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

in transit upon the table, he began his task, not without some apparent abruptness. Having fully considered the matter, he had determined that he would not wait for Bernard Dale’s absence. He thought it possible that he might be able to fight his battle better in Bernard’s presence than he could do behind his back.

“Squire,” he began. They all called him squire when they were on good terms together, and Crosbie thought it well to begin as though there was nothing amiss between them. “Squire, of course I am thinking a good deal at the present moment as to my intended marriage.”

“That’s natural enough,” said the squire.

“Yes, by George! sir, a man doesn’t make a change like that without finding that he has got something to think of.”

“I suppose not,” said the squire. “I never was in the way of getting married myself, but I can easily understand that.”

“I’ve been the luckiest fellow in the world in finding such a girl as your niece⁠—” Whereupon the squire bowed, intending to make a little courteous declaration that the luck in the matter was on the side of the Dales. “I know that,” continued Crosbie. “She is exactly everything that a girl ought to be.”

“She is a good girl,” said Bernard.

“Yes; I think she is,” said the squire.

“But it seems to me,” said Crosbie, finding that it was necessary to dash at once headlong into the water, “that something ought to be said as to my means of supporting her properly.”

Then he paused for a moment, expecting that the squire would speak. But the squire sat perfectly still, looking intently at the empty fireplace and saying nothing. “Of supporting her,” continued Crosbie, “with all those comforts to which she has been accustomed.”

“She has never been used to expense,” said the squire. “Her mother, as you doubtless know, is not a rich woman.”

“But living here, Lily has had great advantages⁠—a horse to ride, and all that sort of thing.”

“I don’t suppose she expects a horse in the park,” said the squire, with a very perceptible touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“I hope not,” said Crosbie.

“I believe she has had the use of one of the ponies here sometimes, but I hope that has not made her extravagant in her ideas. I did not think that there was anything of that nonsense about either of them.”

“Nor is there⁠—as far as I know.”

“Nothing of the sort,” said Bernard.

“But the long and the short of it is this, sir!” and Crosbie, as he spoke, endeavoured to maintain his ordinary voice and usual coolness, but his heightened colour betrayed that he was nervous. “Am I to expect any accession of income with my wife?”

“I have not spoken to my sister-in-law on the subject,” said the squire; “but I should fear that she cannot do much.”

“As a matter of course, I would not take a shilling from her,” said Crosbie.

“Then that settles it,” said the squire.

Crosbie paused a moment, during which his colour became very red. He unconsciously took up an apricot and eat it, and then he spoke out. “Of course I was not alluding to Mrs. Dale’s income; I would not, on any account, disturb her arrangements. But I wished to learn, sir, whether you intend to do anything for your niece.”

“In the way of giving her a fortune? Nothing at all. I intend to do nothing at all.”

“Then I suppose we understand each other⁠—at last,” said Crosbie.

“I should have thought that we might have understood each other at first,” said the squire. “Did I ever make you any promise, or give you any hint that I intended to provide for my niece? Have I ever held out to you any such hope? I don’t know what you mean by that word ‘at last’⁠—unless it be to give offence.”

“I meant the truth, sir;⁠—I meant this⁠—that seeing the manner in which your nieces lived with you, I thought it probable that you would treat them both as though they were your daughters. Now I find out my mistake;⁠—that is all!”

“You have been mistaken⁠—and without a shadow of excuse for your mistake.”

“Others have been mistaken with me,” said Crosbie, forgetting, on the spur of the moment, that he had no right to drag the opinion of any other person into the question.

“What others?” said the squire, with anger; and his mind immediately betook itself to his sister-in-law.

“I do not want to make any mischief,” said Crosbie.

“If anybody connected with my family has presumed to tell you that I intended to do more for my niece Lilian than I have already done, such person has not only been false, but ungrateful. I have given to no one any authority to make any promise on behalf of my niece.”

“No such promise has been made. It was only a suggestion,” said Crosbie.

He was not in the least aware to whom the squire was alluding in his anger; but he perceived that his host was angry, and having already reflected that he should not have alluded to the words which Bernard Dale had spoken in his friendship, he resolved to name no one. Bernard, as he sat by listening, knew exactly how the matter stood; but, as he thought, there could be no reason why he should subject himself to his uncle’s ill-will, seeing that he had committed no sin.

“No such suggestion should have been made,” said the squire. “No one has had a right to make such a suggestion. No one has been placed by me in a position to make such a suggestion to you without manifest impropriety. I will ask no further questions about it; but it is quite as well that you should understand at once that I do not consider it to be my duty to give my niece Lilian a fortune on her marriage. I trust that your offer to her was not made under any such delusion.”

“No, sir; it was not,” said Crosbie.

“Then I suppose that no great harm has been done. I am sorry if