The Proposal
And now the departures from Courcy Castle came rapidly one after
another, and there remained but one more evening before Miss
Dunstable's carriage was to be packed. The countess, in the early
moments of Frank's courtship, had controlled his ardour and checked
the rapidity of his amorous professions; but as days, and at last
weeks, wore away, she found that it was necessary to stir the fire
which she had before endeavoured to slacken.
"There will be nobody here to-night but our own circle," said she to
him, "and I really think you should tell Miss Dunstable what your
intentions are. She will have fair ground to complain of you if you
do not."
Frank began to feel that he was in a dilemma. He had commenced making
love to Miss Dunstable partly because he liked the amusement, and
partly from a satirical propensity to quiz his aunt by appearing to
fall into her scheme. But he had overshot the mark, and did not know
what answer to give when he was thus called upon to make a downright
proposal. And then, although he did not care two rushes about Miss
Dunstable in the way of love, he nevertheless experienced a sort of
jealousy when he found that she appeared to be indifferent to him,
and that she corresponded the meanwhile with his cousin George.
Though all their flirtations had been carried on on both sides
palpably by way of fun, though Frank had told himself ten times a
day that his heart was true to Mary Thorne, yet he had an undefined
feeling that it behoved Miss Dunstable to be a little in love with
him. He was not quite at ease in that she was not a little melancholy
now that his departure was so nigh; and, above all, he was anxious to
know what were the real facts about that letter. He had in his own
breast threatened Miss Dunstable with a heartache; and now, when the
time for their separation came, he found that his own heart was the
more likely to ache of the two.
"I suppose I must say something to her, or my aunt will never be
satisfied," said he to himself as he sauntered into the little
drawing-room on that last evening. But at the very time he was
ashamed of himself, for he knew he was going to ask badly.
His sister and one of his cousins were in the room, but his aunt, who
was quite on the alert, soon got them out of it, and Frank and Miss
Dunstable were alone.
"So all our fun and all our laughter is come to an end," said she,
beginning the conversation. "I don't know how you feel, but for
myself I really am a little melancholy at the idea of parting;" and
she looked up at him with her laughing black eyes, as though she
never had, and never could have a care in the world.
"Melancholy! oh, yes; you look so," said Frank, who really did feel
somewhat lackadaisically sentimental.
"But how thoroughly glad the countess must be that we are both
going," continued she. "I declare we have treated her most
infamously. Ever since we've been here we've had all the amusement
to ourselves. I've sometimes thought she would turn me out of the
house."
"I wish with all my heart she had."
"Oh, you cruel barbarian! why on earth should you wish that?"
"That I might have joined you in your exile. I hate Courcy Castle,
and should have rejoiced to leave--and--and--"
"And what?"
"And I love Miss Dunstable, and should have doubly, trebly rejoiced
to leave it with her."
Frank's voice quivered a little as he made this gallant profession;
but still Miss Dunstable only laughed the louder. "Upon my word, of
all my knights you are by far the best behaved," said she, "and say
much the prettiest things." Frank became rather red in the face, and
felt that he did so. Miss Dunstable was treating him like a boy.
While she pretended to be so fond of him she was only laughing at
him, and corresponding the while with his cousin George. Now Frank
Gresham already entertained a sort of contempt for his cousin, which
increased the bitterness of his feelings. Could it really be possible
that George had succeeded while he had utterly failed; that his
stupid cousin had touched the heart of the heiress while she was
playing with him as with a boy?
"Of all your knights! Is that the way you talk to me when we are
going to part? When was it, Miss Dunstable, that George de Courcy
became one of them?"
Miss Dunstable for a while looked serious enough. "What makes you ask
that?" said she. "What makes you inquire about Mr de Courcy?"
"Oh, I have eyes, you know, and can't help seeing. Not that I see, or
have seen anything that I could possibly help."
"And what have you seen, Mr Gresham?"
"Why, I know you have been writing to him."
"Did he tell you so?"
"No; he did not tell me; but I know it."
For a moment she sat silent, and then her face again resumed its
usual happy smile. "Come, Mr Gresham, you are not going to quarrel
with me, I hope, even if I did write a letter to your cousin. Why
should I not write to him? I correspond with all manner of people.
I'll write to you some of these days if you'll let me, and will
promise to answer my letters."
Frank threw himself back on the sofa on which he was sitting, and, in
doing so, brought himself somewhat nearer to his companion than he
had been; he then drew his hand slowly across his forehead, pushing
back his thick hair, and as he did so he sighed somewhat plaintively.
"I do not care," said he, "for the privilege of correspondence on
such terms. If my cousin George is to be a correspondent of yours
also, I will give up my claim."
And then he sighed again, so that it was piteous to hear him. He was
certainly an arrant puppy, and an egregious ass into the bargain;
but then, it must be remembered in his favour that he was only
twenty-one, and that much had been done to spoil him. Miss Dunstable
did remember this, and therefore abstained from laughing at him.
"Why, Mr Gresham, what on earth do you mean? In all human probability
I shall never write another line to Mr de Courcy; but, if I did, what
possible harm could it do you?"
"Oh, Miss Dunstable! you do not in the least understand what my
feelings are."
"Don't I? Then I hope I never shall. I thought I did. I thought they
were the feelings of a good, true-hearted friend; feelings that I
could sometimes look back upon with pleasure as being honest when
so much that one meets is false. I have become very fond of you, Mr
Gresham, and I should be sorry to think that I did not understand
your feelings."
This was almost worse and worse. Young ladies like Miss
Dunstable--for she was still to be numbered in the category of young
ladies--do not usually tell young gentlemen that they are very fond
of them. To boys and girls they may make such a declaration. Now
Frank Gresham regarded himself as one who had already fought his
battles, and fought them not without glory; he could not therefore
endure to be thus openly told by Miss Dunstable that she was very
fond of him.
"Fond of me, Miss Dunstable! I wish you were."
"So I am--very."
"You little know how fond I am of you, Miss Dunstable," and he put
out his hand to take hold of hers. She then lifted up her own, and
slapped him lightly on the knuckles.
"And what can you have to say to Miss Dunstable that can make it
necessary that you should pinch her hand? I tell you fairly, Mr
Gresham, if you make a fool of yourself, I shall come to a conclusion
that you are all fools, and that it is hopeless to look out for any
one worth caring for."
Such advice as this, so kindly given, so wisely meant, so clearly
intelligible, he should have taken and understood, young as he was.
But even yet he did not do so.
"A fool of myself! Yes; I suppose I must be a fool if I have so much
regard for Miss Dunstable as to make it painful for me to know that I
am to see her no more: a fool: yes, of course I am a fool--a man is
always a fool when he loves."
Miss Dunstable could not pretend to doubt his meaning any longer; and
was determined to stop him, let it cost what it would. She now put
out her hand, not over white, and, as Frank soon perceived, gifted
with a very fair allowance of strength.
"Now, Mr Gresham," said she, "before you go any further you shall
listen to me. Will you listen to me for a moment without interrupting
me?"
Frank was of course obliged to promise that he would do so.
"You are going--or rather you were going, for I shall stop you--to
make a profession of love."
"A profession!" said Frank making a slight unsuccessful effort to get
his hand free.
"Yes; a profession--a false profession, Mr Gresham,--a false
profession--a false profession. Look into your heart--into your heart
of hearts. I know you at any rate have a heart; look into it closely.
Mr Gresham, you know you do not love me; not as a man should love the
woman whom he swears to love."
Frank was taken aback. So appealed to he found that he could not any
longer say that he did love her. He could only look into her face
with all his eyes, and sit there listening to her.
"How is it possible that you should love me? I am Heaven knows how
many years your senior. I am neither young nor beautiful, nor have I
been brought up as she should be whom you in time will really love
and make your wife. I have nothing that should make you love me;
but--but I am rich."
"It is not that," said Frank, stoutly, feeling himself imperatively
called upon to utter something in his own defence.
"Ah, Mr Gresham, I fear it is that. For what other reason can you
have laid your plans to talk in this way to such a woman as I am?"
"I have laid no plans," said Frank, now getting his hand to himself.
"At any rate, you wrong me there, Miss Dunstable."
"I like you so well--nay, love you, if a woman may talk of love in
the way of friendship--that if money, money alone would make you
happy, you should have it heaped on you. If you want it, Mr Gresham,
you shall have it."
"I have never thought of your money," said Frank, surlily.
"But it grieves me," continued she, "it does grieve me, to think that
you, you, you--so young, so gay, so bright--that you should have
looked for it in this way. From others I have taken it just as the
wind that whistles;" and now two big slow tears escaped from her
eyes, and would have rolled down her rosy cheeks were it not that she
brushed them off with the back of her hand.
"You have utterly mistaken me, Miss Dunstable," said Frank.
"If I have, I will humbly beg your pardon," said she.
"But--but--but--"
"You have; indeed you have."
"How can I have mistaken you? Were you not about to say that you
loved me; to talk absolute nonsense; to make me an offer? If you were
not, if I have mistaken you indeed, I will beg your pardon."
Frank had nothing further to say in his own defence. He had not
wanted Miss Dunstable's money--that was true; but he could not deny
that he had been about to talk that absolute nonsense of which she
spoke with so much scorn.
"You would almost make me think that there are none honest in this
fashionable world of yours. I well know why Lady de Courcy has had
me here: how could I help knowing it? She has been so foolish in
her plans that ten times a day she has told her own secret. But I
have said to myself twenty times, that if she were crafty, you were
honest."
"And am I dishonest?"
"I have laughed in my sleeve to see how she played her game, and to
hear others around playing theirs; all of them thinking that they
could get the money of the poor fool who had come at their beck and
call; but I was able to laugh at them as long as I thought that I had
one true friend to laugh with me. But one cannot laugh with all the
world against one."
"I am not against you, Miss Dunstable."
"Sell yourself for money! why, if I were a man I would not sell one
jot of liberty for mountains of gold. What! tie myself in the heyday
of my youth to a person I could never love, for a price! perjure
myself, destroy myself--and not only myself, but her also, in order
that I might live idly! Oh, heavens! Mr Gresham! can it be that
the words of such a woman as your aunt have sunk so deeply in your
heart; have blackened you so foully as to make you think of such vile
folly as this? Have you forgotten your soul, your spirit, your man's
energy, the treasure of your heart? And you, so young! For shame, Mr
Gresham! for shame--for shame."
Frank found the task before him by no means an easy one. He had to
make Miss Dunstable understand that he had never had the slightest
idea of marrying her, and that he had made love to her merely with
the object of keeping his hand in for the work as it were; with that
object, and the other equally laudable one of interfering with his
cousin George.
And yet there was nothing for him but to get through this task as
best he might. He was goaded to it by the accusations which Miss
Dunstable brought against him; and he began to feel, that though her
invective against him might be bitter when he had told the truth,
they could not be so bitter as those she now kept hinting at under
her mistaken impression as to his views. He had never had any strong
propensity for money-hunting; but now that offence appeared in his
eyes abominable, unmanly, and disgusting. Any imputation would be
better than that.
"Miss Dunstable, I never for a moment thought of doing what
you accuse me of; on my honour, I never did. I have been very
foolish--very wrong--idiotic, I believe; but I have never intended
that."
"Then, Mr Gresham, what did you intend?"
This was rather a difficult question to answer; and Frank was not
very quick in attempting it. "I know you will not forgive me," he
said at last; "and, indeed, I do not see how you can. I don't know
how it came about; but this is certain, Miss Dunstable; I have never
for a moment thought about your fortune; that is, thought about it in
the way of coveting it."
"You never thought of making me your wife, then?"
"Never," said Frank, looking boldly into her face.
"You never intended really to propose to go with me to the altar, and
then make yourself rich by one great perjury?"
"Never for a moment," said he.
"You have never gloated over me as the bird of prey gloats over the
poor beast that is soon to become carrion beneath its claws? You have
not counted me out as equal to so much land, and calculated on me as
a balance at your banker's? Ah, Mr Gresham," she continued, seeing
that he stared as though struck almost with awe by her strong
language; "you little guess what a woman situated as I am has to
suffer."
"I have behaved badly to you, Miss Dunstable, and I beg your pardon;
but I have never thought of your money."
"Then we will be friends again, Mr Gresham, won't we? It is so nice
to have a friend like you. There, I think I understand it now; you
need not tell me."
"It was half by way of making a fool of my aunt," said Frank, in an
apologetic tone.
"There is merit in that, at any rate," said Miss Dunstable. "I
understand it all now; you thought to make a fool of me in real
earnest. Well, I can forgive that; at any rate it is not mean."
It may be, that Miss Dunstable did not feel much acute anger at
finding that this young man had addressed her with words of love in
the course of an ordinary flirtation, although that flirtation had
been unmeaning and silly. This was not the offence against which her
heart and breast had found peculiar cause to arm itself; this was not
the injury from which she had hitherto experienced suffering.
At any rate, she and Frank again became friends, and, before the
evening was over, they perfectly understood each other. Twice during
this long _tête-à-tête_ Lady de Courcy came into the room to see how
things were going on, and twice she went out almost unnoticed. It
was quite clear to her that something uncommon had taken place, was
taking place, or would take place; and that should this be for weal
or for woe, no good could now come from her interference. On each
occasion, therefore, she smiled sweetly on the pair of turtle-doves,
and glided out of the room as quietly as she had glided into it.
But at last it became necessary to remove them; for the world had
gone to bed. Frank, in the meantime, had told to Miss Dunstable all
his love for Mary Thorne, and Miss Dunstable had enjoined him to be
true to his vows. To her eyes there was something of heavenly beauty
in young, true love--of beauty that was heavenly because it had been
unknown to her.
"Mind you let me hear, Mr Gresham," said she. "Mind you do; and, Mr
Gresham, never, never forget her for one moment; not for one moment,
Mr Gresham."
Frank was about to swear that he never would--again, when the
countess, for the third time, sailed into the room.
"Young people," said she, "do you know what o'clock it is?"
"Dear me, Lady de Courcy, I declare it is past twelve; I really am
ashamed of myself. How glad you will be to get rid of me to-morrow!"
"No, no, indeed we shan't; shall we, Frank?" and so Miss Dunstable
passed out.
Then once again the aunt tapped her nephew with her fan. It was the
last time in her life that she did so. He looked up in her face, and
his look was enough to tell her that the acres of Greshamsbury were
not to be reclaimed by the ointment of Lebanon.
Nothing further on the subject was said. On the following morning
Miss Dunstable took her departure, not much heeding the rather cold
words of farewell which her hostess gave her; and on the following
day Frank started for Greshamsbury.