"I Believe Him to Be a Worthy Young Man"
Lady Mary and Mrs. Finn were alone when the tidings came from
Silverbridge. The Duke had been absent, having gone to spend an
unpleasant week in Barsetshire. Mary had taken the opportunity of his
absence to discuss her own prospects at full length. "My dear," said
Mrs. Finn, "I will not express an opinion. How can I after all that
has passed? I have told the Duke the same. I cannot be heart and hand
with either without being false to the other." But still Lady Mary
continued to talk about Tregear.
"I don't think papa has a right to treat me in this way," she said.
"He wouldn't be allowed to kill me, and this is killing me."
"While there is life there is hope," said Mrs. Finn.
"Yes; while there is life there is hope. But one doesn't want to grow
old first."
"There is no danger of that yet, Mary."
"I feel very old. What is the use of life without something to make
it sweet? I am not even allowed to hear anything that he is doing. If
he were to ask me, I think I would go away with him to-morrow."
"He would not be foolish enough for that."
"Because he does not suffer as I do. He has his borough, and his
public life, and a hundred things to think of. I have got nothing but
him. I know he is true;--quite as true as I am. But it is I that have
the suffering in all this. A man can never be like a girl. Papa ought
not to make me suffer like this."
That took place on the Monday. On the Tuesday Mrs. Finn received
a letter from her husband giving his account of the accident. "As
far as I can learn," he said, "Silverbridge will write about it
to-morrow." Then he went on to give a by no means good account of
the state of the patient. The doctor had declared him to be out of
immediate danger, and had set the broken bones. As tidings would be
sent on the next day she had better say nothing about the accident
to Lady Mary. This letter reached Matching on Tuesday and made the
position of Mrs. Finn very disagreeable. She was bound to carry
herself as though nothing was amiss, knowing, as she did so, the
condition of Mary's lover.
On the evening of that day Lady Mary was more lively than usual,
though her liveliness was hardly of a happy nature. "I don't know
what papa can expect. I've heard him say a hundred times that to be
in Parliament is the highest place a gentleman can fill, and now
Frank is in Parliament." Mrs. Finn looked at her with beseeching
eyes, as though begging her not to speak of Tregear. "And then to
think of their having that Lord Popplecourt there! I shall always
hate Lady Cantrip, for it was her place. That she should have thought
it possible! Lord Popplecourt! Such a creature! Hyperion to a satyr.
Isn't it true? Oh, that papa should have thought it possible!" Then
she got up, and walked about the room, beating her hands together.
All this time Mrs. Finn knew that Tregear was lying at Harrington
with half his bones broken, and in danger of his life!
On the next morning Lady Mary received her letters. There were two
lying before her plate when she came into breakfast, one from her
father and the other from Silverbridge. She read that from the
Duke first while Mrs. Finn was watching her. "Papa will be home on
Saturday," she said. "He declares that the people in the borough
are quite delighted with Silverbridge for a member. And he is quite
jocose. 'They used to be delighted with me once,' he says, 'but I
suppose everybody changes.'" Then she began to pour out the tea
before she opened her brother's letter. Mrs. Finn's eyes were still
on her anxiously. "I wonder what Silverbridge has got to say about
the Brake Hunt." Then she opened her letter.
"Oh;--oh!" she exclaimed,--"Frank has killed himself."
"Killed himself! Not that. It is not so bad as that."
"You had heard it before?"
"How is he, Mary?"
"Oh, heavens! I cannot read it. Do you read it. Tell me all. Tell me
the truth. What am I to do? Where shall I go?" Then she threw up her
hands, and with a loud scream fell on her knees with her head upon
the chair. In the next moment Mrs. Finn was down beside her on the
floor. "Read it; why do you not read it? If you will not read it,
give it to me."
Mrs. Finn did read the letter, which was very short, but still giving
by no means an unfavourable account of the patient. "I am sorry
to say he has broken ever so many bones, and we were very much
frightened about him." Then the writer went into details, from which
a reader who did not read the words carefully might well imagine that
the man's life was still in danger.
Mrs. Finn did read it all, and did her best to comfort her friend.
"It has been a bad accident," she said, "but it is clear that he is
getting better. Men do so often break their bones, and then seem to
think nothing of it afterwards."
"Silverbridge says it was his fault. What does he mean?"
"I suppose he was riding too close to Mr. Tregear, and that they came
down together. Of course it is distressing, but I do not think you
need make yourself positively unhappy about it."
"Would you not be unhappy if it were Mr. Finn?" said Mary, jumping
up from her knees. "I shall go to him. I should go mad if I were to
remain here and know nothing about it but what Silverbridge will tell
me."
"I will telegraph to Mr. Finn."
"Mr. Finn won't care. Men are so heartless. They write about each
other just as though it did not signify in the least whether anybody
were dead or alive. I shall go to him."
"You cannot do that."
"I don't care now what anybody may think. I choose to be considered
as belonging to him, and if papa were here I would say the same." It
was of course not difficult to make her understand that she could not
go to Harrington, but it was by no means easy to keep her tranquil.
She would send a telegram herself. This was debated for a long time,
till at last Lady Mary insisted that she was not subject to Mrs.
Finn's authority. "If papa were here, even then I would send it." And
she did send it, in her own name, regardless of the fact pointed out
to her by Mrs. Finn, that the people at the post-office would thus
know her secret. "It is no secret," she said. "I don't want it to be
a secret." The telegram went in the following words: "I have heard
it. I am so wretched. Send me one word to say how you are." She got
an answer back, with Tregear's own name to it, on that afternoon. "Do
not be unhappy. I am doing well. Silverbridge is with me."
On the Thursday Gerald came home from Scotland. He had arranged
his little affair with Lord Percival, not however without some
difficulty. Lord Percival had declared he did not understand I.O.U.'s
in an affair of that kind. He had always thought that gentlemen did
not play for stakes which they could not pay at once. This was not
said to Gerald himself;--or the result would have been calamitous.
Nidderdale was the go-between, and at last arranged it,--not however
till he had pointed out that Percival, having won so large a sum of
money from a lad under twenty-one years of age, was very lucky in
receiving substantial security for its payment.
Gerald had chosen the period of his father's absence for his return.
It was necessary that the story of the gambling debt should be told
the Duke in February. Silverbridge had explained that to him, and
he had quite understood it. He, indeed, would be up at Oxford in
February, and, in that case, the first horror of the thing would be
left to poor Silverbridge! Thinking of this, Gerald felt that he was
bound to tell his father himself. He resolved that he would do so,
but was anxious to postpone the evil day. He lingered therefore in
Scotland till he knew that his father was in Barsetshire.
On his arrival he was told of Tregear's accident. "Oh, Gerald; have
you heard?" said his sister. He had not as yet heard, and then the
history was repeated to him. Mary did not attempt to conceal her own
feelings. She was as open with her brother as she had been with Mrs.
Finn.
"I suppose he'll get over it," said Gerald.
"Is that all you say?" she asked.
"What can I say better? I suppose he will. Fellows always do get over
that kind of thing. Herbert de Burgh smashed both his thighs, and now
he can move about again,--of course with crutches."
"Gerald! How can you be so unfeeling!"
"I don't know what you mean. I always liked Tregear, and I am very
sorry for him. If you would take it a little quieter, I think it
would be better."
"I could not take it quietly. How can I take it quietly when he is
more than all the world to me?"
"You should keep that to yourself."
"Yes,--and so let people think that I didn't care, till I broke my
heart! I shall say just the same to papa when he comes home." After
that the brother and sister were not on very good terms with each
other for the remainder of the day.
On the Saturday there was a letter from Silverbridge to Mrs. Finn.
Tregear was better; but was unhappy because it had been decided
that he could not be moved for the next month. This entailed
two misfortunes on him;--first that of being the enforced guest
of persons who were not,--or, hitherto had not been, his own
friends,--and then his absence from the first meeting of Parliament.
When a gentleman has been in Parliament some years he may be able to
reconcile himself to an obligatory vacation with a calm mind. But
when the honours and glory are new, and the tedium of the benches
has not yet been experienced, then such an accident is felt to be
a grievance. But the young member was out of danger, and was, as
Silverbridge declared, in the very best quarters which could be
provided for a man in such a position.
Phineas Finn told him all the politics; Mrs. Spooner related to
him, on Sundays and Wednesdays, all the hunting details; while Lady
Chiltern read to him light literature, because he was not allowed to
hold a book in his hand. "I wish it were me," said Gerald. "I wish I
were there to read to him," said Mary.
Then the Duke came home. "Mary," said he, "I have been distressed to
hear of this accident." This seemed to her to be the kindest word she
had heard from him for a long time. "I believe him to be a worthy
young man. I am sorry that he should be the cause of so much sorrow
to you--and to me."
"Of course I was sorry for his accident," she replied, after pausing
awhile; "but now that he is better I will not call him a cause of
sorrow--to me." Then the Duke said nothing further about Tregear; nor
did she.
"So you have come at last," he said to Gerald. That was the first
greeting,--to which the son responded by an awkward smile. But in the
course of the evening he walked straight up to his father--"I have
something to tell you, sir," said he.
"Something to tell me?"
"Something that will make you very angry."