Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope (interesting books to read TXT) 📖

CHAPTER XLV

Law Business in London

 

On the Monday morning at six o’clock, Mr Oriel and Frank started

together; but early as it was, Beatrice was up to give them a cup of

coffee, Mr Oriel having slept that night in the house. Whether Frank

would have received his coffee from his sister’s fair hands had not

Mr Oriel been there, may be doubted. He, however, loudly asserted

that he should not have done so, when she laid claim to great merit

for rising in his behalf.

 

Mr Oriel had been specially instigated by Lady Arabella to use the

opportunity of their joint journey, for pointing out to Frank the

iniquity as well as madness of the course he was pursuing; and he had

promised to obey her ladyship’s behests. But Mr Oriel was perhaps not

an enterprising man, and was certainly not a presumptuous one. He did

intend to do as he was bid; but when he began, with the object of

leading up to the subject of Frank’s engagement, he always softened

down into some much easier enthusiasm in the matter of his own

engagement with Beatrice. He had not that perspicuous, but not

over-sensitive strength of mind which had enabled Harry Baker to

express his opinion out at once; and boldly as he did it, yet to do

so without offence.

 

Four times before the train arrived in London, he made some little

attempt; but four times he failed. As the subject was matrimony, it

was his easiest course to begin about himself; but he never could get

any further.

 

“No man was ever more fortunate in a wife than I shall be,” he said,

with a soft, euphuistic self-complacency, which would have been silly

had it been adopted to any other person than the bride’s brother. His

intention, however, was very good, for he meant to show, that in his

case marriage was prudent and wise, because his case differed so

widely from that of Frank.

 

“Yes,” said Frank. “She is an excellent good girl:” he had said it

three times before, and was not very energetic.

 

“Yes, and so exactly suited to me; indeed, all that I could have

dreamed of. How very well she looked this morning! Some girls only

look well at night. I should not like that at all.”

 

“You mustn’t expect her to look like that always at six o’clock

a.m.,” said Frank, laughing. “Young ladies only take that trouble on

very particular occasions. She wouldn’t have come down like that if

my father or I had been going alone. No, and she won’t do so for you

in a couple of years’ time.”

 

“Oh, but she’s always nice. I have seen her at home as much almost as

you could do; and then she’s so sincerely religious.”

 

“Oh, yes, of course; that is, I am sure she is,” said Frank, looking

solemn as became him.

 

“She’s made to be a clergyman’s wife.”

 

“Well, so it seems,” said Frank.

 

“A married life is, I’m sure, the happiest in the world—if people

are only in a position to marry,” said Mr Oriel, gradually drawing

near to the accomplishment of his design.

 

“Yes; quite so. Do you know, Oriel, I never was so sleepy in my life.

What with all that fuss of Gazebee’s, and one thing and another, I

could not get to bed till one o’clock; and then I couldn’t sleep.

I’ll take a snooze now, if you won’t think it uncivil.” And then,

putting his feet upon the opposite seat, he settled himself

comfortably to his rest. And so Mr Oriel’s last attempt for lecturing

Frank in the railway-carriage faded away and was annihilated.

 

By twelve o’clock Frank was with Messrs Slow & Bideawhile. Mr

Bideawhile was engaged at the moment, but he found the managing

Chancery clerk to be a very chatty gentleman. Judging from what he

saw, he would have said that the work to be done at Messrs Slow &

Bideawhile’s was not very heavy.

 

“A singular man that Sir Louis,” said the Chancery clerk.

 

“Yes; very singular,” said Frank.

 

“Excellent security, excellent; no better; and yet he will foreclose;

but you see he has no power himself. But the question is, can the

trustee refuse? Then, again, trustees are so circumscribed nowadays

that they are afraid to do anything. There has been so much said

lately, Mr Gresham, that a man doesn’t know where he is, or what he

is doing. Nobody trusts anybody. There have been such terrible things

that we can’t wonder at it. Only think of the case of those Hills!

How can any one expect that any one else will ever trust a lawyer

again after that? But that’s Mr Bideawhile’s bell. How can any one

expect it? He will see you now, I dare say, Mr Gresham.”

 

So it turned out, and Frank was ushered into the presence of Mr

Bideawhile. He had got his lesson by heart, and was going to rush

into the middle of his subject; such a course, however, was not in

accordance with Mr Bideawhile’s usual practice. Mr Bideawhile got up

from his large wooden-seated Windsor chair, and, with a soft smile,

in which, however, was mingled some slight dash of the attorney’s

acuteness, put out his hand to his young client; not, indeed, as

though he were going to shake hands with him, but as though the hand

were some ripe fruit all but falling, which his visitor might take

and pluck if he thought proper. Frank took hold of the hand, which

returned him no pressure, and then let it go again, not making any

attempt to gather the fruit.

 

“I have come up to town, Mr Bideawhile, about this mortgage,”

commenced Frank.

 

“Mortgage—ah, sit down, Mr Gresham; sit down. I hope your father is

quite well?”

 

“Quite well, thank you.”

 

“I have a great regard for your father. So I had for your

grandfather; a very good man indeed. You, perhaps, don’t remember

him, Mr Gresham?”

 

“He died when I was only a year old.”

 

“Oh, yes; no, you of course, can’t remember him; but I do, well: he

used to be very fond of some port wine I had. I think it was ‘11;’

and if I don’t mistake, I have a bottle or two of it yet; but it is

not worth drinking now. Port wine, you know, won’t keep beyond a

certain time. That was very good wine. I don’t exactly remember what

it stood