Dr Thorne - Anthony Trollope [285]
‘Oh, but you must interfere: you should say what you think.’
‘Circumstanced as you are now – that is, just at the present moment – you could hardly marry immediately.’
‘Why not let me take a farm? My father could, at any rate, manage a couple of thousand pounds or so for me to stock it. That would not be asking much. If he could not give it me, I would not scruple to borrow so much elsewhere.’ And Frank bethought him of all Miss Dunstable’s offers.
‘Oh, yes; that could be managed.’
‘Then why not marry immediately; say in six months or so? I am not unreasonable; though, Heaven knows, I have been kept in suspense long enough. As for her, I am sure she must be suffering frightfully. You know her best, and, therefore, I ask you what answer I ought to make: as for myself, I have made up my own mind; I am not a child, nor will I let them treat me as such.’
Frank, as he spoke, was walking rapidly about the room; and he brought out his different propositions, one after the other, with a little pause, while waiting for the doctor’s answer. The doctor was sitting, with the letter still in his hands, on the head of the sofa, turning over in his mind the apparent absurdity of Frank’s desire to borrow two thousand pounds for a farm, when, in all human probability, he might in a few months be in possession of almost any sum he should choose to name. And yet he would not tell him of Sir Roger’s will. ‘If it should turn out to be all wrong?’ said he to himself.
‘Do you wish me to give her up?’ said Frank, at last.
‘No. How can I wish it? How can I expect a better match for her? Besides, Frank, I love no man in the world so well as I do you.’
‘Then you will help me?’
‘What! against your father?’
‘Against! no, not against anybody. But will you tell Mary that she has your consent?’
‘I think she knows that.’
‘But you have never said anything to her.’
‘Look here, Frank; you ask me for my advice, and I will give it you: go home; though, indeed, I would rather you went anywhere else.’
‘No, I must go home; and I must see her.’
‘Very well, go home: as for seeing Mary, I think you had better put it off for a fortnight.’
‘Quite impossible.’
‘Well, that’s my advice. But, at any rate, make up your mind to nothing for a fortnight. Wait for one fortnight, and I then will tell you plainly – you and her too – what I think you ought to do. At the end of a fortnight come to me, and tell the squire that I will take it as a great kindness if he will come with you. She has suffered, terribly, terribly; and it is necessary that something should be settled. But a fortnight more can make no great difference.’
‘And the letter?’
‘Oh! there’s the letter.’
‘But what shall I say? Of course I shall write tonight.’
‘Tell her to wait a fortnight. And, Frank, mind you bring your father with you.’
Frank could draw nothing further from his friend save constant repetitions of this charge to him to wait a fortnight – just one other fortnight.
‘Well, I will come to you at any rate,’ said Frank; ‘and, if possible, I will bring my father. But I shall write to Mary tonight.’
On the Saturday morning, Mary, who was then nearly broken-hearted at her lover’s silence, received this short note:–
’MY OWN MARY
’I shall be home tomorrow. I will by no means release you from your promise. Of course you will perceive that I only got your letter today. – Your own dearest,
’FRANK
‘P.S. – You will have to call me so hundreds and hundreds of times yet.’
Short as it was, this sufficed to Mary. It is one thing for a young lady to make prudent, heart-breaking suggestions, but quite another to have them accepted. She did call him dearest Frank, even on that one day, almost as often as he had desired her.
CHAPTER XLVI
Our Pet Fox Finds a Tail1
FRANK returned home, and his immediate business was of course with his father, and with Mr Gazebee, who was still at Greshamsbury.
‘But who is the heir?’ asked Mr Gazebee, when Frank had explained that the death of Sir Louis rendered unnecessary any immediate legal steps.
‘Upon my word I don’t know,’ said