CHAPTER LII.
WHY DON'T YOU HAVE AN "IT" FOR YOURSELF?
Of course it came to pass that Lily Dale and Emily Dunstable weresoon very intimate, and that they saw each other every day. Indeed,before long they would have been living together in the same househad it not been that the squire had felt reluctant to abandon theindependence of his own lodgings. When Mrs. Thorne had pressed herinvitation for the second, and then for the third time, asking themboth to come to her large house, he had begged his niece to go andleave him alone. "You need not regard me," he had said, speakingnot with the whining voice of complaint, but with that thin tingeof melancholy which was usual to him. "I am so much alone down atAllington, that you need not mind leaving me." But Lily would notgo on those terms, and therefore they still lived together in thelodgings. Nevertheless Lily was every day at Mrs. Thorne's house, andthus a great intimacy grew up between the girls. Emily Dunstable hadneither brother nor sister, and Lily's nearest male relative in herown degree was now Miss Dunstable's betrothed husband. It was naturaltherefore that they should at any rate try to like each other. Itafterwards came to pass that Lily did go to Mrs. Thorne's house, andshe stayed there for awhile; but when that occurred the squire hadgone back to Allington.
Among other generous kindnesses Mrs. Thorne insisted that Bernardshould hire a horse for his cousin Lily. Emily Dunstable rode daily,and of course Captain Dale rode with her;--and now Lily joined theparty. Almost before she knew what was being done she found herselfprovided with hat and habit and horse and whip. It was a way withMrs. Thorne that they who came within the influence of her immediatesphere should be made to feel that the comforts and luxuries arisingfrom her wealth belonged to a common stock, and were the jointproperty of them all. Things were not offered and taken and talkedabout, but they made their appearance, and were used as a matter ofcourse. If you go to stay at a gentleman's house you understand that,as a matter of course, you will be provided with meat and drink. Somehosts furnish you also with cigars. A small number give you stablingand forage for your horse; and a very select few mount you onhunting days, and send you out with a groom and a second horse.Mrs. Thorne went beyond all others in this open-handed hospitality.She had enormous wealth at her command, and had but few of thoseall-absorbing drains upon wealth which in this country make so manyrich men poor. She had no family property,--no place to keep up inwhich she did not live. She had no retainers to be maintained becausethey were retainers. She had neither sons nor daughters. Consequentlyshe was able to be lavish in her generosity; and as her heart wasvery lavish, she would have given her friends gold to eat hadgold been good for eating. Indeed there was no measure in hergiving,--unless when the idea came upon her that the recipient ofher favours was trading on them. Then she could hold her hand verystoutly.
Lily Dale had not liked the idea of being fitted out thusexpensively. A box at the opera was all very well, as it was notprocured especially for her. And tickets for other theatres did notseem to come unnaturally for a night or two. But her spirit hadmilitated against the hat and the habit and the horse. The whip was alittle present from Emily Dunstable, and that of course was acceptedwith a good grace. Then there came the horse,--as though from theheavens; there seemed to be ten horses, twenty horses, if anybodyneeded them. All these things seemed to flow naturally into Mrs.Thorne's establishment, like air through the windows. It was verypleasant, but Lily hesitated when she was told that a habit was tobe given to her. "My dear old aunt insists," said Emily Dunstable."Nobody ever thinks of refusing anything from her. If you only knewwhat some people will take, and some people will even ask, who havenothing to do with her at all!" "But I have nothing to do withher,--in that way I mean," said Lily. "Oh, yes, you have," saidEmily. "You and Bernard are as good as brother and sister, andBernard and I are as good as man and wife, and my aunt and I are asgood as mother and daughter. So you see, in a sort of a way you area child of the house." So Lily accepted the habit; but made a standat the hat, and paid for that out of her own pocket. When the squirehad seen Lily on horseback he asked her questions about it. "Itwas a hired horse, I suppose?" he said. "I think it came directfrom heaven," said Lily. "What do you mean, Lily?" said the squire,angrily. "I mean that when people are so rich and good-natured asMrs. Thorne it is no good inquiring where things come from. All thatI know is that the horses come out of Potts' livery-stable. Theytalk of Potts as if he were a good-natured man who provides horsesfor the world without troubling anybody." Then the squire spoke toBernard about it, saying that he should insist on defraying hisniece's expenses. But Bernard swore that he could give his uncle noassistance. "I would not speak to her about such a thing for all theworld," said Bernard. "Then I shall," said the squire.
In those days Lily thought much of Johnny Eames,--gave to him perhapsmore of that thought which leads to love than she had ever givenhim before. She still heard the Crawley question discussed everyday. Mrs. Thorne, as we all know, was at this time a Barsetshirepersonage, and was of course interested in Barsetshire subjects; andshe was specially anxious in the matter, having strong hopes withreference to the marriage of Major Grantly and Grace, and stronghopes also that Grace's father might escape the fangs of justice. TheCrawley case was constantly in Lily's ears, and as constantly sheheard high praise awarded to Johnny for his kindness in going afterthe Arabins. "He must be a fine young fellow," said Mrs. Thorne, "andwe'll have him down at Chaldicotes some day. Old Lord De Guest foundhim out and made a friend of him, and old Lord De Guest was no fool."Lily was not altogether free from a suspicion that Mrs. Thorne knewthe story of Johnny's love and was trying to serve Johnny,--as otherpeople had tried to do, very ineffectually. When this suspicion cameupon her she would shut her heart against her lover's praises, andswear that she would stand by those two letters which she had writtenin her book at home. But the suspicion would not be always there, andthere did come upon her a conviction that her lover was more esteemedamong men and women than she had been accustomed to believe. Hercousin, Bernard Dale, who certainly was regarded in the world assomebody, spoke of him as his equal; whereas in former days Bernardhad always regarded Johnny Eames as standing low in the world'sregard. Then Lily, when alone, would remember a certain comparisonwhich she once made between Adolphus Crosbie and John Eames, whenneither of the men had as yet pleaded his cause to her, and which hadbeen very much in favour of the former. She had then declared thatJohnny was a "mere clerk." She had a higher opinion of him now,--amuch higher opinion, even though he could never be more to her than afriend.
In these days Lily's new ally, Emily Dunstable, seemed to Lily to beso happy! There was in Emily a complete realization of that idea ofante-nuptial blessedness of which Lily had often thought so much.Whatever Emily did she did for Bernard; and, to give Captain Dale hisdue, he received all the sweets which were showered upon him withbecoming signs of gratitude. I suppose it is always the case at suchtimes that the girl has the best of it, and on this occasion EmilyDunstable certainly made the most of her happiness. "I do envy you,"Lily said one day. The acknowledgment seemed to have been extortedfrom her involuntarily. She did not laugh as she spoke, or follow upwhat she had said with other words intended to take away the jokeof what she had uttered,--had it been a joke; but she sat silent,looking at the girl who was re-arranging flowers which Bernard hadbrought to her.
"I can't give him up to you, you know," said Emily.
"I don't envy you him, but 'it,'" said Lily.
"Then go and get an 'it' for yourself. Why don't you have an 'it' foryourself? You can have an 'it' to-morrow, if you like,--or two orthree, if all that I hear is true."
"No, I can't," said Lily. "Things have gone wrong with me. Don't askme anything more about it. Pray don't. I shan't speak of it if youdo."
"Of course I will not if you tell me I must not."
"I do tell you so. I have been a fool to say anything about it.However, I have got over my envy now, and am ready to go out withyour aunt. Here she is."
"Things have gone wrong with me."
She repeated the same words toherself over and over again. With all the efforts which she had madeshe could not quite reconcile herself to the two letters which shehad written in the book. This coming up to London, and riding in thePark, and going to the theatres, seemed to unsettle her. At home shehad schooled herself down into quiescence, and made herself thinkthat she believed that she was satisfied with the prospects of herlife. But now she was all astray again, doubting about herself,hankering after something over and beyond that which seemed to beallotted to her,--but, nevertheless, assuring herself that she neverwould accept of anything else.
I must not, if I can help it, let the reader suppose that she wassoftening her heart to John Eames because John Eames was spoken wellof in the world. But with all of us, in the opinion which we formof those around us, we take unconsciously the opinion of others. Awoman is handsome because the world says so. Music is charming tous because it charms others. We drink our wines with other men'spalates, and look at our pictures with other men's eyes. When Lilyheard John Eames praised by all around her, it could not be but thatshe should praise him too,--not out loud, as others did, but in thesilence of her heart. And then his constancy to her had been soperfect! If that other one had never come! If it could be that shemight begin again, and that she might be spared that episode in herlife which had brought him and her together!
"When is Mr. Eames going to be back?" Mrs. Thorne said at dinner oneday. On this occasion the squire was dining at Mrs. Thorne's house;and there were three or four others there,--among them a Mr. HaroldSmith, who was in Parliament, and his wife, and John Eames's especialfriend, Sir Raffle Buffle. The question was addressed to the squire,but the squire was slow to answer, and it was taken up by Sir RaffleBuffle.
"He'll be back on the 15th," said the knight, "unless he means toplay truant. I hope he won't do that, as his absence has been aterrible inconvenience to me." Then Sir Raffle explained that JohnEames was his private secretary, and that Johnny's journey to theContinent had been made with, and could not have been made without,his sanction. "When I came to hear the story, of course I told himthat he must go. 'Eames,' I said, 'take the advice of a man who knowsthe world. Circumstanced as you are, you are bound to go.' And hewent."
"Upon my word that was very good-natured of you," said Mrs. Thorne.
"I never keep a fellow to his desk who has really got importantbusiness elsewhere," said Sir Raffle. "The country, I say, can affordto do as much as that for her servants. But then I like to know thatthe business is business. One doesn't choose to be humbugged."
"I daresay you are humbugged, as you call it, very often," saidHarold Smith.
"Perhaps so; perhaps I am; perhaps that is the opinion which theyhave of me at the Treasury. But you were hardly long enough there,Smith, to have learned much about it, I should say."
"I don't suppose I should have known much about it, as you call it,if I had stayed till Doomsday."
"I daresay not; I daresay not. Men who begin as late as you did neverknow what official life really means. Now I've been at it all mylife, and I think I do understand it."
"It's not a profession I should like unless where it's joined withpolitics," said Harold Smith.
"But then it's apt to be so short," said Sir Raffle Buffle. Now ithad happened once in the life of Mr. Harold Smith that he had beenin a Ministry, but, unfortunately, that Ministry had gone out almostwithin a week of the time of Mr. Smith's adhesion. Sir Raffle and Mr.Smith had known each other for many years, and were accustomed tomake civil little speeches to each other in society.
"I'd sooner be a horse in a mill than have to go to an office everyday," said Mrs. Smith, coming to her husband's assistance. "You, SirRaffle, have kept yourself fresh and pleasant through it all; but whobesides you ever did?"
"I hope I am fresh," said Sir Raffle; "and as for pleasantness, Iwill leave that for you to determine."
"There can be but one opinion," said Mrs. Thorne.
The conversation had strayed away from John Eames, and Lily wasdisappointed. It was a pleasure to her when people talked of himin her hearing, and as a question or two had been asked about him,making him the hero of the moment, it seemed to her that he wasbeing robbed of his due when the little amenities between Mr. andMrs. Harold Smith and Sir Raffle banished his name from the circle.Nothing more, however, was said of him at dinner, and I fear that hewould have been altogether forgotten throughout the evening, had notLily herself referred,--not to him, which she could not possibly havebeen induced to do,--but to the subject of his journey. "I wonderwhether poor Mr. Crawley will be found guilty?" she said to SirRaffle up in the drawing-room.
"I am afraid he will; I am afraid he will," said Sir Raffle; "and Ifear, my dear Miss Dale, that I must go further than that. I fear Imust express an opinion that he is guilty."
"Nothing will ever make me think so," said Lily.
"Ladies are always tender-hearted," said Sir Raffle, "and especiallyyoung ladies,--and especially pretty young ladies. I do not wonderthat such should be your opinion. But you see, Miss Dale, a man ofbusiness has to look at these things in a business light. What I wantto know is, where did he get the cheque? He is bound to be explicitin answering that before anybody can acquit him."
"That is just what Mr. Eames has gone abroad to learn."
"It is very well for Eames to go abroad,--though, upon my word, Idon't know whether I should not have given him different advice ifI had known how much I was to be tormented by his absence. The thingcouldn't have happened at a more unfortunate time;--the Ministrygoing out, and everything. But, as I was saying, it is all very wellfor him to do what he can. He is related to them, and is bound tosave the honour of his relations if it be possible. I like him forgoing. I always liked him. As I said to my friend De Guest, 'Thatyoung man will make his way.' And I rather fancy that the chance wordwhich I spoke then to my valued old friend was not thrown away inEames's favour. But, my dear Miss Dale, where did Mr. Crawley getthat cheque? That's what I want to know. If you can tell me that,then I can tell you whether or no he will be acquitted."
Lily did not feel a strong prepossession in favour of Sir Raffle, inspite of his praise of John Eames. The harsh voice of the man annoyedher, and his egotism offended her. When, much later in the evening,his character came on for discussion between herself and Mrs. Thorneand Emily Dunstable, she had not a word to say in his favour. Butstill she had been pleased to meet him, because he was the man withwhom Johnny's life was most specially concerned. I think that aportion of her dislike to him arose from the fact that in continuingthe conversation he did not revert to his private secretary, butpreferred to regale her with stories of his own doings in wonderfulcases which had partaken of interest similar to that which nowattached itself to Mr. Crawley's case. He had known a man who hadstolen a hundred pounds, and had never been found out; and anotherman who had been arrested for stealing two-and-sixpence which wasfound afterwards sticking to a bit of butter at the bottom of aplate. Mrs. Thorne had heard all this, and had answered him, "Dearme, Sir Raffle," she had said, "what a great many thieves you havehad among your acquaintance!" This had rather disconcerted him, andthen there had been no more talking about Mr. Crawley.
It had been arranged on this morning that Mr. Dale should return toAllington and leave Lily with Mrs. Thorne. Some special need of hispresence at home, real or assumed, had arisen, and he had declaredthat he must shorten his stay in London by about half the intendedperiod. The need would not have been so pressing, probably, had henot felt that Lily would be more comfortable with Mrs. Thorne thanin his lodgings in Sackville Street. Lily had at first declared thatshe would return with him, but everybody had protested against this.Emily Dunstable had protested against it very stoutly; Mrs. Daleherself had protested against it by letter; and Mrs. Thorne's protesthad been quite imperious in its nature. "Indeed, my dear, you'll donothing of the kind. I'm sure your mother wouldn't wish it. I lookupon it as quite essential that you and Emily should learn to knoweach other." "But we do know each oth
er; don't we, Emily?" said Lily."Not quite well yet," said Emily. Then Lily had laughed, and so thematter was settled. And now, on this present occasion, Mr. Dale wasat Mrs. Thorne's house for the last time. His conscience had beenperplexed about Lily's horse, and if anything was to be said it mustbe said now. The subject was very disagreeable to him, and he wasangry with Bernard because Bernard had declined to manage it for himafter his own fashion. But he had told himself so often that anythingwas better than a pecuniary obligation, that he was determined tospeak his mind to Mrs. Thorne, and to beg her to allow him to havehis way. So he waited till the Harold Smiths were gone, and SirRaffle Buffle, and then, when Lily was apart with Emily,--for BernardDale had left them,--he found himself at last alone with Mrs. Thorne.
"I can't be too much obliged to you," he said, "for your kindness tomy girl."
"Oh, laws, that's nothing," said Mrs. Thorne. "We look on her as oneof us now."
"I'm sure she is grateful,--very grateful; and so am I. She andBernard have been brought up so much together that it is verydesirable that she should be not unknown to Bernard's wife."
"Exactly,--that's just what I mean. Blood's thicker than water; isn'tit? Emily's child, if she has one, will be Lily's cousin."
"Her first-cousin once removed," said the squire, who was accuratein these matters. Then he drew himself up in his seat and compressedhis lips together, and prepared himself for his task. It was verydisagreeable. Nothing, he thought, could be more disagreeable. "Ihave a little thing to speak about," he said at last, "which I hopewill not offend you."
"About Lily?"
"Yes; about Lily."
"I'm not very easily offended, and I don't know how I could possiblybe offended about her."
"I'm an old-fashioned man, Mrs. Thorne, and don't know much about theways of the world. I have always been down in the country, and maybeI have prejudices. You won't refuse to humour one of them, I hope?"
"You're beginning to frighten me, Mr. Dale; what is it?"
"About Lily's horse."
"Lily's horse! What about her horse? I hope he's not vicious?"
"She is riding every day with your niece," said the squire, thinkingit best to stick to his own point.
"It will do her all the good in the world," said Mrs. Thorne.
"Very likely. I don't doubt it. I do not in the least disapprove herriding. But--"
"But what, Mr. Dale?"
"I should be so much obliged if I might be allowed to pay thelivery-stable keeper's bill."
"Oh, laws a' mercy."
"I daresay it may sound odd, but as I have a fancy about it, I'm sureyou'll gratify me."
"Of course I will. I'll remember it. I'll make it all right withBernard. Bernard and I have no end of accounts,--or shall have beforelong,--and we'll make an item of it. Then you can arrange withBernard afterwards."
Mr. Dale as he got up to go away felt that he was beaten, but he didnot know how to carry the battle any further on that occasion. Hecould not take out his purse and put down the cost of the horse onthe table. "I will then speak to my nephew about it," he said, verygravely, as he went away. And he did speak to his nephew about it,and even wrote to him more than once. But it was all to no purpose.Mr. Potts could not be induced to give a separate bill, and,--so saidBernard,--swore at last that he would furnish no account to anybodyfor horses that went to Mrs. Thorne's door except to Mrs. Thorneherself.
That night Lily took leave of her uncle and remained at Mrs. Thorne'shouse. As things were now arranged she would, no doubt, be in Londonwhen John Eames returned. If he should find her in town--and she toldherself that if she was in town he certainly would find her,--hewould, doubtless, repeat to her the offer he had so often madebefore. She never ventured to tell herself that she doubted as tothe answer to be made to him. The two letters were written in thebook, and must remain there. But she felt that she would have hadmore courage for persistency down at Allington than she would be ableto summon to her assistance up in London. She knew she would be weak,should she be found by him alone in Mrs. Thorne's drawing-room. Itwould be better for her to make some excuse and go home. She wasresolved that she would not become his wife. She could not extricateherself from the dominion of a feeling which she believed to be lovefor another man. She had given a solemn promise both to her motherand to John Eames that she would not marry that other man; but indoing so she had made a solemn promise to herself that she wouldnot marry John Eames. She had sworn it and would keep her oath. Andyet she regretted it! In writing home to her mother the next day,she told Mrs. Dale that all the world was speaking well of JohnEames,--that John had won for himself a reputation of his own, andwas known far and wide to be a noble fellow. She could not keepherself from praising John Eames, though she knew that such praisemight, and would, be used against her at some future time. "ThoughI cannot love him I will give him his due," she said to herself.
"I wish you would make up your mind to have an 'it' for yourself,"Emily Dunstable said to her again that night; "a nice 'it,' so that Icould make a friend, perhaps a brother, of him."
"I shall never have an 'it,' if I live to be a hundred," said LilyDale.
The Last Chronicle of Barset Page 54
