The Duke's Children. Anthony Trollope

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ believe she will have a great deal."

      "Then she is a great fool for her pains," said the Earl, shambling off again.

      Lady Mabel spent the greater part of the afternoon alone, endeavouring to recall to her mind all that she had said to Frank Tregear, and questioning herself as to the wisdom and truth of her own words. She had intended to tell the truth—but hardly perhaps the whole truth. The life which was before her—which it was necessary that she should lead—seemed to her to be so difficult! She could not clearly see her way to be pure and good and feminine, and at the same time wise. She had been false now;—so far false that she had told her friend that she had never been in love. But she was in love;—in love with him, Frank Tregear. She knew it as thoroughly as it was possible for her to know anything;—and had acknowledged it to herself a score of times.

      But she could not marry him. And it was expected, nay, almost necessary that she should marry someone. To that someone, how good she would be! How she would strive by duty and attention, and if possible by affection, to make up for that misfortune of her early love!

      And so I hope that I have brought my cart in to its appointed place in the front, without showing too much of the horse.

CHAPTER XI

       Table of Contents

"Cruel"

       Table of Contents

      For two or three days after the first scene between the Duke and his daughter—that scene in which she was forbidden either to see or to write to her lover—not a word was said at Matching about Mr. Tregear, nor were any steps taken towards curtailing her liberty of action. She had said she would not write to him without telling her father, and the Duke was too proud of the honour of his family to believe it to be possible that she should deceive him. Nor was it possible. Not only would her own idea of duty prevent her from writing to her lover, although she had stipulated for the right to do so in some possible emergency—but, carried far beyond that in her sense of what was right and wrong, she felt it now incumbent on her to have no secret from her father at all. The secret, as long as it had been a secret, had been a legacy from her mother—and had been kept, at her lover's instance, during that period of mourning for her mother in which it would, she thought, have been indecorous that there should be any question of love or of giving in marriage. It had been a burden to her, though a necessary burden. She had been very clear that the revelation should be made to her father, when it was made, by her lover. That had been done—and now it was open to her to live without any secrecy—as was her nature. She meant to cling to her lover. She was quite sure of that. Nothing could divide her from him but his death or hers—or falseness on his part. But as to marriage, that would not be possible till her father had assented. And as to seeing the man—ah, yes, if she could do so with her father's assent! She would not be ashamed to own her great desire to see him. She would tell her father that all her happiness depended upon seeing him. She would not be coy in speaking of her love. But she would obey her father.

      She had a strong idea that she would ultimately prevail—an idea also that that "ultimately" should not be postponed to some undefined middle-aged period of her life. As she intended to belong to Frank Tregear, she thought it expedient that he should have the best of her days as well as what might be supposed to be the worst; and she therefore resolved that it would be her duty to make her father understand that though she would certainly obey him, she would look to be treated humanely by him, and not to be made miserable for an indefinite term of years.

      The first word spoken between them on the subject—the first word after that discussion—began with him and was caused by his feeling that her present life at Matching must be sad and lonely. Lady Cantrip had again written that she would be delighted to take her;—but Lady Cantrip was in London and must be in London, at any rate when Parliament should again be sitting. A London life would perhaps, at present, hardly suit Lady Mary. Then a plan had been prepared which might be convenient. The Duke had a house at Richmond, on the river, called The Horns. That should be lent to Lady Cantrip, and Mary should there be her guest. So it was settled between the Duke and Lady Cantrip. But as yet Lady Mary knew nothing of the arrangement.

      "I think I shall go up to town to-morrow," said the Duke to his daughter.

      "For long?"

      "I shall be gone only one night. It is on your behalf that I am going."

      "On my behalf, papa?"

      "I have been writing to Lady Cantrip."

      "Not about Mr. Tregear?"

      "No;—not about Mr. Tregear," said the father with a mixture of anger and solemnity in his tone. "It is my desire to regard Mr. Tregear as though he did not exist."

      "That is not possible, papa."

      "I have alluded to the inconvenience of your position here."

      "Why is it inconvenient?"

      "You are too young to be without a companion. It is not fit that you should be so much alone."

      "I do not feel it."

      "It is very melancholy for you, and cannot be good for you. They will go down to The Horns, so that you will not be absolutely in London, and you will find Lady Cantrip a very nice person."

      "I don't care for new people just now, papa," she said. But to this he paid but little heed; nor was she prepared to say that she would not do as he directed. When therefore he left Matching, she understood that he was going to prepare a temporary home for her. Nothing further was said about Tregear. She was too proud to ask that no mention of his name should be made to Lady Cantrip. And he when he left the house did not think that he would find himself called upon to allude to the subject.

      But when Lady Cantrip made some inquiry about the girl and her habits—asking what were her ordinary occupations, how she was accustomed to pass her hours, to what she chiefly devoted herself—then at last with much difficulty the Duke did bring himself to tell the story. "Perhaps it is better you should know it all," he said as he told it.

      "Poor girl! Yes, Duke; upon the whole it is better that I should know it all," said Lady Cantrip. "Of course he will not come here."

      "Oh dear; I hope not."

      "Nor to The Horns."

      "I hope he will never see her again anywhere," said the Duke.

      "Poor girl!"

      "Have I not been right? Is it not best to put an end to such a thing at once?"

      "Certainly at once, if it has to be put an end to—and can be put an end to."

      "It must be put an end to," said the Duke, very decidedly. "Do you not see that it must be so? Who is Mr. Tregear?"

      "I suppose they were allowed to be together."

      "He was unfortunately intimate with Silverbridge, who took him over to Italy. He has nothing; not even a profession." Lady Cantrip could not but smile when she remembered the immense wealth of the man who was speaking to her;—and the Duke saw the smile and understood it. "You will understand СКАЧАТЬ