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

him for his goodness. Pay him! No, that would be a base word, a base thought. Her payment must be made, if God would so grant it, in many, many years to come. But her store, such as it was, should be emptied into his lap. It was soothing to her pride that she would not hurt him by her love, that she would bring no injury to the old house. “Dear, dear Frank” she murmured, as her waking dreams, conquered at last by sleep, gave way to those of the fairy world.

But she thought not only of Frank; dreamed not only of him. What had he not done for her, that uncle of hers, who had been more loving to her than any father! How was he, too, to be paid? Paid, indeed! Love can only be paid in its own coin: it knows of no other legal tender. Well, if her home was to be Greshamsbury, at any rate she would not be separated from him.

What the doctor dreamed of that, neither he or anyone ever knew. “Why, uncle, I think you’ve been asleep,” said Mary to him that evening as he moved for a moment uneasily on the sofa. He had been asleep for the last three-quarters of an hour;⁠—but Frank, his guest, had felt no offence. “No, I’ve not been exactly asleep,” said he; “but I’m very tired. I wouldn’t do it all again, Frank, to double the money. You haven’t got any more tea, have you, Mary?”

On the following morning, Beatrice was of course with her friend. There was no awkwardness between them in meeting. Beatrice had loved her when she was poor, and though they had not lately thought alike on one very important subject, Mary was too gracious to impute that to Beatrice as a crime.

“You will be one now, Mary; of course you will.”

“If Lady Arabella will let me come.”

“Oh, Mary; let you! Do you remember what you said once about coming, and being near me? I have so often thought of it. And now, Mary, I must tell you about Caleb;” and the young lady settled herself on the sofa, so as to have a comfortable long talk. Beatrice had been quite right. Mary was as meek with her, and as mild as a dove.

And then Patience Oriel came. “My fine, young, darling, magnificent, overgrown heiress,” said Patience, embracing her. “My breath deserted me, and I was nearly stunned when I heard of it. How small we shall all be, my dear! I am quite prepared to toady to you immensely; but pray be a little gracious to me, for the sake of auld lang syne.”

Mary gave a long, long kiss. “Yes, for auld lang syne, Patience; when you took me away under your wing to Richmond.” Patience also had loved her when she was in her trouble, and that love, too, should never be forgotten.

But the great difficulty was Lady Arabella’s first meeting with her. “I think I’ll go down to her after breakfast,” said her ladyship to Beatrice, as the two were talking over the matter while the mother was finishing her toilet.

“I am sure she will come up if you like it, mamma.”

“She is entitled to every courtesy⁠—as Frank’s accepted bride, you know,” said Lady Arabella. “I would not for worlds fail in any respect to her for his sake.”

“He will be glad enough for her to come, I am sure,” said Beatrice. “I was talking with Caleb this morning, and he says⁠—”

The matter was of importance, and Lady Arabella gave it her most mature consideration. The manner of receiving into one’s family an heiress whose wealth is to cure all one’s difficulties, disperse all one’s troubles, give a balm to all the wounds of misfortune, must, under any circumstances, be worthy of much care. But when that heiress has been already treated as Mary had been treated!

“I must see her, at any rate, before I go to Courcy.” said Lady Arabella.

“Are you going to Courcy, mamma?”

“Oh, certainly; yes, I must see my sister-in-law now. You don’t seem to realise the importance, my dear, of Frank’s marriage. He will be in a great hurry about it, and, indeed, I cannot blame him. I expect that they will all come here.”

“Who, mamma? the de Courcys?”

“Yes, of course. I shall be very much surprised if the earl does not come now. And I must consult my sister-in-law as to asking the Duke of Omnium.”

Poor Mary!

“And I think it will perhaps be better,” continued Lady Arabella, “that we should have a larger party than we intended at your affair. The countess, I’m sure, would come now. We couldn’t put it off for ten days; could we, dear?”

“Put it off ten days!”

“Yes; it would be convenient.”

“I don’t think Mr. Oriel would like that at all, mamma. You know he has made all his arrangements for his Sundays⁠—”

Pshaw! The idea of the parson’s Sundays being allowed to have any bearing on such a matter as Frank’s wedding would now become! Why, they would have⁠—how much? Between twelve and fourteen thousand a year! Lady Arabella, who had made her calculations a dozen times during the night, had never found it to be much less than the larger sum. Mr. Oriel’s Sundays, indeed!

After much doubt, Lady Arabella acceded to her daughter’s suggestion, that Mary should be received at Greshamsbury instead of being called on at the doctor’s house. “If you think she won’t mind the coming up first,” said her ladyship. “I certainly could receive her better here. I should be more⁠—more⁠—more able, you know, to express what I feel. We had better go into the big drawing-room today, Beatrice. Will you remember to tell Mrs. Richards?”

“Oh, certainly,” was Mary’s answer when Beatrice, with a voice a little trembling, proposed to her to walk up to the house. “Certainly I will, if Lady Arabella will receive me;⁠—only one thing, Trichy.”

“What’s that, dearest?”

“Frank will think that I come after him.”

“Never mind what he thinks. To tell you the truth,