Doctor Thorne

A >> Anthony Trollope >> Doctor Thorne


"That's just what I said to her."

"She was talking about me, then?"

"How on earth should she talk of any one else as long as you are
here? Don't you know that all the world is talking about you?"

"Is it?--dear me, how kind! But I don't care a straw about any world
just at present but Lady de Courcy's world. What did she say?"

"She said you were very beautiful--"

"Did she?--how good of her!"

"No; I forgot. It--it was I that said that; and she said--what was
it she said? She said, that after all, beauty was but skin deep--and
that she valued you for your virtues and prudence rather than your
good looks."

"Virtues and prudence! She said I was prudent and virtuous?"

"Yes."

"And you talked of my beauty? That was so kind of you. You didn't
either of you say anything about other matters?"

"What other matters?"

"Oh! I don't know. Only some people are sometimes valued rather for
what they've got than for any good qualities belonging to themselves
intrinsically."

"That can never be the case with Miss Dunstable; especially not at
Courcy Castle," said Frank, bowing easily from the corner of the sofa
over which he was leaning.

"Of course not," said Miss Dunstable; and Frank at once perceived
that she spoke in a tone of voice differing much from that
half-bantering, half-good-humoured manner that was customary with
her. "Of course not: any such idea would be quite out of the question
with Lady de Courcy." She paused for a moment, and then added
in a tone different again, and unlike any that he had yet heard
from her:--"It is, at any rate, out of the question with Mr Frank
Gresham--of that I am quite sure."

Frank ought to have understood her, and have appreciated the good
opinion which she intended to convey; but he did not entirely do so.
He was hardly honest himself towards her; and he could not at first
perceive that she intended to say that she thought him so. He knew
very well that she was alluding to her own huge fortune, and was
alluding also to the fact that people of fashion sought her because
of it; but he did not know that she intended to express a true
acquittal as regarded him of any such baseness.

And did he deserve to be acquitted? Yes, upon the whole he did;--to
be acquitted of that special sin. His desire to make Miss Dunstable
temporarily subject to his sway arose, not from a hankering after her
fortune, but from an ambition to get the better of a contest in which
other men around him seemed to be failing.

For it must not be imagined that, with such a prize to be struggled
for, all others stood aloof and allowed him to have his own way
with the heiress, undisputed. The chance of a wife with two hundred
thousand pounds is a godsend which comes in a man's life too seldom
to be neglected, let that chance be never so remote.

Frank was the heir to a large embarrassed property; and, therefore,
the heads of families, putting their wisdoms together, had thought it
most meet that this daughter of Plutus should, if possible, fall to
his lot. But not so thought the Honourable George; and not so thought
another gentleman who was at that time an inmate of Courcy Castle.

These suitors perhaps somewhat despised their young rival's efforts.
It may be that they had sufficient worldly wisdom to know that so
important a crisis of life is not settled among quips and jokes, and
that Frank was too much in jest to be in earnest. But be that as it
may, his love-making did not stand in the way of their love-making;
nor his hopes, if he had any, in the way of their hopes.

The Honourable George had discussed the matter with the Honourable
John in a properly fraternal manner. It may be that John had also
an eye to the heiress; but, if so, he had ceded his views to his
brother's superior claims; for it came about that they understood
each other very well, and John favoured George with salutary advice
on the occasion.

"If it is to be done at all, it should be done very sharp," said
John.

"As sharp as you like," said George. "I'm not the fellow to be
studying three months in what attitude I'll fall at a girl's feet."

"No: and when you are there you mustn't take three months more to
study how you'll get up again. If you do it at all, you must do it
sharp," repeated John, putting great stress on his advice.

"I have said a few soft words to her already, and she didn't seem to
take them badly," said George.

"She's no chicken, you know," remarked John; "and with a woman like
that, beating about the bush never does any good. The chances are she
won't have you--that's of course; plums like that don't fall into a
man's mouth merely for shaking the tree. But it's possible she may;
and if she will, she's as likely to take you to-day as this day six
months. If I were you I'd write her a letter."

"Write her a letter--eh?" said George, who did not altogether dislike
the advice, for it seemed to take from his shoulders the burden of
preparing a spoken address. Though he was so glib in speaking about
the farmers' daughters, he felt that he should have some little
difficulty in making known his passion to Miss Dunstable by word of
mouth.

"Yes; write a letter. If she'll take you at all, she'll take you that
way; half the matches going are made up by writing letters. Write her
a letter and get it put on her dressing-table." George said that he
would, and so he did.

George spoke quite truly when he hinted that he had said a few soft
things to Miss Dunstable. Miss Dunstable, however, was accustomed to
hear soft things. She had been carried much about in society among
fashionable people since, on the settlement of her father's will, she
had been pronounced heiress to all the ointment of Lebanon; and many
men had made calculations respecting her similar to those which were
now animating the brain of the Honourable George de Courcy. She was
already quite accustomed to being the target at which spendthrifts
and the needy rich might shoot their arrows: accustomed to being shot
at, and tolerably accustomed to protect herself without making scenes
in the world, or rejecting the advantageous establishments offered
to her with any loud expressions of disdain. The Honourable George,
therefore, had been permitted to say soft things very much as a
matter of course.

And very little more outward fracas arose from the correspondence
which followed than had arisen from the soft things so said. George
wrote the letter, and had it duly conveyed to Miss Dunstable's
bed-chamber. Miss Dunstable duly received it, and had her answer
conveyed back discreetly to George's hands. The correspondence ran as
follows:--


Courcy Castle, Aug. --, 185--.

MY DEAREST MISS DUNSTABLE,

I cannot but flatter myself that you must have perceived
from my manner that you are not indifferent to me. Indeed,
indeed, you are not. I may truly say, and swear [these
last strong words had been put in by the special counsel
of the Honourable John], that if ever a man loved a woman
truly, I truly love you. You may think it very odd that
I should say this in a letter instead of speaking it out
before your face; but your powers of raillery are so great
["touch her up about her wit" had been the advice of the
Honourable John] that I am all but afraid to encounter
them. Dearest, dearest Martha--oh do not blame me for so
addressing you!--if you will trust your happiness to me
you shall never find that you have been deceived. My
ambition shall be to make you shine in that circle which
you are so well qualified to adorn, and to see you firmly
fixed in that sphere of fashion for which all your tastes
adapt you.

I may safely assert--and I do assert it with my hand on
my heart--that I am actuated by no mercenary motives. Far
be it from me to marry any woman--no, not a princess--on
account of her money. No marriage can be happy without
mutual affection; and I do fully trust--no, not trust, but
hope--that there may be such between you and me, dearest
Miss Dunstable. Whatever settlements you might propose,
I should accede to. It is you, your sweet person, that I
love, not your money.

For myself, I need not remind you that I am the second son
of my father; and that, as such, I hold no inconsiderable
station in the world. My intention is to get into
Parliament, and to make a name for myself, if I can, among
those who shine in the House of Commons. My elder brother,
Lord Porlock, is, you are aware, unmarried; and we
all fear that the family honours are not likely to be
perpetuated by him, as he has all manner of troublesome
liaisons which will probably prevent his settling in life.
There is nothing at all of that kind in my way. It will
indeed be a delight to place a coronet on the head of my
lovely Martha: a coronet which can give no fresh grace to
her, but which will be so much adorned by her wearing it.

Dearest Miss Dunstable, I shall wait with the utmost
impatience for your answer; and now, burning with hope
that it may not be altogether unfavourable to my love, I
beg permission to sign myself--

Your own most devoted,

GEORGE DE COURCY.


The ardent lover had not to wait long for an answer from his
mistress. She found this letter on her toilet-table one night as she
went to bed. The next morning she came down to breakfast and met her
swain with the most unconcerned air in the world; so much so that
he began to think, as he munched his toast with rather a shamefaced
look, that the letter on which so much was to depend had not yet come
safely to hand. But his suspense was not of a prolonged duration.
After breakfast, as was his wont, he went out to the stables with his
brother and Frank Gresham; and while there, Miss Dunstable's man,
coming up to him, touched his hat, and put a letter into his hand.

Frank, who knew the man, glanced at the letter and looked at his
cousin; but he said nothing. He was, however, a little jealous, and
felt that an injury was done to him by any correspondence between
Miss Dunstable and his cousin George.

Miss Dunstable's reply was as follows; and it may be remarked that
it was written in a very clear and well-penned hand, and one which
certainly did not betray much emotion of the heart:--


MY DEAR MR DE COURCY,

I am sorry to say that I had not perceived from your
manner that you entertained any peculiar feelings towards
me; as, had I done so, I should at once have endeavoured
to put an end to them. I am much flattered by the way in
which you speak of me; but I am in too humble a position
to return your affection; and can, therefore, only express
a hope that you may be soon able to eradicate it from your
bosom. A letter is a very good way of making an offer, and
as such I do not think it at all odd; but I certainly did
not expect such an honour last night. As to my raillery, I
trust it has never yet hurt you. I can assure you it never
shall. I hope you will soon have a worthier ambition than
that to which you allude; for I am well aware that no
attempt will ever make me shine anywhere.

I am quite sure you have had no mercenary motives: such
motives in marriage are very base, and quite below your
name and lineage. Any little fortune that I may have must
be a matter of indifference to one who looks forward, as
you do, to put a coronet on his wife's brow. Nevertheless,
for the sake of the family, I trust that Lord Porlock, in
spite of his obstacles, may live to do the same for a wife
of his own some of these days. I am glad to hear that
there is nothing to interfere with your own prospects of
domestic felicity.

Sincerely hoping that you may be perfectly successful in
your proud ambition to shine in Parliament, and regretting
extremely that I cannot share that ambition with you, I
beg to subscribe myself, with very great respect,--

Your sincere well-wisher,

MARTHA DUNSTABLE.


The Honourable George, with that modesty which so well became him,
accepted Miss Dunstable's reply as a final answer to his little
proposition, and troubled her with no further courtship. As he said
to his brother John, no harm had been done, and he might have better
luck next time. But there was an intimate of Courcy Castle who was
somewhat more pertinacious in his search after love and wealth. This
was no other than Mr Moffat: a gentleman whose ambition was not
satisfied by the cares of his Barchester contest, or the possession
of one affianced bride.

Mr Moffat was, as we have said, a man of wealth; but we all know,
from the lessons of early youth, how the love of money increases and
gains strength by its own success. Nor was he a man of so mean a
spirit as to be satisfied with mere wealth. He desired also place and
station, and gracious countenance among the great ones of the earth.
Hence had come his adherence to the de Courcys; hence his seat in
Parliament; and hence, also, his perhaps ill-considered match with
Miss Gresham.

There is no doubt but that the privilege of matrimony offers
opportunities to money-loving young men which ought not to be lightly
abused. Too many young men marry without giving any consideration to
the matter whatever. It is not that they are indifferent to money,
but that they recklessly miscalculate their own value, and omit to
look around and see how much is done by those who are more careful.
A man can be young but once, and, except in cases of a special
interposition of Providence, can marry but once. The chance once
thrown away may be said to be irrevocable! How, in after-life, do
men toil and turmoil through long years to attain some prospect of
doubtful advancement! Half that trouble, half that care, a tithe of
that circumspection would, in early youth, have probably secured to
them the enduring comfort of a wife's wealth.

You will see men labouring night and day to become bank directors;
and even a bank direction may only be the road to ruin. Others will
spend years in degrading subserviency to obtain a niche in a will;
and the niche, when at last obtained and enjoyed, is but a sorry
payment for all that has been endured. Others, again, struggle
harder still, and go through even deeper waters: they make wills for
themselves, forge stock-shares, and fight with unremitting, painful
labour to appear to be the thing that they are not. Now, in many
of these cases, all this might have been spared had the men made
adequate use of those opportunities which youth and youthful charms
afford once--and once only. There is no road to wealth so easy and
respectable as that of matrimony; that, is of course, provided that
the aspirant declines the slow course of honest work. But then, we
can so seldom put old heads on young shoulders!

In the case of Mr Moffat, we may perhaps say that a specimen was
produced of this bird, so rare in the land. His shoulders were
certainly young, seeing that he was not yet six-and-twenty; but
his head had ever been old. From the moment when he was first put
forth to go alone--at the age of twenty-one--his life had been one
calculation how he could make the most of himself. He had allowed
himself to be betrayed into no folly by an unguarded heart; no
youthful indiscretion had marred his prospects. He had made the
most of himself. Without wit, or depth, or any mental gift--without
honesty of purpose or industry for good work--he had been for two
years sitting member for Barchester; was the guest of Lord de Courcy;
was engaged to the eldest daughter of one of the best commoners'
families in England; and was, when he first began to think of Miss
Dunstable, sanguine that his re-election to Parliament was secure.

When, however, at this period he began to calculate what his position
in the world really was, it occurred to him that he was doing an
ill-judged thing in marrying Miss Gresham. Why marry a penniless
girl--for Augusta's trifle of a fortune was not a penny in his
estimation--while there was Miss Dunstable in the world to be won?
His own six or seven thousand a year, quite unembarrassed as it was,
was certainly a great thing; but what might he not do if to that
he could add the almost fabulous wealth of the great heiress? Was
she not here, put absolutely in his path? Would it not be a wilful
throwing away of a chance not to avail himself of it? He must, to
be sure, lose the de Courcy friendship; but if he should then have
secured his Barchester seat for the usual term of parliamentary
session, he might be able to spare that. He would also, perhaps,
encounter some Gresham enmity: this was a point on which he did think
more than once: but what will not a man encounter for the sake of two
hundred thousand pounds?

It was thus that Mr Moffat argued with himself, with much prudence,
and brought himself to resolve that he would at any rate become a
candidate for the great prize. He also, therefore, began to say
soft things; and it must be admitted that he said them with more
considerate propriety than had the Honourable George. Mr Moffat had
an idea that Miss Dunstable was not a fool, and that in order to
catch her he must do more than endeavour to lay salt on her tail,
in the guise of flattery. It was evident to him that she was a bird
of some cunning, not to be caught by an ordinary gin, such as those
commonly in use with the Honourable Georges of Society.

It seemed to Mr Moffat, that though Miss Dunstable was so sprightly,
so full of fun, and so ready to chatter on all subjects, she well
knew the value of her own money, and of her position as dependent on
it: he perceived that she never flattered the countess, and seemed
to be no whit absorbed by the titled grandeur of her host's family.
He gave her credit, therefore, for an independent spirit: and an
independent spirit in his estimation was one that placed its sole
dependence on a respectable balance at its banker's.

Working on these ideas, Mr Moffat commenced operations in such manner
that his overtures to the heiress should not, if unsuccessful,
interfere with the Greshamsbury engagement. He began by making common
cause with Miss Dunstable: their positions in the world, he said to
her, were closely similar. They had both risen from the lower class
by the strength of honest industry: they were both now wealthy, and
had both hitherto made such use of their wealth as to induce the
highest aristocracy of England to admit them into their circles.

"Yes, Mr Moffat," had Miss Dunstable remarked; "and if all that I
hear be true, to admit you into their very families."

At this Mr Moffat slightly demurred. He would not affect, he said,
to misunderstand what Miss Dunstable meant. There had been something
said on the probability of such an event; but he begged Miss
Dunstable not to believe all that she heard on such subjects.

"I do not believe much," said she; "but I certainly did think that
that might be credited."

Mr Moffat then went on to show how it behoved them both, in holding
out their hands half-way to meet the aristocratic overtures that
were made to them, not to allow themselves to be made use of. The
aristocracy, according to Mr Moffat, were people of a very nice
sort; the best acquaintance in the world; a portion of mankind to be
noticed by whom should be one of the first objects in the life of the
Dunstables and the Moffats. But the Dunstables and Moffats should be
very careful to give little or nothing in return. Much, very much in
return, would be looked for. The aristocracy, said Mr Moffat, were
not a people to allow the light of their countenance to shine forth
without looking for a _quid pro quo_, for some compensating value.
In all their intercourse with the Dunstables and Moffats, they would
expect a payment. It was for the Dunstables and Moffats to see that,
at any rate, they did not pay more for the article they got than its
market value.

They way in which she, Miss Dunstable, and he, Mr Moffat, would be
required to pay would be by taking each of them some poor scion of
the aristocracy in marriage; and thus expending their hard-earned
wealth in procuring high-priced pleasures for some well-born pauper.
Against this, peculiar caution was to be used. Of course, the further
induction to be shown was this: that people so circumstanced should
marry among themselves; the Dunstables and the Moffats each with the
other, and not tumble into the pitfalls prepared for them.

Whether these great lessons had any lasting effect on Miss
Dunstable's mind may be doubted. Perhaps she had already made up her
mind on the subject which Mr Moffat so well discussed. She was older
than Mr Moffat, and, in spite of his two years of parliamentary
experience, had perhaps more knowledge of the world with which she
had to deal. But she listened to what he said with complacency;
understood his object as well as she had that of his aristocratic
rival; was no whit offended; but groaned in her spirit as she thought
of the wrongs of Augusta Gresham.

But all this good advice, however, would not win the money for Mr
Moffat without some more decided step; and that step he soon decided
on taking, feeling assured that what he had said would have its due
weight with the heiress.

The party at Courcy Castle was now soon about to be broken up. The
male de Courcys were going down to a Scotch mountain. The female de
Courcys were to be shipped off to an Irish castle. Mr Moffat was to
go up to town to prepare his petition. Miss Dunstable was again about
to start on a foreign tour in behalf of her physician and attendants;
and Frank Gresham was at last to be allowed to go to Cambridge; that
is to say, unless his success with Miss Dunstable should render such
a step on his part quite preposterous.

"I think you may speak now, Frank," said the countess. "I really
think you may: you have known her now for a considerable time; and,
as far as I can judge, she is very fond of you."

"Nonsense, aunt," said Frank; "she doesn't care a button for me."

"I think differently; and lookers-on, you know, always understand the
game best. I suppose you are not afraid to ask her."

"Afraid!" said Frank, in a tone of considerable scorn. He almost made
up his mind that he would ask her to show that he was not afraid.
His only obstacle to doing so was, that he had not the slightest
intention of marrying her.

There was to be but one other great event before the party broke up,
and that was a dinner at the Duke of Omnium's. The duke had already
declined to come to Courcy; but he had in a measure atoned for this
by asking some of the guests to join a great dinner which he was
about to give to his neighbours.

Mr Moffat was to leave Courcy Castle the day after the dinner-party,
and he therefore determined to make his great attempt on the morning
of that day. It was with some difficulty that he brought about an
opportunity; but at last he did so, and found himself alone with Miss
Dunstable in the walks of Courcy Park.

"It is a strange thing, is it not," said he, recurring to his old
view of the same subject, "that I should be going to dine with the
Duke of Omnium--the richest man, they say, among the whole English
aristocracy?"

"Men of that kind entertain everybody, I believe, now and then," said
Miss Dunstable, not very civilly.

"I believe they do; but I am not going as one of the everybodies.
I am going from Lord de Courcy's house with some of his own family.
I have no pride in that--not the least; I have more pride in my
father's honest industry. But it shows what money does in this
country of ours."

"Yes, indeed; money does a great deal many queer things." In saying
this Miss Dunstable could not but think that money had done a very
queer thing in inducing Miss Gresham to fall in love with Mr Moffat.

"Yes; wealth is very powerful: here we are, Miss Dunstable, the most
honoured guests in the house."

"Oh! I don't know about that; you may be, for you are a member of
Parliament, and all that--"

"No; not a member now, Miss Dunstable."

"Well, you will be, and that's all the same; but I have no such title
to honour, thank God."

They walked on in silence for a little while, for Mr Moffat hardly
knew how to manage the business he had in hand. "It is quite
delightful to watch these people," he said at last; "now they accuse
us of being tuft-hunters."

"Do they?" said Miss Dunstable. "Upon my word I didn't know that
anybody ever so accused me."

"I didn't mean you and me personally."

"Oh! I'm glad of that."

"But that is what the world says of persons of our class. Now it
seems to me that the toadying is all on the other side. The countess
here does toady you, and so do the young ladies."

"Do they? if so, upon my word I didn't know it. But, to tell the
truth, I don't think much of such things. I live mostly to myself, Mr
Moffat."

"I see that you do, and I admire you for it; but, Miss Dunstable, you
cannot always live so," and Mr Moffat looked at her in a manner which
gave her the first intimation of his coming burst of tenderness.