The Small House at Allington - Anthony Trollope (i want to read a book txt) 📗

that is for your happiness. May God preserve you from any such fate as Lily’s. When I tell you to write kindly to your cousin, I simply mean that I think him to have deserved a kind reply by his honesty.”

“It shall be as kind as I can make it, mamma; but you know what the lady says in the play⁠—how hard it is to take the sting from that word ‘no.’ ” Then Bell walked out alone for a while, and on her return got her desk and wrote her letter. It was very firm and decisive. As for that wit which should pluck the sting “from such a sharp and waspish word as ‘no,’ ” I fear she had it not. “It will be better to make him understand that I, also, am in earnest,” she said to herself; and in this frame of mind she wrote her letter. “Pray do not allow yourself to think that what I have said is unfriendly,” she added, in a postscript. “I know how good you are, and I know the great value of what I refuse; but in this matter it must be my duty to tell you the simple truth.”

It had been decided between the squire and Mrs. Dale that the removal from the Small House to Guestwick was not to take place till the first of May. When he had been made to understand that Dr. Crofts had thought it injudicious that Lily should be taken out of their present house in March, he had used all the eloquence of which he was master to induce Mrs. Dale to consent to abandon her project. He had told her that he had always considered that house as belonging, of right, to some other of the family than himself; that it had always been so inhabited, and that no squire of Allington had for years past taken rent for it. “There is no favour conferred⁠—none at all,” he had said; but speaking nevertheless in his usual sharp, ungenial tone.

“There is a favour, a great favour, and great generosity,” Mrs. Dale had replied. “And I have never been too proud to accept it; but when I tell you that we think we shall be happier at Guestwick, you will not refuse to let us go. Lily has had a great blow in that house, and Bell feels that she is running counter to your wishes on her behalf⁠—wishes that are so very kind!”

“No more need be said about that. All that may come right yet, if you will remain where you are.”

But Mrs. Dale knew that “all that” could never come right, and persisted. Indeed, she would hardly have dared to tell her girls that she had yielded to the squire’s entreaties. It was just then, at that very time, that the squire was, as it were, in treaty with the earl about Lily’s fortune; and he did feel it hard that he should be opposed in such a way by his own relatives at the moment when he was behaving towards them with so much generosity. But in his arguments about the house he said nothing of Lily, or her future prospects.

They were to move on the first of May, and one week of April was already past. The squire had said nothing further on the matter after the interview with Mrs. Dale to which allusion has just been made. He was vexed and sore at the separation, thinking that he was ill-used by the feeling which was displayed by this refusal. He had done his duty by them, as he thought; indeed more than his duty, and now they told him that they were leaving him because they could no longer bear the weight of an obligation conferred by his hands. But in truth he did not understand them; nor did they understand him. He had been hard in his manner, and had occasionally domineered, not feeling that his position, though it gave him all the privileges of a near and a dear friend, did not give him the authority of a father or a husband. In that matter of Bernard’s proposed marriage he had spoken as though Bell should have considered his wishes before she refused her cousin. He had taken upon himself to scold Mrs. Dale, and had thereby given offence to the girls, which they at the time had found it utterly impossible to forgive.

But they were hardly better satisfied in the matter than was he; and now that the time had come, though they could not bring themselves to go back from their demand, almost felt that they were treating the squire with cruelty. When their decision had been made⁠—while it had been making⁠—he had been stern and hard to them. Since that he had been softened by Lily’s misfortune, and softened also by the anticipated loneliness which would come upon him when they should be gone from his side. It was hard upon him that they should so treat him when he was doing his best for them all! And they also felt this, though they did not know the extent to which he was anxious to go in serving them. When they had sat round the fire planning the scheme of their removal, their hearts had been hardened against him, and they had resolved to assert their independence. But now, when the time for action had come, they felt that their grievances against him had already been in a great measure assuaged. This tinged all that they did with a certain sadness; but still they continued their work.

Who does not know how terrible are those preparations for house-moving;⁠—how infinite in number are the articles which must be packed, how inexpressibly uncomfortable is the period of packing, and how poor and tawdry is the aspect of one’s belongings while they are thus in a state of dislocation? Nowadays people who understand the world, and have money commensurate with their understanding, have learned the way of shunning all these disasters, and of leaving the