The Small House at Allington
And Lily Dale was engaged to be married to Adolphus Crosbie,--to
Apollo Crosbie, as she still called him, confiding her little joke
to his own ears. And to her he was an Apollo, as a man who is loved
should be to the girl who loves him. He was handsome, graceful,
clever, self-confident, and always cheerful when she asked him to be
cheerful. But he had also his more serious moments, and could talk
to her of serious matters. He would read to her, and explain to her
things which had hitherto been too hard for her young intelligence.
His voice, too, was pleasant, and well under command. It could be
pathetic if pathos were required, or ring with laughter as merry as
her own. Was not such a man fit to be an Apollo to such a girl, when
once the girl had acknowledged to herself that she loved him?
She had acknowledged it to herself, and had acknowledged it to
him,--as the reader will perhaps say without much delay. But the
courtship had so been carried on that no delay had been needed. All
the world had smiled upon it. When Mr. Crosbie had first come among
them at Allington, as Bernard's guest, during those few days of his
early visit, it had seemed as though Bell had been chiefly noticed
by him. And Bell in her own quiet way had accepted his admiration,
saying nothing of it and thinking but very little. Lily was
heart-free at the time, and had ever been so. No first shadow from
Love's wing had as yet been thrown across the pure tablets of her
bosom. With Bell it was not so,--not so in absolute strictness.
Bell's story, too, must be told, but not on this page. But before
Crosbie had come among them, it was a thing fixed in her mind that
such love as she had felt must be overcome and annihilated. We may
say that it had been overcome and annihilated, and that she would
have sinned in no way had she listened to vows from this new Apollo.
It is almost sad to think that such a man might have had the love of
either of such girls, but I fear that I must acknowledge that it was
so. Apollo, in the plenitude of his power, soon changed his mind;
and before the end of his first visit, had transferred the distant
homage which he was then paying from the elder to the younger sister.
He afterwards returned, as the squire's guest, for a longer sojourn
among them, and at the end of the first month had already been
accepted as Lily's future husband.
It was beautiful to see how Bell changed in her mood towards Crosbie
and towards her sister as soon as she perceived how the affair was
going. She was not long in perceiving it, having caught the first
glimpses of the idea on that evening when they both dined at the
Great House, leaving their mother alone to eat or to neglect the
peas. For some six or seven weeks Crosbie had been gone, and during
that time Bell had been much more open in speaking of him than her
sister. She had been present when Crosbie had bid them good-by, and
had listened to his eagerness as he declared to Lily that he should
soon be back again at Allington. Lily had taken this very quietly,
as though it had not belonged at all to herself; but Bell had seen
something of the truth, and, believing in Crosbie as an earnest,
honest man, had spoken kind words of him, fostering any little
aptitude for love which might already have formed itself in Lily's
bosom.
"But he is such an Apollo, you know," Lily had said.
"He is a gentleman; I can see that."
"Oh, yes; a man can't be an Apollo unless he's a gentleman."
"And he's very clever."
"I suppose he is clever." There was nothing more said about his being
a mere clerk. Indeed, Lily had changed her mind on that subject.
Johnny Eames was a mere clerk; whereas Crosbie, if he was to be
called a clerk at all, was a clerk of some very special denomination.
There may be a great difference between one clerk and another! A
Clerk of the Council and a parish clerk are very different persons.
Lily had got some such idea as this into her head as she attempted
in her own mind to rescue Mr. Crosbie from the lower orders of the
Government service.
"I wish he were not coming," Mrs. Dale had said to her eldest
daughter.
"I think you are wrong, mamma."
"But if she should become fond of him, and then--"
"Lily will never become really fond of any man till he shall have
given her proper reason. And if he admires her, why should they not
come together?"
"But she is so young, Bell."
"She is nineteen; and if they were engaged, perhaps, they might wait
for a year or so. But it's no good talking in that way, mamma. If you
were to tell Lily not to give him encouragement, she would not speak
to him."
"I should not think of interfering."
"No, mamma; and therefore it must take its course. For myself, I like
Mr. Crosbie very much."
"So do I, my dear."
"And so does my uncle. I wouldn't have Lily take a lover of my
uncle's choosing."
"I should hope not."
"But it must be considered a good thing if she happens to choose one
of his liking."
In this way the matter had been talked over between the mother and
her elder daughter. Then Mr. Crosbie had come; and before the end
of the first month his declared admiration for Lily had proved
the correctness of her sister's foresight. And during that short
courtship all had gone well with the lovers. The squire from the
first had declared himself satisfied with the match, informing Mrs.
Dale, in his cold manner, that Mr. Crosbie was a gentleman with an
income sufficient for matrimony.
"It would be close enough in London," Mrs. Dale had said.
"He has more than my brother had when he married," said the squire.
"If he will only make her as happy as your brother made me,--while
it lasted!" said Mrs. Dale, as she turned away her face to conceal a
tear that was coming. And then there was nothing more said about it
between the squire and his sister-in-law. The squire spoke no word as
to assistance in money matters,--did not even suggest that he would
lend a hand to the young people at starting, as an uncle in such a
position might surely have done. It may well be conceived that Mrs.
Dale herself said nothing on the subject. And, indeed, it may be
conceived, also, that the squire, let his intentions be what they
might, would not divulge them to Mrs. Dale. This was uncomfortable,
but the position was one that was well understood between them.
Bernard Dale was still at Allington, and had remained there through
the period of Crosbie's absence. Whatever words Mrs. Dale might
choose to speak on the matter would probably be spoken to him; but,
then, Bernard could be quite as close as his uncle. When Crosbie
returned, he and Bernard had, of course, lived much together; and, as
was natural, there came to be close discussion between them as to the
two girls, when Crosbie allowed it to be understood that his liking
for Lily was becoming strong.
"You know, I suppose, that my uncle wishes me to marry the elder
one," Bernard had said.
"I have guessed as much."
"And I suppose the match will come off. She's a pretty girl, and as
good as gold."
"Yes, she is."
"I don't pretend to be very much in love with her. It's not my way,
you know. But, some of these days, I shall ask her to have me, and
I suppose it'll all go right. The governor has distinctly promised
to allow me eight hundred a year off the estate, and to take us in
for three months every year if we wish it. I told him simply that I
couldn't do it for less, and he agreed with me."
"You and he get on very well together."
"Oh, yes! There's never been any fal-lal between us about love, and
duty, and all that. I think we understand each other, and that's
everything. He knows the comfort of standing well with the heir,
and I know the comfort of standing well with the owner." It must be
admitted, I think, that there was a great deal of sound, common sense
about Bernard Dale.
"What will he do for the younger sister?" asked Crosbie; and, as he
asked the important question, a close observer might have perceived
that there was some slight tremor in his voice.
"Ah! that's more than I can tell you. If I were you, I should ask
him. The governor is a plain man, and likes plain business."
"I suppose you couldn't ask him?"
"No; I don't think I could. It is my belief that he will not let her
go by any means empty-handed."
"Well, I should suppose not."
"But remember this, Crosbie,--I can say nothing to you on which you
are to depend. Lily, also, is as good as gold; and, as you seem to
be fond of her, I should ask the governor, if I were you, in so many
words, what he intends to do. Of course, it's against my interest,
for every shilling he gives Lily will ultimately come out of my
pocket. But I'm not the man to care about that, as you know."
What might be Crosbie's knowledge on this subject we will not here
inquire; but we may say that it would have mattered very little to
him out of whose pocket the money came, so long as it went into his
own. When he felt quite sure of Lily,--having, in fact, received
Lily's permission to speak to her uncle, and Lily's promise that she
would herself speak to her mother,--he did tell the squire what was
his intention. This he did in an open, manly way, as though he felt
that in asking for much he also offered to give much.
"I have nothing to say against it," said the squire.
"And I have your permission to consider myself as engaged to her?"
"If you have hers and her mother's. Of course you are aware that I
have no authority over her."
"She would not marry without your sanction."
"She is very good to think so much of her uncle," said the squire;
and his words as he spoke them sounded very cold in Crosbie's ears.
After that Crosbie said nothing about money, having to confess to
himself that he was afraid to do so. "And what would be the use?"
said he to himself, wishing to make excuses for what he felt to be
weak in his own conduct. "If he should refuse to give her a shilling
I could not go back from it now." And then some ideas ran across his
mind as to the injustice to which men are subjected in this matter of
matrimony. A man has to declare himself before it is fitting that he
should make any inquiry about a lady's money; and then, when he has
declared himself, any such inquiry is unavailing. Which consideration
somewhat cooled the ardour of his happiness. Lily Dale was very
pretty, very nice, very refreshing in her innocence, her purity,
and her quick intelligence. No amusement could be more deliciously
amusing than that of making love to Lily Dale. Her way of flattering
her lover without any intention of flattery on her part, had put
Crosbie into a seventh heaven. In all his experience he had known
nothing like it. "You may be sure of this," she had said,--"I
shall love you with all my heart and all my strength." It was very
nice;--but then what were they to live upon? Could it be that he,
Adolphus Crosbie, should settle down on the north side of the New
Road, as a married man, with eight hundred a year? If indeed the
squire would be as good to Lily as he had promised to be to Bell,
then indeed things might be made to arrange themselves.
But there was no such drawback on Lily's happiness. Her ideas about
money were rather vague, but they were very honest. She knew she had
none of her own, but supposed it was a husband's duty to find what
would be needful. She knew she had none of her own, and was therefore
aware that she ought not to expect luxuries in the little household
that was to be prepared for her. She hoped, for his sake, that her
uncle might give some assistance, but was quite prepared to prove
that she could be a good poor man's wife. In the old colloquies on
such matters between her and her sister, she had always declared that
some decent income should be considered as indispensable before love