He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📖

asked for Mrs Trevelyan when he called. It became

evident as the affairs of the evening went on, that Mrs Stanbury had

for a few minutes been thrown into a terrible state of amazement,

thinking that ‘the Colonel’ had appeared. The strange gentleman,

however, having obtained admittance, explained who he was, saying that

he was very desirous of seeing Mrs Trevelyan and Miss Rowley. It may be

presumed that a glimmer of light did make its way into Mrs Stanbury’s

mind on the subject; but up to the moment at which the three travellers

arrived, she had been in doubt on the subject. Mr Glascock had declared

that he would take a walk, and in the course of the afternoon had

expressed high approval of Mrs Crocket’s culinary skill. When Mrs

Crocket heard that she had entertained the son of a lord, she was very

loud in her praise of the manner in which he had eaten two mutton chops

and called for a third. He had thought it no disgrace to apply himself

to the second half of an apple pie, and had professed himself to be an

ardent admirer of Devonshire cream. ‘It’s them counter-skippers as

turns up their little noses at the victuals as is set before them,’

said Mrs Crocket.

 

After his dinner Mr Glascock had returned to the Clock House, and had

been sitting there for an hour with Mrs Stanbury, not much to her

delight or to his, when the carriage was driven up to the door.

 

‘He is to go back to Lessboro’ tonight,’ said Mrs Stanbury in a

whisper.

 

‘Of course you must see him before he goes,’ said Mrs Trevelyan to her

sister. There had, as was natural, been very much said between the two

sisters about Mr Glascock. Nora had abstained from asserting in any

decided way that she disliked the man, and had always absolutely

refused to allow Hugh Stanbury’s name to be mixed up with the question.

‘Whatever might be her own thoughts about Hugh Stanbury she had kept

them even from her sister. ‘When her sister had told her that she had

refused Mr Glascock because of Hugh, she had shown herself to be

indignant, and had since that said one or two fine things as to her

capacity to refuse a brilliant offer simply because the man who made it

was indifferent to her. Mrs Trevelyan had learned from her that her

Suitor had declared his intention to persevere; and here was

perseverance with a vengeance! ‘Of course you must see him at once,’

said Mrs Trevelyan. Nora for a few seconds had remained silent, and

then had run up to her room. Her sister followed her instantly.

 

‘What is the meaning of it all?’ said Priscilla to her mother.

 

‘I suppose he is in love with Miss Rowley,’ said Mrs Stanbury.

 

‘But who is he?’

 

Then Mrs Stanbury told all that she knew, She had seen from his card

that he was an Honourable Mr Glascock. She had collected from what he

had said that he was an old friend of the two ladies. Her conviction

was strong in Mr Glascock’s favour thinking, as she expressed herself,

that everything was right and proper but she could hardly explain why

she thought so.

 

‘I do wish that they had never come,’ said Priscilla, who could not rid

herself of an idea that there must be danger in having to do with women

who had men running after them.

 

‘Of course I’ll see him,’ said Nora to her sister. ‘I have not refused

to see him. Why do you scold me?’

 

‘I have not scolded you, Nora; but I do want you to how immensely

important this is.’

 

‘Of course it is important.’

 

‘And so much the more so because of my misfortunes! Think how good he

must be, how strong must be his attachment, when he comes down here

after you in this way.’

 

‘But I have to think of my own feelings.’

 

‘You know you like him. You have told me so. And only fancy what mamma

will feel! Such a position! And the man so excellent! Everybody says

that he hasn’t a fault in any way.’

 

‘I hate people without faults.’

 

‘Oh, Nora, Nora, that is foolish! There, there; you must go down. Pray

pray do not let any absurd fancy stand in your way, and destroy

everything. It will never come again, Nora. And, only think; it is all

now your own if you will only whisper one word.’

 

‘Ah! one word and that a falsehood!’

 

‘No no. Say you will try to love him, and that will enough. And you do

love him?’

 

‘Do I?’

 

‘Yes, you do. It is only the opposition of your nature that makes you

fight against him. Will you go now?’

 

‘Let me be for two minutes by myself,’ said Nora, ‘and then I’ll come

down. Tell him that I’m coming.’ Mrs Trevelyan stooped over her, kissed

her, and then left her.

 

Nora, as soon as she was alone, stood upright in the middle of the room

and held her hands up to her forehead. She had been far from thinking,

when she was considering the matter easily among the hillocks, that the

necessity for an absolute decision would come upon her so

instantaneously. She had told herself only this morning that it would

be wise to accept the man, if he should ever ask a second time and he

had come already. He had been waiting for her in the village while she

had been thinking whether he would ever come across her path again. She

thought that it would have been easier for her now to have gone down

with a ‘yes’ in her mouth, if her sister had not pressed her so hard to

say that ‘yes,’ The very pressure from her sister seemed to imply that

such pressure ought to be resisted. Why should there have been

pressure, unless there were reasons against her marrying him? And yet,

if she chose to take him, who would have a right to complain of her?

Hugh Stanbury had never spoken to her a word that would justify her in

even supposing that he would consider himself to be illused. All

others of her friends would certainly rejoice, would applaud her, pat

her on the back, cover her with caresses, and tell her that she had

been born under a happy star. And she did like the man. Nay she thought

she loved him. She withdrew her hands from her brow, assured herself

that her lot in life was cast, and with hurrying fingers attempted to

smooth her hair and to arrange her ribbons before the glass. She would

go to the encounter boldly and accept him honestly. It was her duty to

do so. What might she not do for brothers and sisters as the wife of

Lord Peterborough of Monkhams? She saw that that arrangement before the

glass could be of no service, and she stepped quickly to the door. If

he did not like her as she was, he need not ask her. Her mind was made

up, and she would do it. But as she went down the stairs to the room in

which she knew that he was waiting for her, there came over her a cold

feeling of self-accusation almost of disgrace. ‘I do not care,’ she

said. ‘I know that I’m right.’ She opened the door quickly, that there

might be no further doubt, and found that she was alone with him.

 

‘Miss Rowley,’ he said, ‘I am afraid you will think that I am

persecuting you.’

 

‘I have no right to think that,’ she answered.

 

‘I’ll tell you why I have come. My dear father, who has always been my

best friend, is very ill. He is at Naples, and I must go to him. He is

very old, you know over eighty; and will never live to come back to

England. From what I hear, I think it probable that I may remain with

him till everything is over.’

 

‘I did not know that he was so old as that.’

 

‘They say that he can hardly live above a month or two. He will never

see my wife if I can have a wife; but I should like to tell him, if it

were possible that—’

 

‘I understand you, Mr Glascock.’

 

‘I told you that I should come to you again, and as I may possibly

linger at Naples all the winter, I could not go without seeing you.

Miss Rowley, may I hope that you can love me?’

 

She did not answer him a word, but stood looking away from him with her

hands clasped together. Had he asked her whether she would be his wife,

it is possible that the answer which she had prepared would have been

spoken. But he had put the question in another form. Did she love him?

If she could only bring herself to say that she could love him, she

might be lady of Monkhams before the next summer had come round.

 

‘Nora,’ he said, ‘do you think that you can love me?’

 

‘No,’ she said, and there was something almost of fierceness in the

tone of her voice as she answered him.

 

‘And must that be your final answer to me?’

 

‘Mr Glascock, what can I say?’ she replied. ‘I will tell you the honest

truth—I will tell you everything. I came into this room determined to

accept you. But you are so good, and so kind, and so upright, that I

cannot tell you a falsehood. I do not love you. I ought not to take

what you offer me. If I did, it would be because you are rich, and a

lord; and not because I love you. I love some one else. There pray,

pray do not tell of me; but I do.’ Then she flung away from him and hid

her face in a corner of the sofa out of the light.

 

Her lover stood silent, not knowing how to go on with the conversation,

not knowing how to bring it to an end. After what she had now said to

him it was impossible that he should press her further. It was almost

impossible that he should wish to do so. When a lady is frank enough to

declare that her heart is not her own to give, a man can hardly wish to

make further prayer for the gift. ‘If so,’ he said, ‘of course I have

nothing to hope.’

 

She was sobbing, and could not answer him. She was half repentant,

partly proud of what she had done half repentant in that she had lost

what had seemed to her to be so good, and full of remorse in that she

had so unnecessarily told her secret.

 

‘Perhaps,’ said he, ‘I ought to assure you that what you have told me

shall never be repeated by my lips.’

 

She thanked him for this by a motion of her head and hand, not by words

and then he was gone. How he managed to bid adieu to Mrs Stanbury and

her sister, or whether he saw them as he left the house, she never

knew. In her corner of the sofa, weeping in the dark, partly proud and

partly repentant, she remained till her sister came to her. ‘Emily,’

she said, jumping up, ‘say nothing about it; not a word. It is of no

use. The thing is done and over, and let it altogether be forgotten.’

 

‘It is done and over, certainly,’ said Mrs Trevelyan.

 

‘Exactly; and I suppose a girl may do what she likes with herself in

that way.