The Last Chronicle of Barset [286]
make her my wife.'
'And do you think that you would be happy with her, or she with you, after what has passed?'
'I do think so.'
'I do not. It might be possible that she could bring herself to marry you. Women delight to forgive injuries. They like the excitement of generosity. But she could never forget that you had a former wife, or the circumstances under which you were married. And as for yourself, you would regret it after the first month. How could you ever speak to her of your love without speaking also of your shame? If a man does marry he should at least be able to hold up his head before his wife.'
This was very severe, but Crosbie showed no anger. 'I think I should do so,' he said--'after a while.'
'And then, about money? Of course you would have to tell her everything.'
'Everything--of course.'
'It is like enough that she might not regard that--except that she would feel that if you could not afford to marry her when you were unembarrassed, you can hardly afford to do so when you are over your head and ears in debt.'
'She has money now.'
'After all that has come and gone you would hardly seek Lily Dale because you want to marry a fortune.'
'You are too hard on me, Pratt. You know that my only reason for seeking her is that I love her.'
'I do not mean to be hard. But I have a very strong opinion that the quarrels of lovers, when they are of so very serious a nature, are a bad basis for the renewal of love. Come, let us go and dress for dinner. I am going to dine with Mrs Thorne, the millionaire, who married a country doctor, and who used to be called Miss Dunstable.'
'I never dine out anywhere now,' said Crosbie. And then they walked out of the Park together. Neither of them, of course, knew that Lily Dale was staying at the house at which Fowler was going to dine.
Lily, as she rode home, did not speak a word. She would have given worlds to be able to talk, but she could not even make a beginning. She heard Bernard and Siph Dunn chatting behind her, had hoped they would continue to do so till she was safe within the house. They all used her well, for no one tried to draw her into conversation. Once Emily said to her, 'Shall we trot a little, Lily?' And then they moved on quickly, and the misery was soon over. As soon as she was upstairs in the house she got Emily by herself, and explained all the mystery in a word or two. 'I fear I have made a fool of myself. That was the man to whom I was once engaged.' 'What, Mr Crosbie?' said Emily, who had heard the whole story from Bernard. 'Yes, Mr Crosbie; pray do not say a word of it to anybody--not even to your aunt. I am better now, but I was such a fool. No, dear; I won't go into the drawing-room. I'll go upstairs, and come down ready for dinner.'
When she was alone she sat down in her habit and declared to herself that she certainly would never become the wife of Mr Crosbie. I do not know why she should make such a declaration. She had promised her mother and John Eames that she would not do so, and that promise would certainly have bound her without any further resolutions on her part. But, to tell the truth, the vision of the man had disenchanted her. When last she had seen him he had been as it were a god to her; and though, since that day, his conduct to her had been as ungodlike as it well might be, still the memory of the outward signs of his divinity had remained with her. It is difficult to explain how it had come to pass that the glimpse which she had had of him should have altered so much within her mind;--why she should so suddenly have come to regard him in an altered light. It was not simply that he looked to be older, and because his face was careworn. It was not only that he had lost that look of an Apollo which Lily had once in her mirth attributed to him. I think it was chiefly that she herself was older, and could no longer see a god in such a man. She had never regarded John Eames as being gifted with divinity, and had therefore always been making comparisons to his discredit. Any such comparison now
'And do you think that you would be happy with her, or she with you, after what has passed?'
'I do think so.'
'I do not. It might be possible that she could bring herself to marry you. Women delight to forgive injuries. They like the excitement of generosity. But she could never forget that you had a former wife, or the circumstances under which you were married. And as for yourself, you would regret it after the first month. How could you ever speak to her of your love without speaking also of your shame? If a man does marry he should at least be able to hold up his head before his wife.'
This was very severe, but Crosbie showed no anger. 'I think I should do so,' he said--'after a while.'
'And then, about money? Of course you would have to tell her everything.'
'Everything--of course.'
'It is like enough that she might not regard that--except that she would feel that if you could not afford to marry her when you were unembarrassed, you can hardly afford to do so when you are over your head and ears in debt.'
'She has money now.'
'After all that has come and gone you would hardly seek Lily Dale because you want to marry a fortune.'
'You are too hard on me, Pratt. You know that my only reason for seeking her is that I love her.'
'I do not mean to be hard. But I have a very strong opinion that the quarrels of lovers, when they are of so very serious a nature, are a bad basis for the renewal of love. Come, let us go and dress for dinner. I am going to dine with Mrs Thorne, the millionaire, who married a country doctor, and who used to be called Miss Dunstable.'
'I never dine out anywhere now,' said Crosbie. And then they walked out of the Park together. Neither of them, of course, knew that Lily Dale was staying at the house at which Fowler was going to dine.
Lily, as she rode home, did not speak a word. She would have given worlds to be able to talk, but she could not even make a beginning. She heard Bernard and Siph Dunn chatting behind her, had hoped they would continue to do so till she was safe within the house. They all used her well, for no one tried to draw her into conversation. Once Emily said to her, 'Shall we trot a little, Lily?' And then they moved on quickly, and the misery was soon over. As soon as she was upstairs in the house she got Emily by herself, and explained all the mystery in a word or two. 'I fear I have made a fool of myself. That was the man to whom I was once engaged.' 'What, Mr Crosbie?' said Emily, who had heard the whole story from Bernard. 'Yes, Mr Crosbie; pray do not say a word of it to anybody--not even to your aunt. I am better now, but I was such a fool. No, dear; I won't go into the drawing-room. I'll go upstairs, and come down ready for dinner.'
When she was alone she sat down in her habit and declared to herself that she certainly would never become the wife of Mr Crosbie. I do not know why she should make such a declaration. She had promised her mother and John Eames that she would not do so, and that promise would certainly have bound her without any further resolutions on her part. But, to tell the truth, the vision of the man had disenchanted her. When last she had seen him he had been as it were a god to her; and though, since that day, his conduct to her had been as ungodlike as it well might be, still the memory of the outward signs of his divinity had remained with her. It is difficult to explain how it had come to pass that the glimpse which she had had of him should have altered so much within her mind;--why she should so suddenly have come to regard him in an altered light. It was not simply that he looked to be older, and because his face was careworn. It was not only that he had lost that look of an Apollo which Lily had once in her mirth attributed to him. I think it was chiefly that she herself was older, and could no longer see a god in such a man. She had never regarded John Eames as being gifted with divinity, and had therefore always been making comparisons to his discredit. Any such comparison now