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

are friends again, are we not? You see how selfish I am.” And she put out her hand to him.

The doctor took her hand cordially, and assured her that he bore her no ill-will; that he fully understood her conduct⁠—and that he had never accused her of selfishness. This was all very well and very gracious; but, nevertheless, Lady Arabella felt that the doctor kept the upper hand in those sweet forgivenesses. Whereas, she had intended to keep the upper hand, at least for a while, so that her humiliation might be more effective when it did come.

And then the doctor used his surgical lore, as he well knew how to use it. There was an assured confidence about him, an air which seemed to declare that he really knew what he was doing. These were very comfortable to his patients, but they were wanting in Dr. Fillgrave. When he had completed his examinations and questions, and she had completed her little details and made her answer, she certainly was more at ease than she had been since the doctor had last left her.

“Don’t go yet for a moment,” she said. “I have one word to say to you.”

He declared that he was not the least in a hurry. He desired nothing better, he said, than to sit there and talk to her. “And I owe you a most sincere apology, Lady Arabella.”

“A sincere apology!” said she, becoming a little red. Was he going to say anything about Mary? Was he going to own that he, and Mary, and Frank had all been wrong?

“Yes, indeed. I ought not to have brought Sir Louis Scatcherd here: I ought to have known that he would have disgraced himself.”

“Oh! it does not signify,” said her ladyship in a tone almost of disappointment. “I had forgotten it. Mr. Gresham and you had more inconvenience than we had.”

“He is an unfortunate, wretched man⁠—most unfortunate; with an immense fortune which he can never live to possess.”

“And who will the money go to, doctor?”

This was a question for which Dr. Thorne was hardly prepared. “Go to?” he repeated. “Oh, some member of the family, I believe. There are plenty of nephews and nieces.”

“Yes; but will it be divided, or all go to one?”

“Probably to one, I think. Sir Roger had a strong idea of leaving it all in one hand.” If it should happen to be a girl, thought Lady Arabella, what an excellent opportunity would that be for Frank to marry money!

“And now, doctor, I want to say one word to you; considering the very long time that we have known each other, it is better that I should be open with you. This estrangement between us and dear Mary has given us all so much pain. Cannot we do anything to put an end to it?”

“Well, what can I say, Lady Arabella? That depends so wholly on yourself.”

“If it depends on me, it shall be done at once.”

The doctor bowed. And though he could hardly be said to do so stiffly, he did it coldly. His bow seemed to say, “Certainly; if you choose to make a proper amende it can be done. But I think it is very unlikely that you will do so.”

“Beatrice is just going to be married, you know that, doctor.” The doctor said that he did know it. “And it will be so pleasant that Mary should make one of us. Poor Beatrice; you don’t know what she has suffered.”

“Yes,” said the doctor, “there has been suffering, I am sure; suffering on both sides.”

“You cannot wonder that we should be so anxious about Frank, Dr. Thorne; an only son, and the heir to an estate that has been so very long in the family:” and Lady Arabella put her handkerchief to her eyes, as though these facts were in themselves melancholy, and not to be thought of by a mother without some soft tears. “Now I wish you could tell me what your views are, in a friendly manner, between ourselves. You won’t find me unreasonable.”

“My views, Lady Arabella?”

“Yes, doctor; about your niece, you know: you must have views of some sort; that’s of course. It occurs to me, that perhaps we are all in the dark together. If so, a little candid speaking between you and me may set it all right.”

Lady Arabella’s career had not hitherto been conspicuous for candour, as far as Dr. Thorne had been able to judge of it; but that was no reason why he should not respond to so very becoming an invitation on her part. He had no objection to a little candid speaking; at least, so he declared. As to his views with regard to Mary, they were merely these: that he would make her as happy and comfortable as he could while she remained with him; and that he would give her his blessing⁠—for he had nothing else to give her⁠—when she left him;⁠—if ever she should do so.

Now, it will be said that the doctor was not very candid in this; not more so, perhaps, than was Lady Arabella herself. But when one is specially invited to be candid, one is naturally set upon one’s guard. Those who by disposition are most open, are apt to become crafty when so admonished. When a man says to you, “Let us be candid with each other,” you feel instinctively that he desires to squeeze you without giving a drop of water himself.

“Yes; but about Frank,” said Lady Arabella.

“About Frank!” said the doctor, with an innocent look, which her ladyship could hardly interpret.

“What I mean is this: can you give me your word that these young people do not intend to do anything rash? One word like that from you will set my mind quite at rest. And then we could be so happy together again.”

“Ah! who is to answer for what rash things a young man will do?” said the doctor, smiling.

Lady Arabella got up from the sofa, and pushed away the little table.