Barchester Towers [238]
I beg to tell you I like much the best. He who runs can read that Mr Slope is a favoured lover. Come, Mr Slope, when is the widow to be made Mrs Dean?'
To Mr Arabin this badinage was peculiarly painful; and yet he could not tear himself away and leave it. He believed, still believed with that sort of belief which the fear of a thing engenders, that Mrs Bold would probably become the wife of Mr Slope. Of Mr Slope's little adventure in the garden he knew nothing. For aught he knew, Mr Slope might have had an adventure of quite a different character. He might have thrown himself at the widow's feet, been accepted, and then returned to town a jolly, thriving wooer. The signora's jokes were bitter enough to Mr Slope, but they were quite as bitter to Mr Arabin. He still stood leaning against the fire-place, fumbling with his hands in his trouser's pockets.
'Come, come, Mr Slope, don't be so bashful,' continued the signora. 'We all know that you proposed to the lady the other day at Ullathorne. Tell us with what words she accepted you. Was it with a simple "yes", or with two "no, no's", which makes an affirmative? or did silence give consent: or did she speak out with that spirit which so well becomes a widow, and say openly, "By my troth, sir, you shall make me Mrs Slope as soon as it is your pleasure to do so"?'
Mr Slope had seldom in his life felt himself less at his case. There sat Mr Thorne, laughing silently. There stood his old antagonist, Mr Arabin, gazing at him with all his eyes. There round the door between the two rooms were clustered a little group of people, including Miss Stanhope and the Rev. Messrs. Gray and Green, all listening to his discomfiture. He knew that it depended solely on his own wit whether or no he could throw the joke back upon the lady. He knew that it stood him to do so if he possibly could; but he said not a word. ''Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all.' He felt on his cheek the sharp points of Eleanor's fingers, and did not know who might have seen the blow, who might have told the tale to this pestilent woman who took such delight in jeering him. He stood there, therefore, red as a carbuncle and mute as a fish; grinning just sufficiently to show his teeth; an object of pity.
But the signora had no pity; she knew nothing of mercy. Her present object was to put Mr Slope down, and she was determined to do it thoroughly, now that she had him in her power.
'What, Mr Slope, no answer? Why it can't possibly be that this woman has been fool enough to refuse you? She surely can't be looking out after a bishop. But I see how it is, Mr Slope. Widows are proverbially cautious. You should have let her alone till the new hat was on your head; till you could show her the key of the deanery.'
'Signora,' said he at last, trying to speak in a tone of dignified reproach, 'you really permit yourself to talk on such solemn subjects in a very improper way.'
'Solemn subjects--what solemn subjects? Surely a dean's hat is not such a solemn subject.'
'I have no aspirations such as those you impute to me. Perhaps you will drop the subject.'
'Oh, certainly, Mr Slope; but one word first. Go to her again with the prime minister's letter in your pocket. I'll wager my shawl to your shovel she does not refuse you then.'
'I must say, signora, that I think you are speaking of the lady in a very unjustifiable manner.'
'And one other piece of advice, Mr Slope; I'll only offer you one other;' and then she commenced singing--
'It's gude to be merry and wise, Mr Slope, It's gude to be honest and true; It's gude to be off with the old love, Mr Slope, Before you are on with the new--
'Ha, ha, ha!'
And the signora, throwing herself back on her sofa, laughed merrily. She little recked how those who heard her would, in their own imagination, fill up the little history of Mr Slope's first love. She little cared that some among them might attribute to her the honour of his earlier admiration. She was tired of Mr Slope and wanted to get rid of him; she had ground for anger with him, and she
To Mr Arabin this badinage was peculiarly painful; and yet he could not tear himself away and leave it. He believed, still believed with that sort of belief which the fear of a thing engenders, that Mrs Bold would probably become the wife of Mr Slope. Of Mr Slope's little adventure in the garden he knew nothing. For aught he knew, Mr Slope might have had an adventure of quite a different character. He might have thrown himself at the widow's feet, been accepted, and then returned to town a jolly, thriving wooer. The signora's jokes were bitter enough to Mr Slope, but they were quite as bitter to Mr Arabin. He still stood leaning against the fire-place, fumbling with his hands in his trouser's pockets.
'Come, come, Mr Slope, don't be so bashful,' continued the signora. 'We all know that you proposed to the lady the other day at Ullathorne. Tell us with what words she accepted you. Was it with a simple "yes", or with two "no, no's", which makes an affirmative? or did silence give consent: or did she speak out with that spirit which so well becomes a widow, and say openly, "By my troth, sir, you shall make me Mrs Slope as soon as it is your pleasure to do so"?'
Mr Slope had seldom in his life felt himself less at his case. There sat Mr Thorne, laughing silently. There stood his old antagonist, Mr Arabin, gazing at him with all his eyes. There round the door between the two rooms were clustered a little group of people, including Miss Stanhope and the Rev. Messrs. Gray and Green, all listening to his discomfiture. He knew that it depended solely on his own wit whether or no he could throw the joke back upon the lady. He knew that it stood him to do so if he possibly could; but he said not a word. ''Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all.' He felt on his cheek the sharp points of Eleanor's fingers, and did not know who might have seen the blow, who might have told the tale to this pestilent woman who took such delight in jeering him. He stood there, therefore, red as a carbuncle and mute as a fish; grinning just sufficiently to show his teeth; an object of pity.
But the signora had no pity; she knew nothing of mercy. Her present object was to put Mr Slope down, and she was determined to do it thoroughly, now that she had him in her power.
'What, Mr Slope, no answer? Why it can't possibly be that this woman has been fool enough to refuse you? She surely can't be looking out after a bishop. But I see how it is, Mr Slope. Widows are proverbially cautious. You should have let her alone till the new hat was on your head; till you could show her the key of the deanery.'
'Signora,' said he at last, trying to speak in a tone of dignified reproach, 'you really permit yourself to talk on such solemn subjects in a very improper way.'
'Solemn subjects--what solemn subjects? Surely a dean's hat is not such a solemn subject.'
'I have no aspirations such as those you impute to me. Perhaps you will drop the subject.'
'Oh, certainly, Mr Slope; but one word first. Go to her again with the prime minister's letter in your pocket. I'll wager my shawl to your shovel she does not refuse you then.'
'I must say, signora, that I think you are speaking of the lady in a very unjustifiable manner.'
'And one other piece of advice, Mr Slope; I'll only offer you one other;' and then she commenced singing--
'It's gude to be merry and wise, Mr Slope, It's gude to be honest and true; It's gude to be off with the old love, Mr Slope, Before you are on with the new--
'Ha, ha, ha!'
And the signora, throwing herself back on her sofa, laughed merrily. She little recked how those who heard her would, in their own imagination, fill up the little history of Mr Slope's first love. She little cared that some among them might attribute to her the honour of his earlier admiration. She was tired of Mr Slope and wanted to get rid of him; she had ground for anger with him, and she