A Few days later Mary was surprised to receive a little note from Mr.
Dryland:
"MY DEAR MISS CLIBBORN,--With some trepidation I take up my pen to
address you on a matter which, to me at least, is of the very
greatest importance. We have so many sympathies in common that my
meaning will hardly escape you. I daresay you will find my
diffidence ridiculous, but, under the circumstances, I think it is
not unpardonable. It will be no news to you when I confess that I
am an exceptionally shy man, and that must be my excuse in sending
you this letter. In short, I wish to ask you to grant me a brief
interview; we have so few opportunities of seeing one another in
private that I can find no occasion of saying to you what I wish.
Indeed, for a long period my duty has made it necessary for me to
crush my inclination. Now, however, that things have taken a
different turn, I venture, as I said, to ask you to give me a few
minutes' conversation.--I am, my dear Miss Clibborn, your very
sincere,
"THOMAS DRYLAND.
"P.S.--I open this letter to say that I have just met your father
on the Green, who tells me that he and Mrs. Clibborn are going into
Tunbridge Wells this afternoon. Unless, therefore, I hear from you
to the contrary, I shall (D.V.) present myself at your house at 3
P.M."
"What can he want to see me about?" exclaimed Mary, the truth occurring
to her only to be chased away as a piece of egregious vanity. It was
more reasonable to suppose that Mr. Dryland had on hand some charitable
scheme in which he desired her to take part.
"Anyhow," she thought philosophically, "I suppose I shall know when he
comes."
At one and the same moment the church clock struck three, and Mr.
Dryland rang the Clibborns' bell.
He came into the dining-room in his best coat, his honest red face
shining with soap, and with a consciousness that he was about to perform
an heroic deed.
"This is kind of you, Miss Clibborn! Do you know, I feared the servant
was going to say you were 'not at home.'"
"Oh, I never let her say that when I'm in. Mamma doesn't think it wrong,
but one can't deny that it's an untruth."
"What a beautiful character you have!" cried the curate, with
enthusiasm.
"I'm afraid I haven't really; but I like to be truthful."
"Were you surprised to receive my letter?"
"I'm afraid I didn't understand it."
"I was under the impression that I expressed myself with considerable
perspicacity," remarked the curate, with a genial smile.
"I don't pretend to be clever."
"Oh, but you are, Miss Clibborn. There's no denying it."
"I wish I thought so."
"You're so modest. I have always thought that your mental powers were
very considerable indeed. I can assure you it has been a great blessing
to me to find someone here who was capable of taking an intelligent
interest in Art and Literature. In these little country places one
misses intellectual society so much."
"I'm not ashamed to say that I've learnt a lot from you, Mr. Dryland."
"No, that is impossible. All I lay claim to is that I was fortunate
enough to be able to lend you the works of Ruskin and Marie Corelli."
"That reminds me that I must return you the 'Master Christian.'"
"Please don't hurry over it. I think it's a book worth pondering over;
quite unlike the average trashy novel."
"I haven't had much time for reading lately."
"Ah, Miss Clibborn, I understand! I'm afraid you've been very much
upset. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was; but I felt it would be
perhaps indelicate."
"It is very kind of you to think of me."
"Besides, I must confess that I cannot bring myself to be very sorry.
It's an ill wind that blows nobody good."
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, Mr. Dryland."
"Miss Clibborn, I have come here to-day to converse with you on a matter
which I venture to think of some importance. At least, it is to me. I
will not beat about the bush. In these matters it is always best, I
believe, to come straight to the point." The curate cleared his throat,
and assumed his best clerical manner. "Miss Clibborn, I have the honour
to solemnly ask you for your hand."
"Oh!"
Mary blushed scarlet, and her heart went pit-a-pat in the most alarming
fashion.
"I think I should tell you that I am thirty-three years of age. I have
some private means, small, but sufficient, with my income and economy,
to support a wife. My father was for over a quarter of a century vicar
of Easterham."
Mary by this time had recovered herself.
"I feel very much honoured by your proposal, Mr. Dryland. And no one can
be more convinced than I of my unworthiness. But I'm afraid I must
refuse."
"I don't press for an immediate answer, Miss Clibborn. I know at first
blush it must surprise you that I should come forward with an offer so
soon after the rupture of your engagement with Captain Parsons. But if
you examine the matter closely, you will see that it is less surprising
than it seems. While you were engaged to Captain Parsons it was my duty
to stifle my feelings; but now I cannot. Indeed, I have not the right to
conceal from you that for a long time they have been of the tenderest
description."
"I feel very much flattered."
"Not at all," reassuringly answered Mr. Dryland. "I can honestly say
that you are deserving of the very highest--er--admiration and esteem.
Miss Clibborn, I have loved you in secret almost ever since I came to
the parish. The moment I saw you I felt an affinity between us. Our
tastes are so similar; we both understand Art and Literature. When you
played to me the divine melodies of Mendelssohn, when I read to you the
melodious verses of Lord Tennyson, I felt that my happiness in life
would be a union with you."
"I'm afraid I can never be unfaithful to my old love."
"Perhaps I'm a little previous?"
"No; time can make no possible difference. I'm very grateful to you."
"You have no need to be. I have always tried to do my duty, and while
you were engaged to another, I allowed not even a sigh to escape my
lips. But now I venture to think that the circumstances are altered. I
know I am not a gallant officer, I have done no doughty deeds, and the
Victoria Cross does not adorn my bosom. I am comparatively poor; but I
can offer an honest heart and a very sincere and respectful love. Oh,
Miss Clibborn, cannot you give me hope that as time wears on you will be
able to look upon my suit with favour?"
"I'm afraid my answer must be final."
"I hope to be soon appointed to a living, and I looked forward ardently
to the life of usefulness and of Christian fellowship which we might
have lived together. You are an angel of mercy, Miss Clibborn. I cannot
help thinking that you are eminently suitable for the position which I
make so bold as to offer you."
"I won't deny that nothing could attract me more than to be the wife of
a clergyman. One has such influence for good, such power of improving
one's fellow-men. But I love Captain Parsons. Even if he has ceased to
care for me, I could never look upon him with other feelings."
"Even though it touches me to the quick, Miss. Clibborn," said the
curate, earnestly, "I respect and admire you for your sentiments. You
are wonderful. I wonder if you'd allow me to make a little confession?"
The curate hesitated and reddened. "The fact is, I have written a few
verses comparing you to Penelope, which, if you will allow me, I should
very much like to send you."
"I should like to see them very much," said Mary, blushing a little and
smiling.
"Of course, I'm not a poet, I'm too busy for that; but they are the
outpouring of an honest, loving heart."
"I'm sure," said Mary, encouragingly, "that it's better to be sincere
and upright than to be the greatest poet in the world."
"It's very kind of you to say so. I should like to ask one question,
Miss Clibborn. Have you any objection to me personally?"
"Oh, no!" cried Mary. "How can you suggest such a thing? I have the
highest respect and esteem for you, Mr. Dryland. I can never forget the
great compliment you have paid me. I shall always think of you as the
best friend I have."
"Can you say nothing more to me than that?" asked the curate,
despondently.