Doctor Thorne - Anthony Trollope (e novels to read TXT) 📗

all his ardour, with the impulse of his character, and asked for her love. It was already his own. He had then demanded her troth, and she acknowledged that he had a right to demand it. She would be his if ever it should be in his power to take her.

But there let the bargain end. She would always remember, that though it was in her power to keep her pledge, it might too probably not be in his power to keep his. That doctrine, laid down so imperatively by the great authorities of Greshamsbury, that edict, which demanded that Frank should marry money, had come home also to her with a certain force. It would be sad that the fame of Greshamsbury should perish, and that the glory should depart from the old house. It might be, that Frank also should perceive that he must marry money. It would be a pity that he had not seen it sooner; but she, at any rate, would not complain.

And so she stood, leaning on the open window, with her book unnoticed lying beside her. The sun had been in the mid-sky when Frank had left her, but its rays were beginning to stream into the room from the west before she moved from her position. Her first thought in the morning had been this: Would he come to see her? Her last now was more soothing to her, less full of absolute fear: Would it be right that he should come again?

The first sounds she heard were the footsteps of her uncle, as he came up to the drawing-room, three steps at a time. His step was always heavy; but when he was disturbed in spirit, it was slow; when merely fatigued in body by ordinary work, it was quick.

“What a broiling day!” he said, and he threw himself into a chair. “For mercy’s sake give me something to drink.” Now the doctor was a great man for summer-drinks. In his house, lemonade, currant-juice, orange-mixtures, and raspberry-vinegar were used by the quart. He frequently disapproved of these things for his patients, as being apt to disarrange the digestion; but he consumed enough himself to throw a large family into such difficulties.

“Ha⁠—a!” he ejaculated, after a draught; “I’m better now. Well, what’s the news?”

“You’ve been out, uncle; you ought to have the news. How’s Mrs. Green?”

“Really as bad as ennui and solitude can make her.”

“And Mrs. Oaklerath?”

“She’s getting better, because she has ten children to look after, and twins to suckle. What has he been doing?” And the doctor pointed towards the room occupied by Sir Louis.

Mary’s conscience struck her that she had not even asked. She had hardly remembered, during the whole day, that the baronet was in the house. “I do not think he has been doing much,” she said. “Janet has been with him all day.”

“Has he been drinking?”

“Upon my word, I don’t know, uncle. I think not, for Janet has been with him. But, uncle⁠—”

“Well, dear⁠—but just give me a little more of that tipple.”

Mary prepared the tumbler, and, as she handed it to him, she said, “Frank Gresham has been here today.”

The doctor swallowed his draught, and put down the glass before he made any reply, and even then he said but little.

“Oh! Frank Gresham.”

“Yes, uncle.”

“You thought him looking pretty well?”

“Yes, uncle; he was very well, I believe.”

Dr. Thorne had nothing more to say, so he got up and went to his patient in the next room.

“If he disapproves of it, why does he not say so?” said Mary to herself. “Why does he not advise me?”

But it was not so easy to give advice while Sir Louis Scatcherd was lying there in that state.

XXXVII Sir Louis Leaves Greshamsbury

Janet had been sedulous in her attentions to Sir Louis, and had not troubled her mistress; but she had not had an easy time of it. Her orders had been, that either she or Thomas should remain in the room the whole day, and those orders had been obeyed.

Immediately after breakfast, the baronet had inquired after his own servant. “His confounded nose must be right by this time, I suppose?”

“It was very bad, Sir Louis,” said the old woman, who imagined that it might be difficult to induce Jonah to come into the house again.

“A man in such a place as his has no business to be laid up,” said the master, with a whine. “I’ll see and get a man who won’t break his nose.”

Thomas was sent to the inn three or four times, but in vain. The man was sitting up, well enough, in the taproom; but the middle of his face was covered with streaks of plaster, and he could not bring himself to expose his wounds before his conqueror.

Sir Louis began by ordering the woman to bring him chasse-café. She offered him coffee, as much as he would; but no chasse. “A glass of port wine,” she said, “at twelve o’clock, and another at three had been ordered for him.”

“I don’t care a ⸻ for the orders,” said Sir Louis; “send me my own man.” The man was again sent for; but would not come. “There’s a bottle of that stuff that I take, in that portmanteau, in the left-hand corner⁠—just hand it to me.”

But Janet was not to be done. She would give him no stuff, except what the doctor had ordered, till the doctor came back. The doctor would then, no doubt, give him anything that was proper.

Sir Louis swore a good deal, and stormed as much as he could. He drank, however, his two glasses of wine, and he got no more. Once or twice he essayed to get out of bed and dress; but, at every effort, he found that he could not do it without Joe: and there he was, still under the clothes when the doctor returned.

“I’ll tell you what it is,” said he, as soon as his guardian entered the room,