The Small House at Allington Anthony Trollope (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Anthony Trollope
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This little ebullition threw a gloom over the dinner-table, and nothing more was said on the occasion as to the glories of Eamesâs career. But, in the course of the evening, Amelia heard of the encounter which had taken place at the railway station, and at once perceived that she might use the occasion for her own purposes.
âJohn,â she whispered to her victim, finding an opportunity for coming upon him when almost alone, âwhat is this I hear? I insist upon knowing. Are you going to fight a duel?â
âNonsense,â said Johnny.
âBut it is not nonsense. You donât know what my feelings will be, if I think that such a thing is going to happen. But then you are so hardhearted!â
âI ainât hardhearted a bit, and Iâm not going to fight a duel.â
âBut is it true that you beat Mr. Crosbie at the station?â
âIt is true. I did beat him.â
âOh, John! not that I mean to say you were wrong, and indeed I honour you for the feeling. There can be nothing so dreadful as a young manâs deceiving a young woman and leaving her after he has won her heartâ âparticularly when she has had his promise in plain words, or, perhaps, even in black and white.â John thought of that horrid, foolish, wretched note which he had written. âAnd a poor girl, if she canât right herself by a breach of promise, doesnât know what to do. Does she, John?â
âA girl whoâd right herself that way wouldnât be worth having.â
âI donât know about that. When a poor girl is in such a position, she has to be aided by her friends. I suppose, then, Miss Lily Dale wonât bring a breach of promise against him.â
This mention of Lilyâs name in such a place was sacrilege in the ears of poor Eames. âI cannot tell,â said he, âwhat may be the intention of the lady of whom you speak. But from what I know of her friends, I should not think that she will be disgraced by such a proceeding.â
âThat may be all very well for Miss Lily Daleâ ââ Amelia said, and then she hesitated. It would not be well, she thought, absolutely to threaten him as yetâ ânot as long as there was any possibility that he might be won without a threat. âOf course I know all about it,â she continued. âShe was your L. D., you know. Not that I was ever jealous of her. To you she was no more than one of childhoodâs friends. Was she, Johnny?â
He stamped his foot upon the floor, and then jumped up from his seat. âI hate all that sort of twaddle about childhoodâs friends, and you know I do. Youâll make me swear that Iâll never come into this room again.â
âJohnny!â
âSo I will. The whole thing makes me sick. And as for that Mrs. Lupexâ ââ
âIf this is what you learn, John, by going to a lordâs house, I think you had better stay at home with your own friends.â
âOf course I had;â âmuch better stay at home with my own friends. Hereâs Mrs. Lupex, and at any rate I canât stand her.â So he went off, and walked round the Crescent, and down to the New Road, and almost into the Regentâs Park, thinking of Lily Dale and of his own cowardice with Amelia Roper.
On the following morning he received a message, at about one oâclock, by the mouth of the Boardroom messenger, informing him that his presence was required in the Boardroom. âSir Raffle Buffle has desired your presence, Mr. Eames.â
âMy presence, Tupper! what for?â said Johnny, turning upon the messenger almost with dismay.
âIndeed I canât say, Mr. Eames; but Sir Raffle Buffle has desired your presence in the Boardroom.â
Such a message as that in official life always strikes awe into the heart of a young man. And yet, young men generally come forth from such interviews without having received any serious damage, and generally talk about the old gentlemen whom they have encountered with a good deal of light-spirited sarcasmâ âor chaff, as it is called in the slang phraseology of the day. It is that same âmajesty which doth hedge a kingâ that does it. The turkey-cock in his own farmyard is master of the occasion, and the thought of him creates fear. A bishop in his lawn, a judge on the bench, a chairman in the big room at the end of a long table, or a policeman with his bullâs-eye lamp upon his beat, can all make themselves terrible by means of those appanages of majesty which have been vouchsafed to them. But how mean is the policeman in his own home, and how few thought much of Sir Raffle Buffle as he sat asleep after dinner in his old slippers! How well can I remember the terror created within me by the air of outraged dignity with which a certain fine old gentleman, now long since gone, could rub his hands slowly, one on the other, and look up to the ceiling, slightly shaking his head, as though lost in the contemplation of my iniquities! I would become sick in my stomach, and feel as though my ankles had been broken. That upward turn of the eye unmanned me so completely that I was speechless as regarded any defence. I think that that old man could hardly have known the extent of his own power.
Once upon a time a careless lad, having the charge of a bundle of letters addressed to the Kingâ âpetitions and suchlike, which in the course of business would not get beyond the hands of some lord-in-waitingâs deputy assistantâ âsent the bag which contained them to the wrong place; to Windsor, perhaps, if the Court were in London; or to St. Jamesâs, if it were at Windsor. He was summoned; and the great man of the occasion contented himself with holding his hands up to the heavens as he stood up from his chair, and exclaiming twice, âMis-sent the Monarchâs pouch!
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