The Small House at Allington
got on your old checked apron, and when he came in she was rolling up
the fire-irons in brown paper. I don't suppose she was ever in such a
mess before. There's one thing certain,--he can't kiss her hand."
"It's you are the goose, Lily."
"But he's in there certainly, unless he has gone out through the
window, or up the chimney."
"What made you leave them?"
"He met me here, in the passage, and spoke to me ever so seriously.
'Come in,' I said, 'and see Bell packing the pokers and tongs.' 'I
will go in,' he said, 'but don't come with me.' He was ever so
serious, and I'm sure he had been thinking of it all the way along."
"And why should he not be serious?"
"Oh, no, of course he ought to be serious; but are you not glad,
mamma? I am so glad. We shall live alone together, you and I; but she
will be so close to us! My belief is that he'll stay there for ever
unless somebody does something. I have been so tired of waiting and
looking out for you. Perhaps he's helping her to pack the things.
Don't you think we might go in; or would it be ill-natured?"
"Lily, don't be in too great a hurry to say anything. You may be
mistaken, you know; and there's many a slip between the cup and the
lip."
"Yes, mamma, there is," said Lily, putting her hand inside her
mother's arm, "that's true enough."
"Oh, my darling, forgive me," said the mother, suddenly remembering
that the use of the old proverb at the present moment had been almost
cruel.
"Do not mind it," said Lily, "it does not hurt me, it does me good;
that is to say, when there is nobody by except yourself. But, with
God's help, there shall be no slip here, and she shall be happy. It
is all the difference between one thing done in a hurry, and another
done with much thinking. But they'll remain there for ever if we
don't go in. Come, mamma, you open the door."
Then Mrs. Dale did open the door, giving some little premonitory
notice with the handle, so that the couple inside might be warned of
approaching footsteps. Crofts had not escaped, either through the
window or up the chimney, but was seated in the middle of the room
on an empty box, just opposite to Bell, who was seated upon the
lump of carpeting. Bell still wore the checked apron as described
by her sister. What might have been the state of her hands I will
not pretend to say; but I do not believe that her lover had found
anything amiss with them. "How do you do, doctor?" said Mrs. Dale,
striving to use her accustomed voice, and to look as though there
were nothing of special importance in his visit. "I have just come
down from the Great House."
"Mamma," said Bell, jumping up, "you must not call him doctor any
more."
"Must I not? Has any one undoctored him?"
"Oh, mamma, you understand," said Bell.
"I understand," said Lily, going up to the doctor, and giving him her
cheek to kiss, "he is to be my brother, and I mean to claim him as
such from this moment. I expect him to do everything for us, and not
to call a moment of his time his own."
"Mrs. Dale," said the doctor, "Bell has consented that it shall be
so, if you will consent."
"There is but little doubt of that," said Mrs. Dale.
"We shall not be rich--" began the doctor.
"I hate to be rich," said Bell. "I hate even to talk about it. I
don't think it quite manly even to think about it; and I'm sure it
isn't womanly."
"Bell was always a fanatic in praise of poverty," said Mrs. Dale.
"No; I'm no fanatic. I'm very fond of money earned. I would like to
earn some myself if I knew how."
"Let her go out and visit the lady patients," said Lily. "They do in
America."
Then they all went into the parlour and sat round the fire talking as
though they were already one family. The proceeding, considering the
nature of it,--that a young lady, acknowledged to be of great beauty
and known to be of good birth, had on the occasion been asked and
given in marriage,--was carried on after a somewhat humdrum fashion,
and in a manner that must be called commonplace. How different had
it been when Crosbie had made his offer! Lily for the time had been
raised to a pinnacle,--a pinnacle which might be dangerous, but which
was, at any rate, lofty. With what a pretty speech had Crosbie been
greeted! How it had been felt by all concerned that the fortunes
of the Small House were in the ascendant,--felt, indeed, with some
trepidation, but still with much inward triumph. How great had been
the occasion, forcing Lily almost to lose herself in wonderment
at what had occurred! There was no great occasion now, and no
wonderment. No one, unless it was Crofts, felt very triumphant. But
they were all very happy, and were sure that there was safety in
their happiness. It was but the other day that one of them had been
thrown rudely to the ground through the treachery of a lover, but yet
none of them feared treachery from this lover. Bell was as sure of
her lot in life as though she were already being taken home to her
modest house in Guestwick. Mrs. Dale already looked upon the man as
her son, and the party of four as they sat round the fire grouped
themselves as though they already formed one family.
But Bell was not seated next to her lover. Lily, when she had once
accepted Crosbie, seemed to think that she could never be too near
to him. She had been in no wise ashamed of her love, and had shown
it constantly by some little caressing motion of her hand, leaning
on his arm, looking into his face, as though she were continually
desirous of some palpable assurance of his presence. It was not so at
all with Bell. She was happy in loving and in being loved, but she
required no overt testimonies of affection. I do not think it would
have made her unhappy if some sudden need had required that Crofts
should go to India and back before they were married. The thing was
settled, and that was enough for her. But, on the other hand, when
he spoke of the expediency of an immediate marriage, she raised no
difficulty. As her mother was about to go into a new residence, it
might be as well that that residence should be fitted to the wants of
two persons instead of three. So they talked about chairs and tables,
carpets and kitchens, in a most unromantic, homely, useful manner!
A considerable portion of the furniture in the house they were now
about to leave belonged to the squire,--or to the house rather,
as they were in the habit of saying. The older and more solid
things,--articles of household stuff that stand the wear of half a
century,--had been in the Small House when they came to it. There
was, therefore, a question of buying new furniture for a house in
Guestwick,--a question not devoid of importance to the possessor of
so moderate an income as that owned by Mrs. Dale. In the first month
or two they were to live in lodgings, and their goods were to be
stored in some friendly warehouse. Under such circumstances would
it not be well that Bell's marriage should be so arranged that the
lodging question might not be in any degree complicated by her
necessities? This was the last suggestion made by Dr. Crofts, induced
no doubt by the great encouragement he had received.
"That would be hardly possible," said Mrs. Dale. "It only wants three
weeks;--and with the house in such a condition!"
"James is joking," said Bell.
"I was not joking at all," said the doctor.
"Why not send for Mr. Boyce, and carry her off at once on a pillion
behind you?" said Lily. "It's just the sort of thing for primitive
people to do, like you and Bell. All the same, Bell, I do wish you
could have been married from this house."
"I don't think it will make much difference," said Bell.
"Only if you would have waited till summer we would have had such
a nice party on the lawn. It sounds so ugly, being married from
lodgings; doesn't it, mamma?"
"It doesn't sound at all ugly to me," said Bell.
"I shall always call you Dame Commonplace when you're married," said
Lily.
Then they had tea, and after tea Dr. Crofts got on his horse and rode
back to Guestwick.
"Now may I talk about him?" said Lily, as soon as the door was closed
behind his back.
"No; you may not."
"As if I hadn't known it all along! And wasn't it hard to bear that
you should have scolded me with such pertinacious austerity, and that
I wasn't to say a word in answer!"
"I don't remember the austerity," said Mrs. Dale.
"Nor yet Lily's silence," said Bell.
"But it's all settled now," said Lily, "and I'm downright happy. I
never felt more satisfaction,--never, Bell!"
"Nor did I," said her mother; "I may truly say that I thank God for
this good thing."
CHAPTER LI.
JOHN EAMES DOES THINGS WHICH HE OUGHT NOT TO HAVE DONE.
John Eames succeeded in making his bargain with Sir Raffle Buffle. He
accepted the private secretaryship on the plainly expressed condition
that he was to have leave of absence for a fortnight towards the end
of April. Having arranged this he took an affectionate leave of Mr.
Love, who was really much affected at parting with him, discussed
valedictory pots of porter in the big room, over which many wishes
were expressed that he might be enabled to compass the length and
breadth of old Huffle's feet, uttered a last cutting joke at Mr.
Kissing as he met that gentleman hurrying through the passages with
an enormous ledger in his hands, and then took his place in the
comfortable arm-chair which FitzHoward had been forced to relinquish.
"Don't tell any of the fellows," said Fitz, "but I'm going to cut
the concern altogether. My governor wouldn't let me stop here in any
other place than that of private secretary."
"Ah, your governor is a swell," said Eames.
"I don't know about that," said FitzHoward. "Of course he has a good
deal of family interest. My cousin is to come in for St. Bungay at
the next election, and then I can do better than remain here."
"That's a matter of course," said Eames. "If my cousin were Member
for St. Bungay, I'd never stand anything east of Whitehall."
"And I don't mean," said FitzHoward. "This room, you know, is all
very nice; but it is a bore coming into the City every day. And then
one doesn't like to be rung for like a servant. Not that I mean to
put you out of conceit with it."
"It will do very well for me," said Eames. "I never was very
particular." And so they parted, Eames assuming the beautiful
arm-chair and the peril of being asked to carry Sir Raffle's shoes,
while FitzHoward took the vacant desk in the big room till such time
as some member of his family should come into Parliament for the
borough of St. Bungay.
But Eames, though he drank the porter, and quizzed FitzHoward, and
gibed at Kissing, did not seat himself in his new arm-chair without
some serious thoughts. He was aware that his career in London had not
hitherto been one on which he could look back with self-respect. He
had lived with friends whom he did not esteem; he had been idle, and
sometimes worse than idle; and he had allowed himself to be hampered
by the pretended love of a woman for whom he had never felt any true
affection, and by whom he had been cozened out of various foolish
promises which even yet were hanging over his head. As he sat with
Sir Raffle's notes before him, he thought almost with horror of
the men and women in Burton Crescent. It was now about three years
since he had first known Cradell, and he shuddered as he remembered
how very poor a creature was he whom he had chosen for his bosom
friend. He could not make for himself those excuses which we can
make for him. He could not tell himself that he had been driven by
circumstances to choose a friend, before he had learned to know what
were the requisites for which he should look. He had lived on terms
of closest intimacy with this man for three years, and now his eyes