her cousin towrite immediately to Mr. Grey, and was somewhat frightened when Alicedeclined to do so till she had received a further letter from George."You have not proposed any horrid stipulations to him?" exclaimedKate.

  "I don't know what you may call horrid stipulations," said Alice,gravely. "My conditions have not been very hard, and I do not thinkyou would have disapproved them."

  "But he!--He is so impetuous! Will he disapprove them?"

  "I have told him-- But, Kate, this is just what I did not mean totell you."

  "Why should there be secrets between us?" said Kate.

  "There shall be none, then. I have told him that I cannot bringmyself to marry him instantly;--that he must allow me twelvemonths to wear off, if I can in that time, much of sadness and ofself-reproach which has fallen to my lot."

  "Twelve months, Alice?"

  "Listen to me. I have said so. But I have told him also that if hewishes it still, I will at once tell papa and grandpapa that I holdmyself as engaged to him, so that he may know that I bind myselfto him as far as it is possible that I should do so. And I haveadded something else, Kate," she continued to say after a slightpause,--"something else which I can tell you, though I could tell itto no other person. I can tell you because you would do, and willdo the same. I have told him that any portion of my money is at hisservice which may be needed for his purposes before that twelvemonths is over."

  "Oh, Alice! No;--no. You shall not do that. It is too generous." AndKate perhaps felt at the moment that her brother was a man to whomsuch an offer could hardly be made with safety.

  "But I have done it. Mercury, with sixpence in his pocket, is alreadyposting my generosity at Shap. And, to tell the truth, Kate, it isno more than fair. He has honestly told me that while the old Squirelives he will want my money to assist him in a career of which I domuch more than approve. It has been my earnest wish to see him inParliament. It will now be the most earnest desire of my heart;--theone thing as to which I shall feel an intense anxiety. How then canI have the face to bid him wait twelve months for that which isspecially needed in six months' time? It would be like the workhouseswhich are so long in giving bread, that in the mean time the wretchesstarve."

  "But the wretch shan't starve," said Kate. "My money, small as it is,will carry him over this bout. I have told him that he shall have it,and that I expect him to spend it. Moreover, I have no doubt thatAunt Greenow would lend me what he wants."

  "But I should not wish him to borrow from Aunt Greenow. She wouldadvance him the money, as you say, upon stamped paper, and then talkof it."

  "He shall have mine," said Kate.

  "And who are you?" said Alice, laughing. "You are not going to be hiswife?"

  "He shall not touch your money till you are his wife," said Kate,very seriously. "I wish you would consent to change your mind aboutthis stupid tedious year, and then you might do as you pleased. Ihave no doubt such a settlement might be made as to the propertyhere, when my grandfather hears of it, as would make you ultimatelysafe."

  "And do you think I care to be ultimately safe, as you call it? Kate,my dear, you do not understand me."

  "I suppose not. And yet I thought that I had known something aboutyou."

  "It is because I do not care for the safety of which you speak that Iam now going to become your brother's wife. Do you suppose that I donot see that I must run much risk?"

  "You prefer the excitement of London to the tranquillity, may I say,of Cambridgeshire."

  "Exactly;--and therefore I have told George that he shall have mymoney whenever he wants it."

  Kate was very persistent in her objection to this scheme tillGeorge's answer came. His answer to Alice was accompanied by a letterto his sister, and after that Kate said nothing more about themoney question. She said no more then; but it must not therefore besupposed that she was less determined than she had been that no partof Alice's fortune should be sacrificed to her brother's wants;--atany rate before Alice should become her brother's wife. But herbrother's letter for the moment stopped her mouth. It would benecessary that she should speak to him before she again spoke toAlice.

  In what words Alice had written her assent it will be necessary thatthe reader should know, in order that something may be understoodof the struggle which she made upon the occasion but they shall begiven presently, when I come to speak of George Vavasor's position ashe received them. George's reply was very short and apparently veryfrank. He deprecated the delay of twelve months, and still hoped tobe able to induce her to be more lenient to him. He advised her towrite to Mr. Grey at once,--and as regarded the Squire he gave her_carte blanche_ to act as she pleased. If the Squire required anykind of apology, expression of sorrow,--and asking for pardon, orsuch like, he, George, would, under the circumstances as they nowexisted, comply with the requisition most willingly. He would regardit as a simple form, made necessary by his coming marriage. As toAlice's money, he thanked her heartily for her confidence. If thenature of his coming contest at Chelsea should make it necessary,he would use her offer as frankly as it had been made. Such was hisletter to Alice. What was contained in his letter to Kate, Alicenever knew.

  Then came the business of telling this new love tale,--thethird which poor Alice had been forced to tell her father andgrandfather;--and a grievous task it was. In this matter she fearedher father much more than her grandfather, and therefore she resolvedto tell her grandfather first;--or, rather, she determined that shewould tell the Squire, and that in the mean time Kate should talk toher father.

  "Grandpapa," she said to him the morning after she had received hercousin's second letter.--The old man was in the habit of breakfastingalone in a closet of his own, which was called his dressing-room,but in which he kept no appurtenances for dressing, but in lieu ofthem a large collection of old spuds and sticks and horse's-bits.There was a broken spade here, and a hoe or two; and a small tablein the corner was covered with the debris of tradesmen's billsfrom Penrith, and dirty scraps which he was wont to call his farmaccounts.--"Grandpapa," said Alice, rushing away at once into themiddle of her subject, "you told me the other day that you thoughtI ought to be--married."

  "Did I, my dear? Well, yes; so I did. And so you ought;--I mean tothat Mr. Grey."

  "That is impossible, sir."

  "Then what's the use of your coming and talking
to me about it?"

  This made Alice's task not very easy; but, nevertheless, shepersevered. "I am come, grandpapa, to tell you of anotherengagement."

  "Another!" said he. And by the tone of his voice he accused hisgranddaughter of having a larger number of favoured suitors thanought to fall to the lot of any young lady. It was very hard uponher, but still she went on.

  "You know," said she, "that some years ago I was to have been marriedto my cousin George;"--and then she paused.

  "Well," said the old man.

  "And I remember you told me then that you were much pleased."

  "So I was. George was doing well then; or,--which is morelikely,--had made us believe that he was doing well. Have you made itup with him again?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And that's the meaning of your jilting Mr. Grey, is it?"

  Poor Alice! It is hard to explain how heavy a blow fell uponher from the open utterance of that word! Of all words in thelanguage it was the one which she now most dreaded. She had calledherself a jilt, with that inaudible voice which one uses in makingself-accusations;--but hitherto no lips had pronounced the odiousword to her ears. Poor Alice! She was a jilt; and perhaps it may havebeen well that the old man should tell her so.

  "Grandpapa!" she said; and there was that in the tone of her voicewhich somewhat softened the Squire's heart.

  "Well, my dear, I don't want to be ill-natured. So you are going atlast to marry George, are you? I hope he'll treat you well; that'sall. Does your father approve of it?"

  "I have told you first, sir;--because I wish to obtain your consentto seeing George again here as your grandson."

  "Never," said the old man, snarling;--"never!"

  "If he has been wrong, he will beg your pardon."

  "If he has been wrong! Didn't he want to squander every shilling ofthe property,--property which has never belonged to him;--propertywhich I could give to Tom, Dick, or Harry to-morrow, if I liked?--Ifhe has been wrong!"

  "I am not defending him, sir;--but I thought that, perhaps, on suchan occasion as this--"

  "A Tom Fool's occasion! You've got money of your own. He'll spend allthat now."

  "He will be less likely to do so if you will recognise him as yourheir. Pray believe, sir, that he is not the sort of man that he was."

  "He must be a very clever sort of man, I think, when he has talkedyou out of such a husband as John Grey. It's astounding to me,--withthat ugly mug of his! Well, my dear, if your father approves of it,and if George will ask my pardon,--but I don't think he ever will--"

  "He will, sir. I am his messenger for as much as that."

  "Oh, you are, are you? Then you may also be my messenger to him, andtell him that, for your sake, I will let him come back here. I knowhe'll insult me the first day; but I'll try and put up with it,--foryour sake, my dear. Of course I must know what your father thinksabout it."

  It may be imagined that Kate's success was even less than that whichAlice achieved. "I knew it would be so," said John Vavasor, when hisniece first told him;--and as he spoke he struck his hand upon thetable. "I knew all along how it would be."

  "And why should it not be so, Uncle John?"

  "He is your brother, and I will not tell you why."

  "You think that he is a spendthrift?"

  "I think that he is as unsafe a man as ever I knew to be intrustedwith the happiness of any young woman. That is all."

  "You are hard upon him, uncle."

  "Perhaps so. Tell Alice this from me,--that as I have never yet beenable to get her to think anything of my opinion, I do not at allexpect that I shall be able to induce her to do so now. I will noteven make the attempt. As my son-in-law I will not receive GeorgeVavasor. Tell Alice that."

  Alice was told her father's message; but Kate in telling it felt nodeep regret. She well knew that Alice would not be turned back fromher present intention by her father's wishes. Nor would it havebeen very reasonable that she should. Her father had for many yearsrelieved himself from the burden of a father's cares, and now hadhardly the right to claim a father's privileges.

  We will now go once again to George Vavasor's room in Cecil Street,in which he received Alice's letter. He was dressing when it wasfirst brought to him; and when he recognised the handwriting he putit down on his toilet table unopened. He put it down, and went onbrushing his hair, as though he were determined to prove to himselfthat he was indifferent as to the tidings which it might contain.He went on brushing his hair, and cleaning his teeth, and tying hiscravat carefully over his turned-down collar, while the unopenedletter lay close to his hand. Of course he was thinking of it,--ofcourse he was anxious,--of course his eye went to it from momentto moment. But he carried it with him into the sitting-room stillunopened, and so it remained until after the girl had brought him histea and his toast. "And now," said he, as he threw himself into hisarm-chair, "let us see what the girl of my heart says to me." Thegirl of his heart said to him as follows:--

  MY DEAR GEORGE,

  I feel great difficulty in answering your letter. Could I have my own way, I should make no answer to it at present, but leave it for the next six months, so that then such answer might hereafter be made as circumstances should seem to require. This will be little flattering to you, but it is less flattering to myself. Whatever answer I may make, how can anything in this affair be flattering either to you or to me? We have been like children who have quarrelled over our game of play, till now, at the close of our little day of pleasure, we are fain to meet each other in tears, and acknowledge that we have looked for delights where no delights were to be found.

  Kate, who is here, talks to me of passionate love. There is no such passion left to me;--nor, as I think, to you either. It would not now be possible that you and I should come together on such terms as that. We could not stand up together as man and wife with any hope of a happy marriage, unless we had both agreed that such happiness might be had without passionate love.

  You will see from all this that I do not refuse your offer. Without passion, I have for you a warm affection, which enables me to take a livelier interest in your career than in any other of the matters which are around me. Of course, if I become your wife that interest will be still closer and dearer, and I do feel that I can take in it that concern which a wife should have in her husband's affairs.

  If it suits you, I will become your wife;--but it cannot be quite at once. I have suffered much from the past conflicts of my life, and there has been very much with which I must reproach myself. I know that I have behaved badly. Sometimes I have to undergo the doubly bitter self-accusation of having behaved in a manner which the world will call unfeminine. You must understand that I have not passed through this unscathed, and I must beg you to allow me some time for a cure. A perfect cure I may never expect, but I think that in twelve months from this time I may so far have recovered my usual spirit and ease of mind as to enable me to devote myself to your happiness. Dear George, if you will accept me under such circumstances, I will be your wife, and will endeavour to do my duty by you faithfully.

  I have said that even now, as your cousin, I take a lively interest in your career,--of course I mean your career as a politician,--and especially in your hopes of entering Parliament. I understand, accurately as I think, what you have said about my fortune, and I perfectly appreciate your truth and frankness. If I had nothing of my own you, in your circumstances, could not possibly take me as your wife. I know, moreover, that your need of assistance from my means is immediate rather than prospective. My money may be absolutely necessary to you within this year, during which, as I tell you most truly, I cannot bring myself to become a married woman. But my money shall be less cross-grained than myself. You will take it as frankly as I mean it when I say, that whatever you want for your political purposes shall be forthcoming at your slightest wish. Dear George, let me have the honour and glory of m
arrying a man who has gained a seat in the Parliament of Great Britain! Of all positions which a man may attain that, to me, is the grandest.

  I shall wait for a further letter from you before I speak either to my father or to my grandfather. If you can tell me that you accede to my views, I will at once try to bring about a reconciliation between you and the Squire. I think that that will be almost easier than inducing my father to look with favour upon our marriage. But I need hardly say that should either one or the other oppose it,--or should both do so,--that would not turn me from my purpose.

  I also wait for your answer to write a last line to Mr. Grey.

  Your affectionate cousin,

  ALICE VAVASOR.

  George Vavasor when he had read the letter threw it carelessly fromhim on to the breakfast table, and began to munch his toast. He threwit carelessly from him, as though taking a certain pride in hiscarelessness. "Very well," said he; "so be it. It is probably thebest thing that I could do, whatever the effect may be on her." Thenhe took up his newspaper. But before the day was over he had mademany plans,--plans made almost unconsciously,--as to the benefitwhich might accrue to him from the offer which she had made of hermoney. And before night he had written that reply to her of which wehave heard the contents; and had written also to his sister Kate aletter, of which Kate had kept the contents to herself.