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

>world as acknowledged suitors, whereas ladies accept the position with

something almost of triumph. The lady perhaps regards herself as the

successful angler, whereas the gentleman is conscious of some

similitude to the unsuccessful fish. Mr Gibson, though he was not yet

gasping in the basket, had some presentiment of this feeling, which

made his present seat of honour unpleasant to him. Brooke Burgess, at

the other end of the table, was as gay as a lark. Mrs MacHugh sat on

one side of him, and Miss Stanbury on the other, and he laughed at the

two old ladies, reminding them of his former doings in Exeter, how he

had hunted Mrs MacHugh’s cat, and had stolen Aunt Stanbury’s best

apricot jam, till everybody began to perceive that he was quite a

success. Even Sir Peter Mancrudy laughed at his jokes, and Mrs Powel,

from the other side of Sir Peter, stretched her head forward so that

she might become one of the gay party.

 

‘There isn’t a word of it true,’ said Miss Stanbury. ‘It’s all pure

invention, and a great scandal. I never did such a thing in my life.’

 

‘Didn’t you though?’ said Brooke Burgess. ‘I remember it as well as if

it was yesterday, and old Dr. Ball, the prebendary, with the carbuncles

on his nose, saw it too!’

 

‘Dr. Ball had no carbuncles on his nose,’ said Mrs MacHugh. ‘You’ll say

next that I have carbuncles on my nose.’

 

‘He had three. I remember each of them quite well, and so does Sir

Peter.’

 

Then everybody laughed; and Martha, who was in the room, knew that

Brooke Burgess was a complete success.

 

In the meantime Mr Gibson was talking to Dorothy; but Dorothy was

endeavouring to listen to the conversation at the other end of the

table. ‘I found it very dirty on the roads to-day outside the city,’

said Mr Gibson.

 

‘Very dirty,’ said Dorothy, looking round at Mr Burgess, as she spoke.

 

‘But the pavement in the High Street was dry enough.’

 

‘Quite dry,’ said Dorothy. Then there came a peal of laughter from Mrs

MacHugh and Sir Peter, and Dorothy wondered whether anybody before had

ever made those two steady old people laugh after that fashion.

 

‘I should so like to get a drive with you up to the top of Haldon

Hill,’ said Mr Gibson. ‘When the weather gets fine, that is. Mrs Powel

was talking about it.’

 

‘It would be very nice,’ said Dorothy.

 

‘You have never seen the view from Haldon Hill yet?’ asked Mr Gibson.

But to this question Dorothy could make no answer. Miss Stanbury had

lifted one of the table-spoons, as though she was going to strike Mr

Brooke Burgess with the bowl of it. And this during a dinner party!

From that moment Dorothy turned herself round, and became one of the

listeners to the fun at the other end of the table; Poor Mr Gibson soon

found himself ‘nowhere.’

 

‘I never saw a man so much altered in my life,’ said Mrs MacHugh, up in

the drawing-room.

 

‘I don’t remember that he used to be clever.’

 

‘He was a bright boy!’ said Miss Stanbury.

 

‘But the Burgesses all used to be such serious, straitlaced people,’

said Mrs MacHugh. ‘Excellent people,’ she added, remembering the source

of her friend’s wealth; ‘but none of them like that.’

 

‘I call him a very handsome man,’ said Mrs Powel. ‘I suppose he’s not

married yet?’

 

‘Oh, dear no,’ said Miss Stanbury. ‘There’s time enough for him yet.’

 

‘He’ll find plenty here to set their caps at him,’ said Mrs MacHugh.

 

‘He’s a little old for my girls,’ said Mrs Powel, laughing. Mrs Powel

was the happy mother of four daughters, of whom the eldest was only

twelve.

 

‘There are others who are more forward,’ said Mrs MacHugh. ‘What a

chance it would be for dear Arabella French!’

 

‘Heaven forbid!’ said Miss Stanbury.

 

‘And then poor Mr Gibson wouldn’t any longer be like the donkey between

two bundles of hay,’ said Mrs Powel. Dorothy was quite determined that

she would never marry a man who was like a donkey between two bundles

of hay.

 

When the gentlemen came up into the drawing-room Dorothy was seated

behind the urn and tea-things at a large table, in such a position as

to be approached only at one side. There was one chair at her left

hand, but at her right hand there was no room for a seat, only room for

some civil gentleman to take away full cups and bring them back empty.

Dorothy was not sufficiently ready-witted to see the danger of this

position till Mr Gibson had seated himself in the chair. Then it did

seem cruel to her that she should be thus besieged for the rest of the

evening as she had been also at dinner. While the tea was being

consumed Mr Gibson assisted at the service, asking ladies whether they

would have cake or bread and butter; but when all that was over Dorothy

was still in her prison, and Mr Gibson was still the jailer at the

gate. She soon perceived that everybody else was chatting and laughing,

and that Brooke Burgess was the centre of a little circle which had

formed itself quite at a distance from her seat. Once, twice, thrice

she meditated an escape, but she had not the courage to make the

attempt. She did not know how to manage it. She was conscious that her

aunt’s eye was upon her, and that her aunt would expect her to listen

to Mr Gibson. At last she gave up all hope of moving, and was anxious

simply that Mr Gibson should confine himself to the dirt of the paths

and the noble prospect from Haldon Hill.

 

‘I think we shall have more rain before we have done with it,’ he said.

Twice before during the evening he had been very eloquent about the

rain.

 

‘I dare say we shall,’ said Dorothy. And then there came the sound of

loud laughter from Sir Peter, and Dorothy could see that he was poking

Brooke Burgess in the ribs. There had never been anything so gay before

since she had been in Exeter, and now she was hemmed up in that corner,

away from it all, by Mr Gibson!

 

‘This Mr Burgess seems to be different from the other Burgesses,’ said

Mr Gibson.

 

‘I think he must be very clever,’ said Dorothy.

 

‘Well yes; in a sort of a way. What people call a Merry Andrew.’

 

‘I like people who make me laugh and laugh themselves,’ said Dorothy.

 

‘I quite agree with you that laughter is a very good thing in its

place. I am not at all one of those who would make the world altogether

grave. There are serious things, and there must be serious moments.’

 

‘Of course,’ said Dorothy.

 

‘And I think that serious conversation upon the whole has more

allurements than conversation which when you come to examine it is

found to mean nothing. Don’t you?’

 

‘I suppose everybody should mean something when he talks.’

 

‘Just so. That is exactly my idea,’ said Mr Gibson. ‘On all such

subjects as that I should be so sorry if you and I did not agree. I

really should.’ Then he paused, and Dorothy was so confounded by what

she conceived to be the dangers of the coming moment that she was

unable even to think what she ought to say. She heard Mrs MacHugh’s

clear, sharp, merry voice, and she heard her aunt’s tone of pretended

anger, and she heard Sir Peter’s continued laughter, and Brooke Burgess

as he continued the telling of some story; but her own trouble was too

great to allow of her attending to what was going on at the other end

of the room. ‘There is nothing as to which I am so anxious as that you

and I should agree about serious things,’ said Mr Gibson.

 

‘I suppose we do agree about going to church,’ said Dorothy. She knew

that she could have made no speech more stupid, more senseless, more

inefficacious but what was she to say in answer to such an assurance?

 

‘I hope so,’ said Mr Gibson; ‘and I think so. Your aunt is a most

excellent woman, and her opinion has very great weight with me on all

subjects even as to matters of church discipline and doctrine, in

which, as a clergyman, I am of course presumed to be more at home. But

your aunt is a woman among a thousand.’

 

‘Of course I think she is very good.’

 

‘And she is so right about this young man and her property. Don’t you

think so?’

 

‘Quite right, Mr Gibson.’

 

‘Because, you know, to you, of course, being her near relative, and the

one she has singled out as the recipient of her kindness, it might have

been cause for some discontent.’

 

‘Discontent to me, Mr Gibson!’

 

‘I am quite sure your feelings are what they ought to be. And for

myself, if I ever were that is to say, supposing I could be in any way

interested. But perhaps it is premature to make any suggestion on that

head at present.’

 

‘I don’t at all understand what you mean, Mr Gibson.’

 

‘I thought that perhaps I might take this opportunity of expressing-.

But, after all, the levity of the moment is hardly in accordance with

the sentiments which I should wish to express.’

 

‘I think that I ought to go to my aunt now, Mr Gibson, as perhaps she

might want something.’ Then she did push back her chair and stand upon

her legs-and Mr Gibson, after pausing for a moment, allowed her to

escape. Soon after that the visitors went, and Brooke Burgess was left

in the drawing-room with Miss Stanbury and Dorothy.

 

‘How well I recollect all the people,’ said Brooke; ‘Sir Peter, and old

Mrs MacHugh; and Mrs Powel who then used to be called the beautiful

Miss Noel. And I remember every bit of furniture in the room.’

 

‘Nothing changed except the old woman, Brooke,’ said Miss Stanbury.

 

‘Upon my word you are the least changed of all except that you don’t

seem to be so terrible as you were then.’

 

‘Was I very terrible, Brooke?’

 

‘My mother had told me, I fancy, that I was never to make a noise, and

be sure not to break any of the china. You were always very

good-natured, and when you gave me a silver watch I could hardly

believe the extent of my own bliss.’

 

‘You wouldn’t care about a watch from an old woman now, Brooke?’

 

‘You try me. But what rakes you are here! It’s past eleven o’clock, and

I must go and have a smoke.’

 

‘Have a what?’ said Miss Stanbury, with a startled air.

 

‘A smoke. You needn’t be frightened, I don’t mean in the house.’

 

‘No I hope you don’t mean that.’

 

‘But I may take a turn round the Close with a pipe mayn’t I?’

 

‘I suppose all young men do smoke now,’ said Miss Stanbury,

sorrowfully.

 

‘Every one of them; and they tell me that the young women mean to take

to it before long.’

 

‘If I saw a young woman smoking, I should blush for my sex; and though

she were the nearest and dearest that I had, I would never speak to her

never. Dorothy, I don’t think Mr Gibson smokes.’

 

‘I’m sure I don’t know, aunt.’

 

‘I hope he doesn’t. I do hope that he does not. I cannot understand

what pleasure it is that