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

not, who almost eclipsed poor Harold Smith?” And then Mr. Sowerby gave an amusing sketch of the little Proudie episode.

“It has, of course, ruined your brother-in-law forever as a lecturer,” said the duke, laughing.

“If so, we shall feel ourselves under the deepest obligations to Mrs. Proudie,” said Mr. Sowerby. And then Harold Smith himself came up and received the duke’s sincere and hearty congratulations on the success of his enterprise at Barchester.

Mark Robarts had now turned away, and his attention was suddenly arrested by the loud voice of Miss Dunstable, who had stumbled across some very dear friends in her passage through the rooms, and who by no means hid from the public her delight upon the occasion.

“Well⁠—well⁠—well!” she exclaimed, and then she seized upon a very quiet-looking, well-dressed, attractive young woman who was walking towards her, in company with a gentleman. The gentleman and lady, as it turned out, were husband and wife. “Well⁠—well⁠—well! I hardly hoped for this.” And then she took hold of the lady and kissed her enthusiastically, and after that grasped both the gentleman’s hands, shaking them stoutly.

“And what a deal I shall have to say to you!” she went on. “You’ll upset all my other plans. But, Mary, my dear, how long are you going to stay here? I go⁠—let me see⁠—I forget when, but it’s all put down in a book upstairs. But the next stage is at Mrs. Proudie’s. I shan’t meet you there, I suppose. And now, Frank, how’s the governor?”

The gentleman called Frank declared that the governor was all right⁠—“mad about the hounds, of course, you know.”

“Well, my dear, that’s better than the hounds being mad about him, like the poor gentleman they’ve put into a statue. But talking of hounds, Frank, how badly they manage their foxes at Chaldicotes! I was out hunting all one day⁠—”

“You out hunting!” said the lady called Mary.

“And why shouldn’t I go out hunting? I’ll tell you what, Mrs. Proudie was out hunting, too. But they didn’t catch a single fox; and, if you must have the truth, it seemed to me to be rather slow.”

“You were in the wrong division of the county,” said the gentleman called Frank.

“Of course I was. When I really want to practise hunting I’ll go to Greshamsbury; not a doubt about that.”

“Or to Boxall Hill,” said the lady; “you’ll find quite as much zeal there as at Greshamsbury.”

“And more discretion, you should add,” said the gentleman.

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Miss Dunstable; “your discretion indeed! But you have not told me a word about Lady Arabella.”

“My mother is quite well,” said the gentleman.

“And the doctor? By the by, my dear, I’ve had such a letter from the doctor; only two days ago. I’ll show it you upstairs tomorrow. But mind, it must be a positive secret. If he goes on in this way he’ll get himself into the Tower, or Coventry, or a blue-book, or some dreadful place.”

“Why; what has he said?”

“Never you mind, Master Frank: I don’t mean to show you the letter, you may be sure of that. But if your wife will swear three times on a poker and tongs that she won’t reveal, I’ll show it to her. And so you are quite settled at Boxall Hill, are you?”

“Frank’s horses are settled; and the dogs nearly so,” said Frank’s wife; “but I can’t boast much of anything else yet.”

“Well, there’s a good time coming. I must go and change my things now. But, Mary, mind you get near me this evening; I have such a deal to say to you.” And then Miss Dunstable marched out of the room.

All this had been said in so loud a voice that it was, as a matter of course, overheard by Mark Robarts⁠—that part of the conversation of course I mean which had come from Miss Dunstable. And then Mark learned that this was young Frank Gresham of Boxall Hill, son of old Mr. Gresham of Greshamsbury. Frank had lately married a great heiress; a greater heiress, men said, even than Miss Dunstable; and as the marriage was hardly as yet more than six months old the Barsetshire world was still full of it.

“The two heiresses seem to be very loving, don’t they?” said Mr. Supplehouse. “Birds of a feather flock together, you know. But they did say some little time ago that young Gresham was to have married Miss Dunstable himself.”

“Miss Dunstable! why she might almost be his mother,” said Mark.

“That makes but little difference. He was obliged to marry money, and I believe there is no doubt that he did at one time propose to Miss Dunstable.”

“I have had a letter from Lufton,” Mr. Sowerby said to him the next morning. “He declares that the delay was all your fault. You were to have told Lady Lufton before he did anything, and he was waiting to write about it till he heard from you. It seems that you never said a word to her ladyship on the subject.”

“I never did, certainly. My commission from Lufton was to break the matter to her when I found her in a proper humour for receiving it. If you knew Lady Lufton as well as I do, you would know that it is not every day that she would be in a humour for such tidings.”

“And so I was to be kept waiting indefinitely because you two between you were afraid of an old woman! However I have not a word to say against her, and the matter is settled now.”

“Has the farm been sold?”

“Not a bit of it. The dowager could not bring her mind to suffer such profanation for the Lufton acres, and so she sold five thousand pounds out of the funds and sent the money to Lufton as a present;⁠—sent it to him without saying a word, only hoping that it would suffice for his wants. I wish I had a mother, I know.”

Mark found it impossible at the moment to make any remark upon what had been told him, but he felt a