Books: He Knew He Was Right

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'I shall be ready tomorrow,' said Brooke.

'How can you tell such a lie?' said Aunt Stanbury.

But after two or three days Brooke was gone to make a journey through
the distant parts of the county, and see the beauties of Devonshire. He
was to be away for a fortnight, and then come back for a day or two
before he returned to London. During that fortnight things did not go
well with poor Dorothy at Exeter.

'I suppose you know your own business best,' her aunt said to her one
morning. Dorothy uttered no word of reply. She felt it to be equally
impossible to suggest either that she did or that she did not know her
own business best, 'There may be reasons which I don't understand,'
exclaimed Aunt Stanbury; 'but I should like to know what it is you
expect.'

'Why should I expect anything, Aunt Stanbury?'

'That's nonsense Everybody expects something. You expect to have your
dinner by-and-by don't you?'

'I suppose I shall,' said Dorothy, to whom it occurred at the moment
that such expectation was justified by the fact that on every day of
her life hitherto some sort of a dinner had come in her way.

'Yes and you think it comes from heaven, I suppose.'

'It comes by God's goodness, and your bounty, Aunt Stanbury.'

'And how will it come when I'm dead? Or how will it come if things
should go in such a way that I can't stay here any longer? You don't
ever think of that.'

'I should go back to mamma, and Priscilla.'

'Psha! As if two mouths were not enough to eat all the meal there is in
that tub. If there was a word to say against the man, I wouldn't ask
you to have him; if he drank or smoked, or wasn't a gentleman, or was
too poor, or anything you like. But there's nothing. It's all very well
to tell me you don't love him, but why don't you love him? I don't like
a girl to go and throw herself at a man's head, as those Frenches have
done; but when everything has been prepared for you and made proper, it
seems to me to be like turning away from good victuals.' Dorothy could
only offer to go home if she had offended her aunt, and then Miss
Stanbury had scolded her for making the offer. As this kind of thing
went on at the house in the Close for a fortnight, during which there
was no going out, and no society at home, Dorothy began to be rather
tired of it.

At the end of the fortnight, on the morning of the day on which Brooke
Burgess was expected back, Dorothy, slowly moving into the sitting room
with her usual melancholy air, found Mr Gibson talking to her aunt.
'There she is herself,' said Miss Stanbury, jumping up briskly; 'and
now you can speak to her. Of course I have no authority none in the
least. But she knows what my wishes are.' And, having so spoken, Miss
Stanbury left the room.

It will be remembered that hitherto no word of affection had been
whispered by Mr Gibson into Dorothy's ears. When he came before to
press his suit she had been made aware of his coming, and had fled,
leaving her answer with her aunt. Mr Gibson had then expressed himself
as somewhat injured in that no opportunity of pouring forth his own
eloquence had been permitted to him. On that occasion Miss Stanbury,
being in a snubbing humour, had snubbed him. She had in truth scolded
him almost as much as she had scolded Dorothy, telling him that he went
about the business in hand as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
'You're stiff as a chair-back,' she had said to him, with a few other
compliments, and these amenities had for a while made him regard the
establishment at Heavitree as being, at any rate, pleasanter than that
in the Close. But since that cool reflection had come. The proposal was
not that he should marry Miss Stanbury, senior, who certainly could be
severe on occasions, but Miss Stanbury, junior, whose temper was as
sweet as primroses in March. That which. he would have to take from
Miss Stanbury, senior, was a certain sum of money, as to which her
promise was as good as any bond in the world. Things had come to such a
pass with him in Exeter from the hints of his friend the Prebend, from
a word or two which had come to him from the Dean, from certain family
arrangements proposed to him by his mother and sisters things had come
to such a pass that he was of a mind that he had better marry some one.
He had, as it were, three strings to his bow. There were the two French
strings, and there was Dorothy. He had not breadth of genius enough to
suggest to himself that yet another woman might be found. There was a
difficulty on the French score even about Miss Stanbury; but it was
clear to him that, failing her, he was due to one of the two Miss
Frenches. Now it was not only that the Miss Frenches were empty-handed,
but he was beginning to think himself that they were not as nice as
they might have been in reference to the arrangement of their
head-gear. Therefore, having given much thought to the matter, and
remembering that he had never yet had play for his own eloquence with
Dorothy, he had come to Miss Stanbury asking that he might have another
chance. It had been borne in upon him that he had perhaps hitherto
regarded Dorothy as too certainly his own, since she had been offered
to him by her aunt as being a prize that required no eloquence in the
winning; and he thought that if he could have an opportunity of
amending that fault, it might even yet be well with his suit. So he
prepared himself, and asked permission, and now found himself alone
with the young lady.

'When last I was in this house, Miss Stanbury,' he began, 'I was not
fortunate enough to be allowed an opportunity of pleading my cause to
yourself.' Then he paused, and Dorothy was left to consider how best
she might answer him. All that her aunt had said to her had not been
thrown away upon her. The calls upon that slender meal-tub at home she
knew were quite sufficient. And Mr Gibson was, she believed, a good
man. And how better could she dispose of herself in life? And what was
she that she should scorn the love of an honest gentleman? She would
take him, she thought if she could. But then there came upon her,
unconsciously, without work of thought, by instinct rather than by
intelligence, a feeling of the closeness of a wife to her husband.
Looking at it in general she could not deny that it would be very
proper that she should become Mrs Gibson. But when there came upon her
a remembrance that she would be called upon for demonstration of her
love that he would embrace her, and hold her to his heart, and kiss her
she revolted and shuddered. She believed that she did not want to marry
any man, and that such a state of things would not be good for her.
'Dear young lady,' continued Mr Gibson, 'you will let me now make up
for the loss which I then experienced?'

'I thought it was better not to give you trouble,' said Dorothy.

'Trouble, Miss Stanbury! How could it be trouble? The labour we delight
in physics pain. But to go back to the subject-matter. I hope you do
not doubt that my affection for you is true, and honest, and genuine.'

'I don't want to doubt anything, Mr Gibson; but--'

'You needn't, dearest Miss Stanbury; indeed you needn't. If you could
read my heart you would see written there true love very plainly very
plainly. And do you not think it a duty that people should marry?' It
may be surmised that he had here forgotten some connecting link which
should have joined without abruptness the declaration of his own love,
and his social view as to the general expediency of matrimony. But
Dorothy did not discover the hiatus.

'Certainly when they like each other, and if their friends think it
proper.'

'Our friends think it proper, Miss Stanbury may I say Dorothy? all of
them. I can assure you that on my side you will he welcomed by a mother
and sisters only too anxious to receive you with open arms. And as
regards your own relations, I need hardly allude to your revered aunt.
As to your own mother and sister and your brother, who, I believe,
gives his mind chiefly to other things I am assured by Miss Stanbury
that no opposition need be feared from them. Is that true, dearest
Dorothy?'

'It is true.'

'Does not all that plead in my behalf? Tell me, Dorothy.'

'Of course it does.'

'And you will be mine?' As far as eloquence could be of service, Mr
Gibson was sufficiently eloquent. To Dorothy his words appeared good,
and true, and affecting. All their friends did wish it. There were many
reasons why it should be done. If talking could have done it, his
talking was good enough. Though his words were in truth cold, and
affected, and learned by rote, they did not offend her; but his face
offended her; and the feeling was strong within her that if she
yielded, it would soon be close to her own. She couldn't do it. She
didn't love him, and she wouldn't do it. Priscilla would not grudge her
her share out of that meagre meal-tub. Had not Priscilla told her not
to marry the man if she did not love him? She found that she was
further than ever from loving him. She would not do it.'say that you
will be mine,' pleaded Mr Gibson, coming to her with both his hands
outstretched.

'Mr Gibson, I can't,' she said. She was sobbing now, and was half
choked by tears.

'And why not, Dorothy?'

'I don't know, but I can't. I don't feel that I want to be married at
all.'

'But it is honourable.'

'It's no use, Mr Gibson; I can't, and you oughtn't to ask me any more.'

'Must this be your very last answer?'

'What's the good of going over it all again and again. I can't do it.'

'Never, Miss Stanbury?'

'No never.'

'That is cruel, very cruel. I fear that you doubt my love.'

'It isn't cruel, Mr Gibson. I have a right to have my own feelings, and
I can't. If you please, I'll go away now.' Then she went, and he was
left standing alone in the room. His first feeling was one of anger.
Then there came to be mixed with that a good deal of wonder and then a
certain amount of doubt. He had during the last fortnight discussed the
matter at great length with a friend, a gentleman who knew the world,
and who took upon himself to say that he specially understood female
nature It was by advice from this friend that he had been instigated to
plead his own cause 'Of course she means to accept you,' the friend had
said. 'Why the mischief shouldn't she? But she has some flimsy,
old-fashioned country idea that it isn't maidenly to give in at first.
You tell her roundly that she must marry you'. Mr Gibson was just
reaching that roundness which his friend had recommended when the lady
left him and he was alone.

Mr Gibson was no doubt very much in love with Dorothy Stanbury. So
much, we may. take for granted. He, at least, believed that he was in
love with her. He would have thought it wicked to propose to her had he
not been in love with her. But with his love was mingled a certain
amount of contempt which had induced him to look upon her as an easy
conquest. He had been perhaps a little ashamed of himself for being in
love with Dorothy, and had almost believed the Frenches when they had
spoken of her as a poor creature, a dependant, one born to be snubbed
as a young woman almost without an identity of her own. When,
therefore, she so pertinaciously refused him, he could not but be
angry. And it was natural that he should be surprised. Though he was to
have received a fortune with Dorothy, the money was not hers. It was to
be hers or rather theirs only if she would accept him. Mr Gibson
thoroughly understood this point. He knew that Dorothy had nothing of
her own. The proposal made to her was as rich as though he had sought
her down at Nuncombe Putney, with his preferment, plus the 2000 pounds,
in his own pocket. And his other advantages were not hidden from his
own eyes. He was a clergyman, well thought of, not bad-looking
certainly, considerably under forty a man, indeed, who ought to have
been, in the eyes of Dorothy, such an Orlando as she would have most
desired. He could not therefore but wonder. And then came the doubt.
Could it be possible that all those refusals were simply the early
pulses of hesitating compliance produced by maidenly reserve? Mr
Gibson's friend had expressed a strong opinion that almost any young
woman would accept any young man if he put his 'com 'ether' upon her
strong enough. For Mr Gibson's friend was an Irishman. As to Dorothy
the friend had not a doubt in the world. Mr Gibson, as he stood alone
in the room after Dorothy's departure, could not share his friend's
certainty; but he thought it just possible that the pulsations of
maidenly reserve were yet at work. As he was revolving these points in
his mind, Miss Stanbury entered the room.

'It's all over now,' she said.

'As how, Miss Stanbury?'

'As how! She's given you an answer; hasn't she?'

'Yes, Miss Stanbury, she has given me an answer. But it has occurred to
me that young ladies are sometimes perhaps a little--'

'She means it, Mr Gibson; you may take my word for that. She is quite
in earnest. She can take the bit between her teeth as well as another,
though she does look so mild and gentle. She's a Stanbury all over.'

'And must this be the last of it, Miss Stanbury?'

'Upon my word, I don't know what else you can do unless you send the
Dean and Chapter to talk er over. She's a pig-headed, foolish young
woman but I can't help that. The truth is, you didn't make enough of
her at first, Mr Gibson. You thought the plum would tumble into your
mouth.'

This did seem cruel to the poor man. From the first day in which the
project had been opened to him by Miss Stanbury, he had yielded a ready
acquiescence in spite of those ties which he had at Heavitree and had
done his very best to fall into her views. 'I don't think that is at
all fair, Miss Stanbury,' he said, with some tone of wrath in his
voice.

'It's true quite true. You always treated her as though she were
something beneath you.' Mr Gibson stood speechless, with his mouth
open.'so you did. I saw it all. And now she's had spirit enough to
resent it. I don't wonder at it; I don't, indeed. It's no good your
standing there any longer. The thing is done.'

Such intolerable ill-usage Mr Gibson had never suffered in his life.
Had he been untrue, or very nearly untrue, to those dear girls at
Heavitree for this? 'I never treated her as anything beneath me,' he
said at last.

'Yes, you did. Do you think that I don't understand? Haven't I eyes in
my head, and ears? I'm not deaf yet, nor blind. But there's an end of
it. If any young woman ever meant anything, she means it. The truth is,
she don't like you.'

Was ever a lover despatched in so uncourteous a way! Then, too, he had
been summoned thither as a lover, had been specially encouraged to come
there as a lover, had been assured of success in a peculiar way, had
had the plum actually offered to him! He had done all that this old
woman had bidden him something, indeed, to the prejudice of his own
heart; he had been told that the wife was ready for him; and now,
because this foolish young woman didn't know her own mind this was Mr
Gibson's view of the matter he was reviled and abused, and told that he
had behaved badly to the lady. 'Miss Stanbury,' he said, 'I think that
you are forgetting yourself.'

'Highty, tighty!' said Miss Stanbury. 'Forgetting myself! I shan't
forget you in a hurry, Mr Gibson.'

'Nor I you, Miss Stanbury. Good morning, Miss Stanbury.' Mr Gibson, as
he went from the hall-door into the street, shook the dust off his
feet, and resolved that for the future he and Miss Stanbury should be
two. There would arise great trouble in Exeter; but, nevertheless, he
and Miss Stanbury must be two. He could justify himself in no other
purpose after such conduct as he had received.

CHAPTER XLIII - LABURNUM COTTAGE

There had been various letters passing, during the last six weeks,
between Priscilla Stanbury and her brother, respecting the Clock House
at Nuncombe Putney. The ladies at Nuncombe had, certainly, gone into
the Clock House on the clear understanding that the expenses of the
establishment were to be incurred on behalf of Mrs Trevelyan. Priscilla
had assented to the movement most doubtingly. She had disliked the idea
of taking the charge of a young married woman who was separated from
her husband, and she had felt that a going down after such an uprising
a fall from the Clock House back to a cottage would be very
disagreeable. She had, however, allowed her brother's arguments to
prevail, and there they were. The annoyance which she had anticipated
from the position of their late guest had fallen upon them: it had been
felt grievously, from the moment in which Colonel Osborne called at the
house; and now that going back to the cottage must be endured.
Priscilla understood that there had been a settlement between Trevelyan
and Stanbury as to the cost of the establishment so far but that must
now be at an end. In their present circumstances, she would not
continue to live there, and had already made inquiries as to some
humble roof for their shelter. For herself she would not have cared had
it been necessary for her to hide herself in a hut for herself, as
regarded any feeling as to her own standing in the village. For
herself, she was ashamed of nothing. But her mother would suffer, and
she knew what Aunt Stanbury would say to Dorothy. To Dorothy at the
present moment, if Dorothy should think of accepting her suitor, the
change might be very deleterious; but still it should be made. She
could not endure to live there on the very hard-earned proceeds of her
brother's pen proceeds which were not only hard-earned, but precarious.
She gave warning to the two servants who had been hired, and consulted
with Mrs Crocket as to a cottage, and was careful to let it be known
throughout Nuncombe Putney that the Clock House was to be abandoned.
The Clock House had been taken furnished for six months, of which half
were not yet over; but there were other expenses of living there much
greater than the rent, and go she would. Her mother sighed and
assented; and Mrs Crocket, having strongly but fruitlessly advised that
the Clock House should be inhabited at any rate for the six months,
promised her assistance. 'It has been a bad business, Mrs Crocket,'
said Priscilla; 'and all we can do now is to get out of it as well as
we can. Every mouthful I eat chokes me while I stay there.' 'It ain't
good, certainly, miss, not to know as you're all straight the first
thing as you wakes in the morning,' said Mrs Crocket who was always
able to feel when she woke that everything was straight with her.

Then there came the correspondence between Priscilla and Hugh.
Priscilla was at first decided, indeed, but mild in the expression of
her decision. To this, and to one or two other missives couched in
terms of increasing decision, Hugh answered with manly, self-asserting,
overbearing arguments. The house was theirs till Christmas; between
this and then he would think about it. He could very well afford to
keep the house on till next Midsummer, and then they might see what had
best be done. There was plenty of money, and Priscilla need not put
herself into a flutter. In answer to that word flutter, Priscilla wrote
as follows:

'Clock House, September 16, 186-

DEAR HUGH,

I know very well how good you are, and how generous, but you must allow
me to have feelings as well as yourself. I will not consent to have
myself regarded as a grand lady out of your earnings. How should I feel
when some day I heard that you had run yourself into debt? Neither
mamma nor I could endure it. Dorothy is provided for now, at any rate
for a time, and what we have is enough for us. You know I am not too
proud to take anything you can spare. us, when we are ourselves placed
in a proper position; but I could not live in this great house, while
you are paying for everything and I will not. Mamma quite agrees with
me, and we shall go out of it on Michaelmas-day. Mrs Crocket says she
thinks she can get you a tenant for the three months, out of Exeter if
not for the whole rent, at least for part of it. I think we have
already got a small place for eight shillings a week, a little out of
the village, on the road to Cockchaffington. You will remember it. Old
Soames used to live there. Our old furniture will be just enough. There
is a mite of a garden, and Mrs Crocket says she thinks we can get it
for seven shillings, or perhaps for six and sixpence, if we stay there.
We shall go in on the 29th. Mrs Crocket will see about having somebody
to take care of the house.

Your most affectionate sister,

PRISCILLA.'

On the receipt of this letter, Hugh proceeded to Nuncombe. At this time
he was making about ten guineas a week, and thought that he saw his way
to further work. No doubt the ten guineas were precarious that is, the
'Daily Record' might discontinue his services tomorrow, if the 'Daily
Record' thought fit to do so. The greater part of his earnings came
from the 'D. R.,' and the editor had only to say that things did not
suit any longer, and there would be an end of it. He was not as a
lawyer or a doctor with many clients who could not all be supposed to
withdraw their custom at once; but leading articles were things wanted
with at least as much regularity as physic or law; and Hugh Stanbury,
believing in himself, did not think it probable that an editor, who
knew what he was about, would withdraw his patronage. He was proud of
his weekly ten guineas, feeling sure that a weekly ten guineas would
not as yet have been his had he stuck to the Bar as a profession. He
had calculated, when Mrs Trevelyan left the Clock House, that two
hundred a year would enable his mother to continue to reside there, the
rent of the place furnished, or half-furnished, being only eighty; and
he thought that he could pay the two hundred easily. He thought so
still, when he received Priscilla's last letter; but he knew something
of the stubbornness of his dear sister, and he, therefore, went down to
Nuncombe Putney, in order that he might use the violence of his logic
on his mother.

He had heard of Mr Gibson from both Priscilla and from Dorothy, and was
certainly desirous that 'dear old Dolly,' as he called her, should be
settled comfortably. But when dear old Dolly wrote to him declaring
that it could not be so, that Mr Gibson was a very nice gentleman, of
whom she could not say that she was particularly fond though I really
do think that he is an excellent man, and if it was any other girl in
the world, I should recommend her to take him,' and that she thought
that she would rather not get married, he wrote to her the kindest
brotherly letter in the world, telling her that she was a 'brick,' and
suggesting to her that there might come some day some one who would
suit her taste better than Mr Gibson. 'I'm not very fond of parsons
myself,' said Hugh, 'but you. must not tell that to Aunt Stanbury.'
Then he suggested that as he was going down to Nuncombe, Dorothy should
get leave of absence and come over and meet him 'at the Clock House.
Dorothy demanded the leave of absence somewhat imperiously, and was at
home at the Clock House when Hugh arrived.

'And so that little affair couldn't come off?' said Hugh at their first
family meeting.

'It was a pity,' said Mrs Stanbury, plaintively. She had been very
plaintive on the subject. What a thing it would have been for her,
could she have seen Dorothy so well established!

'There's no help for spilt milk, mother,' said Hugh. Mrs Stanbury shook
her head.

'Dorothy was quite right,' said Priscilla.

'Of course she was right,' said Hugh. 'Who doubts her being right?
Bless my soul! "What's any girl to do if she don't like a man except to
tell him so?" I honour you, Dolly, not that I ever should have doubted
you. You're too much of a chip of the old block to say you liked a man
when you didn't.'

'He is a very excellent young man,' said Mrs Stanbury.

'An excellent fiddlestick, mother. Loving and liking don't go by
excellence. Besides, I don't know about his being any better than
anybody else, just because he's a clergyman.'

'A clergyman is more likely to be steady than other men,' said the
mother.

'Steady, yes; and as selfish as you please.'

'Your father was a clergyman, Hugh.'

'I don't mean to say that they are not as good as others; but I won't
have it that they are better. They are always dealing with the Bible,
till they think themselves apostles. But when money comes up; or
comfort, or for the matter of that either, a pretty woman with a little
money, then they are as human as the rest of us.'

If the truth had been told on that occasion, Hugh Stanbury would have
had to own that he had written lately two or three rather stinging
articles in the 'Daily Record,' as 'to the assumed merits and actual
demerits of the clergy of the Church of England.' It is astonishing how
fluent a man is on a subject when he has lately delivered himself
respecting it in this fashion.

Nothing on that evening was said about the Clock House, or about
Priscilla's intentions. Priscilla was up early on the next morning,
intending to discuss it in the garden with Hugh before breakfast; but
Hugh was aware of her purpose and avoided her. It was his intention to
speak first to his mother; and though his mother was, as he knew, very
much in awe of her daughter, he thought that he might carry his point,
at any rate for the next three months, by forcing an assent from the
elder lady. So he managed to waylay Mrs Stanbury before she descended
to the parlour.