Dr Thorne - Anthony Trollope [67]
By this time they had reached the lawn, and Mary was able to turn away from the path which led up to the house. As she left them she said in a voice, now low enough, ‘I cannot prevent him from talking nonsense, Augusta; but you will bear me witness, that I do not willingly hear it.’ And, so saying, she started off almost in a run towards a distant part of the gardens, in which she saw Beatrice.
Frank, as he walked up to the house with his sister, endeavoured to induce her to give him a promise that she would tell no tales as to what she had heard and seen.
‘Of course, Frank, it must be all nonsense,’ she had said; ‘and you shouldn’t amuse yourself in such a way.’
‘Well, but, Guss, come, we have always been friends; don’t let us quarrel just when you are going to be married.’ But Augusta would make no promise.
Frank, when he reached the house, found the countess waiting for him, sitting in the little drawing-room by herself – somewhat impatiently. As he entered he became aware that there was some peculiar gravity attached to the coming interview. Three persons, his mother, one of his younger sisters, and the Lady Amelia, each stopped him to let him know that the countess was waiting; and he perceived that a sort of guard was kept upon the door to save her ladyship from any undesirable intrusion.
The countess frowned at the moment of his entrance, but soon smoothed her brow, and invited him to take a chair ready prepared for him opposite to the elbow of the sofa on which she was leaning. She had a small table before her, on which was her teacup, so that she was able to preach at him nearly as well as though she had been ensconced in a pulpit.
‘My dear Frank,’ said she, in a voice thoroughly suitable to the importance of the communication, ‘you have today come of age.’
Frank remarked that he understood that such was the case, and added that ‘that was the reason of all the fuss.’
‘Yes; you have today come of age. Perhaps I should have been glad to see such an occasion noticed at Greshamsbury with some more suitable signs of rejoicing.’
‘Oh, aunt! I think we did it all very well.’
‘Greshamsbury, Frank, is, or at any rate ought to be, the seat of the first commoner in Barsetshire.’
‘Well; so it is. I am quite sure there isn’t a better fellow than father anywhere in the county.’
The countess sighed. Her opinion of the poor squire was very different from Frank’s. ‘It is no use now,’ said she, ‘looking back to that which cannot be cured. The first commoner in Barsetshire should hold a position – I will not of course say equal to that of a peer.’
‘Oh dear, no; of course not,’ said Frank; and a bystander might have thought that there was a touch of satire in his tone.
‘No, not equal to that of a peer; but still of very paramount importance. Of course my first ambition is bound up in Porlock.’
‘Of course,’ said Frank, thinking how very weak was the staff on which his aunt’s ambition rested; for Lord Porlock’s youthful career had not been such as to give unmitigated satisfaction to his parents.
‘Is bound up in Porlock’: and then the countess plumed herself; but the mother sighed. ‘And next to Porlock, Frank, my anxiety is about you.’
‘Upon my honour, aunt, I am very much obliged. I shall be all right, you’ll see.’
‘Greshamsbury, my dear boy, is not now what it used to be.’
‘Isn’t it?’ asked Frank.
‘No, Frank; by no means. I do not wish to say a word to you against your father. It may, perhaps, have been his misfortune, rather than his fault –’
‘She is always down on the governor; always,’ said Frank to himself; resolving to stick bravely to the side of the house to which he had elected to belong.
‘But there is the fact, Frank, too plain to us all; Greshamsbury is not what it was. It is your duty to restore to it its former importance.’
‘My duty!’ said Frank, rather puzzled.
‘Yes, Frank, your duty. It all depends on you now. Of course you know