But though Lady Jane had so fully made up her mind to it, and awaited
the result with so much excitement, and though Katherine herself was
thrilled with an uneasy consciousness, and Dr. Burnet’s looks gave every
sanction to the idea, he did not on that evening under the tall aloe,
which had begun to burst the innumerable wrappings of its husk, in the
Steephill conservatory, declare his love or ask Katherine to be his
wife. I cannot tell the reason why--I think there came over him a chill
alarm as to how he should get back if by any accident his suit was
unsuccessful. It was like the position which gave Mr. Puff so much
trouble in the _Critic_. He could not “exit praying.” How was he to get
off the stage? He caught the eyes of an old lady who was seated near the
conservatory door. They were dull eyes, with little speculation in them,
but they gave a faint glare as the two young people passed; and the
doctor asked himself with a shudder, How could he meet their look when
he came back if----? How indeed could he meet anybody’s look--Lady
Jane’s, who was his accomplice, and who would be very severe upon him if
he did not succeed, and jolly Sir John’s, who would slap him on the
shoulder and shout at him in his big voice? His heart sank to his boots
when he found himself alone with the object of his affections amid the
rustling palms. He murmured something hurriedly about something he
wanted to say to her, but could not here, where they were liable to
interruption at any moment, and then he burst into a display of
information about the aloe which was very astounding to Katherine. She
listened, feeling the occasion _manqué_, with a sensation of relief. I
think it quite probable that in the circumstances, and amid the tremor
of sympathetic excitement derived from Lady Jane, and the general
tendency of the atmosphere, Katherine might have accepted Dr. Burnet.
She would probably have been sorry afterwards, and in all probability it
would have led to no results, but I think she would have accepted him
that evening had he had the courage to put it to the touch; and he, for
his part, would certainly have done it had he not been seized with that
tremor as to how he was to get off the stage.
He found it very difficult to explain this behaviour to Lady Jane
afterwards, who, though she did not actually ask the question, pressed
him considerably about the botanical lecture he had been giving.
“I have sat through a French _café chantant_ song in your interests,
with all the airs and graces,” she said with a look of disgust, “to give
you time.”
“Yes, I know,” said Dr. Burnet--it was at the moment of taking his
leave, and he knew that he must soon escape, which gave him a little
courage--“you have done everything for me--you have been more than kind,
Lady Jane.”
“But if it is all to come to nothing, after I had taken the trouble to
arrange everything for you!”
“It was too abrupt,” he said, “and I funked it at the last. How was I to
get back under everybody’s eyes if it had not come off?”
“It would have come off,” she said hurriedly, under her breath, with a
glance at Katherine. Then, in her usual very audible voice, she said,
“Must you go so early, Dr. Burnet? Then good-night; and if your mare is
fresh take care of the turning at Eversfield Green.”
He did not know what this warning meant, and neither I believe did she,
though it was a nasty turning. And then he drove away into the winter
night, with a sense of having failed, failed to himself and his own
expectations, as well as to Lady Jane’s. He had not certainly intended
to take any decisive step when he drove to Steephill, but yet he felt
when he left it that the occasion was _manqué_, and that he had perhaps
risked everything by his lack of courage. This is not a pleasant
thought to a man who is not generally at a loss in any circumstances,
and whose ways have generally, on the whole, been prosperous and
successful. He was a fool not to have put it to the touch, to be
frightened by an old lady’s dull eyes which probably would have noticed
nothing, or the stare of the company which was occupied by its own
affairs and need not have suspected even that his were at a critical
point. Had he been a little bolder he might have been carrying home with
him a certainty which would have kept him warmer than any great-coat;
but then, on the other hand, he might have been departing shamed and
cast down, followed by the mocking glances of that assembly, and with
Rumour following after him as it followed the exit of the Rector,
breathing among all the gossips that he had been rejected; upon which he
congratulated himself that he had been prudent, that he had not exposed
himself at least so far. Finally he began to wonder, with a secret smile
of superiority, how the Rector had got off the scene? Did he “exit
praying”?--which would at least have been suitable to his profession.
The doctor smiled grimly under his muffler; he would have laughed if it
had not been for Jim by his side, who sat thinking of nothing, looking
out for the Sliplin lights and that turning about which Lady Jane had
warned his master. If it had not been for Jim, indeed, Dr. Burnet,
though so good a driver, would have run the mare into the bank of stones
and roadmakers’ materials which had been accumulated there for the
repair of the road. “Exit praying”?--no, the Rector, to judge from his
present aspect of irritated and wounded pride, could not have done that.
“Exit cursing,” would have been more like it. The doctor did burst into
a little laugh as he successfully steered round the Eversfield corner,
thanks to the observation of his groom, and Jim thought this was the
reason of the laugh. At all events, neither the praying nor the cursing
had come yet for Dr. Burnet, and he was not in any hurry. He said to
himself that he would go and pay old Tredgold a visit next morning, and
tell him of the dinner party at Steephill and see how the land lay.
I cannot tell whether Mr. Tredgold had any suspicion of the motives
which made his medical man so very attentive to him, but he was always
glad to see the doctor, who amused him, and whose vigorous life and
occupation it did the old gentleman good to see.
“Ah, doctor, you remind me of what I was when I was a young man--always
at it night and day. I didn’t care not a ha’penny for pleasure; work was
pleasure for me--and makin’ money,” said the old man with a chuckle and
a slap on the pocket where, metaphorically, it was all stored.
“You had the advantage over me, then,” the doctor said.
“Why, you fellows must be coining money,” cried the patient; “a golden
guinea for five minutes’ talk; rich as Creosote you doctors ought to
grow--once you get to the top of the tree. Must be at the top o’ the
tree first, I’ll allow--known on ‘Change, you know, and that sort of
thing. You should go in for royalties, doctor; that’s the way to get
known.”
“I should have no objection, Mr. Tredgold, you may be sure, if the
royalties would go in for me; but there are two to be taken into account
in such a bargain.”
“Oh, that’s easily done,” said the old man. “Stand by when there’s some
accident, doctor--there’s always accidents; and be on the spot at the
proper time.”
“Unless I were to hire someone to get up the accident---- Would you go so
far as to recommend that?”
Old Tredgold laughed and resumed the former subject. “So you took my
Katie in to dinner? Well, I’m glad of that. I don’t approve of young
prodigals dangling about my girls; they may save themselves the trouble.
I’ve let ’em know my principles, I hope, strong enough. If I would not
give in to my little Stella, it stands to reason I won’t for Kate. So my
Lady Jane had best keep her fine gentlemen to herself.”
“You may make your mind quite easy, sir,” said the doctor; “there were
nothing but county people, and very heavy county people into the
bargain.”
“County or town, I don’t think much of ’em,” said old Tredgold; “not
unless they can table their money alongside of me; that’s my principle,
Dr. Burnet--pound for pound, or you don’t get a daughter of mine. It’s
the only safe principle. Girls are chiefly fools about money; though
Stella wasn’t, mind you--that girl was always a chip o’ the old block.
Led astray, she was, by not believing I meant what I said--thought she
could turn me round her little finger. That’s what they all think,” he
said with a chuckle, “till they try--till they try.”
“You see it is difficult to know until they do try,” said Dr. Burnet;
“and if you will excuse me saying it, Mr. Tredgold, Miss Stella had
every reason to think she could turn you round her little finger. She
had only to express a wish----”
“I don’t deny it,” said the old man with another chuckle--“I don’t deny
it. Everything they like--until they come to separatin’ me from my
money. I’ll spend on them as much as any man; but when it comes to
settlin’, pound by pound--you’ve heard it before.”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard it before,” the doctor said with a half groan, “and
I suppose there are very few men under the circumstances----”
“Plenty of men! Why there’s young Fred Turny--fine young fellow--as
flashy as you like with his rings and his pins, good cricketer and all
that, though I think it’s nonsense, and keeps a young fellow off his
business. Why, twice the man that Somers fellow was! Had him down for
Stella to look at, and she as good as turned him out of the house. Oh,
she was an impudent one! Came down again the other day, on spec, looking
after Katie; and bless you, she’s just as bad, hankering after them
military swells, too, without a copper. I’m glad to know my Lady Jane
understands what’s what and kept her out of their way.”
“There were only county people--young Fortescue, who has a pretty
estate, and myself.”
“Oh, you don’t count,” said old Mr. Tredgold; “we needn’t reckon you.
Young Fortescue, eh? All land, no money. Land’s a very bad investment in
these days. I think I’ll have nothing to do with young Fortescue. Far
safer money on the table; then you run no risks.”
“Young Fortescue is not a candidate, I believe,” said Dr. Burnet with a
smile much against the grain.
“A candidate for what?--the county? I don’t take any interest in
politics except when they affect the market. Candidate, bless you,
they’re all candidates for a rich girl! There’s not one of ’em, young or
old, but thinks ‘That girl will have a lot of money.’ Why, they tell me
old Stanley--old enough to be her father--has been after Katie, old
fool!” the old man said.
Dr. Burnet felt himself a little out of countenance. He said, “I do not
believe, sir, for a moment, that the Rector, if there is any truth in
the rumour, was thinking of Miss Katherine’s money.”
“Oh, tell that to the--moon, doctor! I know a little better than that.
Her money? why it’s her money everybody is thinking of. D’ye think my
Lady Jane would pay her such attention if it wasn’t for her money? I
thought it was all broken off along of Stella, but she thinks better
luck next time, I suppose. By George!” cried the old man, smiting the
table with his fist, “if she brings another young rake to me, and thinks
she’ll get over me---- By George, doctor! I’ve left Stella to taste how
she likes it, but I’d turn the other one--that little white proud
Katie--out of my house.” There was a moment during which the doctor held
himself ready for every emergency, for old Tredgold’s countenance was
crimson and his eyes staring. He calmed down, however, quickly, having
learned the lesson that agitation was dangerous for his health, and with
a softened voice said, “You, now, doctor, why don’t you get married?
Always better for a doctor to be married. The ladies like it, and you’d
get on twice as well with a nice wife.”
“Probably I should,” said Dr. Burnet, “but perhaps, if the lady happened
to have any money----”
“Don’t take one without,” the old man interrupted.
“I should be considered a fortune-hunter, and I shouldn’t like that.”
“Oh, you!” said Mr. Tredgold, “you don’t count--that’s another pair of
shoes altogether. As for your young Fortescue, I should just like to see
him fork out, down upon the table, thousand for thousand. If he can do
that, he’s the man for me.”
“‘You don’t count!’ What did the old beggar mean by that?” Dr. Burnet
asked himself as he took the reins out of Jim’s hand and drove away. Was
it contempt, meaning that the doctor was totally out of the question? or
was it by any possibility an encouragement with the signification that
he as a privileged person might be permitted to come in on different
grounds? In another man’s case Dr. Burnet would have rejected the latter
hypothesis with scorn, but in his own he was not so sure. What was the
meaning of that sudden softening of tone, the suggestion, “You, now,
doctor, why don’t you get married?” almost in the same breath with his
denunciation of any imaginary pretender? Why was he (Burnet) so
distinctly put in a different category? He rejected the idea that this
could mean anything favourable to himself, and then he took it back
again and caressed it, and began to think it possible. _You_ don’t
count. Why shouldn’t he count? _He_ was not a spendthrift like Charlie
Somers; _he_ was not all but bankrupt; on the contrary, he was
well-to-do and had expectations. He was in a better position than the
young military swells whom Mr. Tredgold denounced; he was far better off
than the Rector. Why shouldn’t he count? unless it was meant that the
rule about those pounds on the table, &c., did not count where he was
concerned, that he was to be reckoned with from a different point of
view. The reader may think this was great folly on Dr. Burnet’s part,
but when you turn over anything a hundred times in your mind it is sure
to take new aspects not seen at first. And then Mr. Tredgold’s words
appeared to the doctor’s intelligence quite capable of a special
interpretation. He was, as a matter of fact, a much more important
person to Mr. Tredgold than any fashionable young swell who might demand
Katherine in marriage. He, the doctor, held in his hands, in a measure,
the thread of life and death. Old Tredgold’s life had not a very
enjoyable aspect to the rest of the world, but he liked it, and did not
want it to be shortened by a day. And the doctor had great power over
that. The old man believed in him thoroughly--almost believed that so
long as he was there there was no reason why he should die. Was not that
an excellent reason for almost believing, certainly for allowing, that
he might want to make so important a person a member of his family on
terms very different from those which applied to other people, who could
have no effect upon his life and comfort at all? “You don’t count!” Dr.
Burnet had quite convinced himself that this really meant all that he
could wish it to mean before he returned from his morning round. He took
up the question _à plusieurs reprises_; after every visit working out
again and again the same line of argument: You don’t count; I look to
you to keep me in health, to prolong my life, to relieve me when I am in
any pain, and build me up when I get low, as you have done for all these
years; you don’t count as the strangers do, you have something to put
down on the table opposite my gold--your skill, your science, your art
of prolonging life. To a man like you things are dealt out by another
measure. Was it very foolish, very ridiculous, almost childish of Dr.
Burnet? Perhaps it was, but he did not see it in that light.
He passed the Rector as he returned home, very late for his hurried
luncheon as doctors usually are, and he smiled with a mixed sense of
ridicule and compassion at the handsome clergyman, who had not yet
recovered his complacency or got over that rending asunder of his _amour
propre_. Poor old fellow! But it was very absurd of him to think that
Katherine would have anything to say to him with his grown-up children.
And a little while after, as he drove through the High Street, he saw
young Fortescue driving into the stables at the Thatched House Hotel,
evidently with the intention of putting up there.
“Ah!” he said to himself, “young Fortescue, another candidate!” The
doctor was no wiser than other people, and did not consider that young
Fortescue had been introduced for the first time to Katherine on the
previous night, and could not possibly by any rule of likelihood be on
his way to make proposals to her father the next morning. This dawned
upon him after a while, and he laughed again aloud to the great
disturbance of the mind of Jim, who could not understand why his master
should laugh right out about nothing at all twice on successive days.
Was it possible that much learning had made the doctor mad, or at least
made him a little wrong in the head? And, indeed, excessive thinking on
one subject has, we all know, a tendency that way.