Framley Parsonage - Anthony Trollope (mobi reader android .txt) 📗

his wife, she would undoubtedly have forgiven him; and much as she might have disliked the match, she would, ultimately, have embraced the bride. But now she was compelled to exercise her judgment. If he married imprudently, it would be her doing. How was she to give her expressed consent to that which she believed to be wrong?

“Do you know anything against her; any reason why she should not be my wife?” continued he.

“If you mean as regards her moral conduct, certainly not,” said Lady Lufton. “But I could say as much as that in favour of a great many young ladies whom I should regard as very ill suited for such a marriage.”

“Yes; some might be vulgar, some might be ill-tempered, some might be ugly; others might be burdened with disagreeable connections. I can understand that you should object to a daughter-in-law under any of these circumstances. But none of these things can be said of Miss Robarts. I defy you to say that she is not in all respects what a lady should be.”

But her father was a doctor of medicine, she is the sister of the parish clergyman, she is only five feet two in height, and is so uncommonly brown! Had Lady Lufton dared to give a catalogue of her objections, such would have been its extent and nature. But she did not dare to do this.

“I cannot say, Ludovic, that she is possessed of all that you should seek in a wife.” Such was her answer.

“Do you mean that she has not got money?”

“No, not that; I should be very sorry to see you making money your chief object, or indeed any essential object. If it chanced that your wife did have money, no doubt you would find it a convenience. But pray understand me, Ludovic; I would not for a moment advise you to subject your happiness to such a necessity as that. It is not because she is without fortune⁠—”

“Then why is it? At breakfast you were singing her praises, and saying how excellent she is.”

“If I were forced to put my objection into one word, I should say⁠—” and then she paused, hardly daring to encounter the frown which was already gathering itself on her son’s brow.

“You would say what?” said Lord Lufton, almost roughly.

“Don’t be angry with me, Ludovic; all that I think, and all that I say on this subject, I think and say with only one object⁠—that of your happiness. What other motive can I have for anything in this world?” And then she came close to him and kissed him.

“But tell me, mother, what is this objection; what is this terrible word that is to sum up the list of all poor Lucy’s sins, and prove that she is unfit for married life?”

“Ludovic, I did not say that. You know that I did not.”

“What is the word, mother?”

And then at last Lady Lufton spoke it out. “She is⁠—insignificant. I believe her to be a very good girl, but she is not qualified to fill the high position to which you would exalt her.”

“Insignificant!”

“Yes, Ludovic, I think so.”

“Then, mother, you do not know her. You must permit me to say that you are talking of a girl whom you do not know. Of all the epithets of opprobrium which the English language could give you, that would be nearly the last which she would deserve.”

“I have not intended any opprobrium.”

“Insignificant!”

“Perhaps you do not quite understand me, Ludovic.”

“I know what insignificant means, mother.”

“I think that she would not worthily fill the position which your wife should take in the world.”

“I understand what you say.”

“She would not do you honour at the head of your table.”

“Ah, I understand. You want me to marry some bouncing Amazon, some pink and white giantess of fashion who would frighten the little people into their proprieties.”

“Oh, Ludovic! you are intending to laugh at me now.”

“I was never less inclined to laugh in my life⁠—never, I can assure you. And now I am more certain than ever that your objection to Miss Robarts arises from your not knowing her. You will find, I think, when you do know her, that she is as well able to hold her own as any lady of your acquaintance;⁠—ay, and to maintain her husband’s position, too. I can assure you that I shall have no fear of her on that score.”

“I think, dearest, that perhaps you hardly⁠—”

“I think this, mother, that in such a matter as this I must choose for myself. I have chosen; and I now ask you, as my mother, to go to her and bid her welcome. Dear mother, I will own this, that I should not be happy if I thought that you did not love my wife.” These last words he said in a tone of affection that went to his mother’s heart, and then he left the room.

Poor Lady Lufton, when she was alone, waited till she heard her son’s steps retreating through the hall, and then betook herself upstairs to her customary morning work. She sat down at last as though about so to occupy herself; but her mind was too full to allow of her taking up her pen. She had often said to herself, in days which to her were not as yet long gone by, that she would choose a bride for her son, and that then she would love the chosen one with all her heart. She would dethrone herself in favour of this new queen, sinking with joy into her dowager state, in order that her son’s wife might shine with the greater splendour. The fondest daydreams of her life had all had reference to the time when her son should bring home a new Lady Lufton, selected by herself from the female excellence of England, and in which she might be the first to worship her new idol. But could she dethrone herself for Lucy Robarts? Could she give up her chair of state in order