Laura was staying at the Brodricks. She was to stay, Jane insisted on
it, until she was married. She would have to stay for ever then, Laura
said. Her marriage seemed so far-off, so unlikely, so impossible.
For Prothero had offended the powers that governed his material destiny,
the editors and proprietors of the "Morning Telegraph." A man who,
without a moment's notice, could fling up his appointment, an
appointment, mind you, that he had obtained, not by any merit of his
own, but through the grace and favour of an editor's wife, an
appointment that he held precariously, almost on sufferance, by mercy
extended to him day by day and hour by hour, what could he hope for from
sane, responsible men like Brodrick and Levine? Did he imagine that
appointments hung on lamp-posts ready to his hand? Or that they only
waited for his appearance, to fall instantly upon his head? And that, if
they did fall on his head, he could take them on and off like his hat?
And did he think that he could play the fool with a paper like the
"Morning Telegraph"?
These questions Brodrick asked of Levine and Levine of Brodrick, before
the unspeakably shocked, the unconditionally assenting faces of John and
Henry.
All the Brodricks disapproved of Prothero and were annoyed with him for
flinging up his appointment. Jane pleaded that he had flung it up
because he was fond of Laura and wanted to marry her; and she was told
that that was all the more reason why he should have stuck to it. They
were annoyed with him for keeping Laura hanging on when he knew he
couldn't marry her; and they were annoyed with him for wanting to marry
her at all. They admitted that it was very sad for Laura; they liked
Laura; they approved of Laura; she had done her duty by all the family
she had, and had nearly died of it. And when Jane suggested that all
Prothero wanted was to do the same, they replied that Prothero had no
business to think of having a family--they supposed that was what it
would end in--a man who couldn't keep himself, much less a delicate wife
and half-a-dozen children. There would be half-a-dozen; there always
were in cases like Prothero's. And at that Jane smiled and said they
would be darlings if they were at all like Laura.
They were annoyed with Jane for her championship of Prothero. They were
immeasurably annoyed with her when she, and Tanqueray, and Arnott
Nicholson, and Nina published his poems--a second volume--by
subscription. They subscribed generously, and grew more resentful on the
strength of it. Jane pleaded, but Brodrick was inexorable. The more she
pleaded the more inexorable he was. This time he put his foot down, and
put it (as Jane bitterly remarked) on poor Owen Prothero's neck. It was
a neck, a stiff and obstinate neck, that positively invited the foot of
a stiff and obstinate man.
Jane hid these things from Laura, who thought, poor innocent, that it
was only her luck. Marriage or no marriage, she was incredibly happy.
She even persuaded herself it was as well that she couldn't be married
if that was to make her happier. She distrusted happiness carried to
such a preposterous pitch.
She was sitting with Jane one evening, by the October firelight, in the
room where her friend lay quietly.
"Do you remember, Jinny, how we were all in love with George, you and I
and Nina and poor old Caro? Caro said it was our apprenticeship to the
master."
Jane remembered.
"He was training us; I really think he was," said Laura, still
reminiscent. "Can't you hear him saying, 'Come on, come on, what the
dickens does it matter if I do see you? It's got to be somebody and it
had much better be me. I shan't snigger. But I'm going to make you
squirm as much as you _can_ squirm. You've got to know what it feels
like.' I think he was positively proud of us when we did come on. I
can't imagine him taking any other view. And after all, you know, he
didn't snigger."