MR. PROSPER'S TROUBLES.
As Mr. Prosper sunk into his arm-chair after the fatigue of the
interview with his lawyer, he reflected that, when all was considered,
Harry Annesley was an ungrateful pig,--it was thus he called him,--and
that Miss Thoroughbung had many attractions. Miss Thoroughbung had
probably done well to kiss him, though the enterprise had not been
without its peculiar dangers. He often thought of it when alone, and, as
"distance lent enchantment to the view," he longed to have the
experiment repeated. Perhaps she had been right. And it would be a good
thing, certainly, to have dear little children of his own. Miss
Thoroughbung felt very certain on the subject, and it would be foolish
for him to doubt. Then he thought of the difference between a pretty
fair haired little boy and that ungrateful pig, Harry Annesley. He told
himself that he was very fond of children. The girls over at the
parsonage would not have said so, but they probably did not know his
character.
When Harry had come back with his fellowship, his uncle had for a few
weeks been very proud of him,--had declared that he should never be
called upon to earn his bread, and had allowed him two hundred and fifty
pounds a year to begin with: but no return had been made to this favor.
Harry had walked in and out of the Hall as though it had already
belonged to him,--as many a father delights to see his eldest son doing.
But the uncle in this instance had not taken any delight in seeing it.
An uncle is different from a father,--an uncle who has never had a child
of his own. He wanted deference,--what he would have called respect;
while Harry was at first prepared to give him a familiar affection based
on equality,--on an equality in money matters and worldly
interests,--though I fear that Harry allowed to be seen his own
intellectual superiority. Mr. Prosper, though an ignorant man, and by no
means clever, was not such a fool as not to see all this. Then had come
the persistent refusal to hear the sermons, and Mr. Prosper had
sorrowfully declared to himself that his heir was not the young man that
he should have been.
He did not then think of marrying, nor did he stop the allowance; but he
did feel that his heir was not what he should have been. But then the
terrible disgrace of that night in London had occurred, and his eyes
had been altogether opened by that excellent young man, Mr. Augustus
Scarborough; then he began to look about him. Then dim ideas of the
charms and immediate wealth of Miss Thoroughbung flitted before his
eyes, and he told himself again and again of the prospects and undoubted
good birth of Miss Puffle. Miss Puffle had disgraced herself, and
therefore he had thrown Buston Hall at the feet of Miss Thoroughbung.
But now he had heard stories about that "excellent young man, Augustus
Scarborough," which had shaken his faith. He had been able to exclaim
indignantly that Harry Annesley had told a lie. "A lie!" He had been
surprised to find that a young man who had lived so much in the
fashionable world as Captain Scarborough had cared nothing for this. And
as Miss Thoroughbung became more and more exacting in regard to money,
he thought, himself, less and less of the lie. It might be well that
Harry should ultimately have the property, though he should never again
be taken into favor, and there should be no farther question of the
allowance. As Miss Thoroughbung reiterated her demands for the ponies,
he began to feel that the acres of Buston would not be disgraced forever
by the telling of that lie. But the sermons remained, and he would never
willingly again see his nephew. As he turned all this in his mind, the
idea of spending what was left of the winter at Cairo returned to him.
He would go to Cairo for the winter, and to the Italian lakes for the
spring, and to Switzerland for the summer. Then he might return to
Cairo. At the present moment Buston Hall and the neighborhood of
Buntingford had few charms for him. He was afraid that Miss Thoroughbung
would not give way about the ponies; and against the ponies he was
resolved.
He was sitting in this state with a map before him, and with the
squire's letter upon the map, when Matthew, the butler, opened the door
and announced a visitor. As soon as Mr. Barry had gone, he had supported
nature by a mutton-chop and a glass of sherry, and the debris were now
lying on the side-table. His first idea was to bid Matthew at once
remove the glass and the bone, and the unfinished potato and the crust
of bread. To be taken with such remnants by any visitor would be bad,
but by this visitor would be dreadful. Lunch should be eaten in the
dining-room, where chop bones and dirty glasses would be in their place.
But here in his book-room they would be disgraceful. But then, as
Matthew was hurriedly collecting the two plates and the salt-cellar, his
master began to doubt whether this visitor should be received at all.
It was no other than Miss Thoroughbung.
Mr. Prosper, in order to excuse his slackness in calling on the lady,
had let it be known that he was not quite well, and Miss Thoroughbung
had responded to this move by offering her services as nurse to her
lover. He had then written to herself that, though he had been a little
unwell, "suffering from a cold in the chest, to which at this inclement
season of the year it was peculiarly liable," he was not in need of
anything beyond a little personal attention, and would not trouble her
for those services, for the offer of which he was bound to be peculiarly
grateful. Thus he had thought to keep Miss Thoroughbung at a distance;
but here she was with those hated ponies at his very door. "Matthew," he
said, making a confidant, in the distress of the moment of his butler,
"I don't think I can see her."
"You must, sir; indeed you must."
"Must!"
"Well, yes; I'm afraid so. Considering all things,--the matrimonial
prospects and the rest of it,--I think you must, sir."
"She hasn't a right to come here, you know,--as yet." It will be
understood that Mr. Prosper was considerably discomposed when he spoke
with such familiar confidence to his servant. "She needn't come in here,
at any rate."
"In the drawing-room, if I might be allowed to suggest, sir."
"Show Miss Thoroughbung into the drawing-room," said he with all his
dignity. Then Matthew retired, and the Squire of Buston felt that five
minutes might be allowed to collect himself, and the mutton-chop bone
need not be removed.
When the five minutes were over, with slow steps he walked across the
intervening billiard-room, and slowly opened the drawing-room door.
Would she rush into his arms, and kiss him again as he entered? He
sincerely hoped that there would be no such attempt; but if there were,
he was sternly resolved to repudiate it. There should be nothing of the
kind till she had clearly declared, and had put it under writing by
herself and her lawyers, that she would consent to come to Buston
without the ponies. But there was no such attempt. "How do you do, Mr.
Prosper?" she said, in a loud voice, standing up in the middle of the
room. "Why don't you ever come and see me? I take it very ill of you;
and so does Miss Tickle. There is no one more partial to you than Miss
Tickle. We were talking of you only last night over a despatched crab
that we had for supper." Did they have despatched crabs for supper every
night? thought Mr. Prosper to himself. It was certainly a strong reason
against his marriage. "I told her that you had a cold in your head."
"In my chest," said Mr. Prosper, meekly.
"'Bother colds!' said Miss Tickle. 'When people are keeping company
together they ought to see each other.' Those were Miss Tickle's very
words."
That it should be said of him, Mr. Prosper, of Buston, that he was
"keeping company" with any woman! He almost resolved, on the spur of the
moment, that under no circumstances could he now marry Miss
Thoroughbung. But unfortunately his offer had been made, and the terms
of the settlement, as suggested by himself, placed in the hands of his
lawyer. If Miss Thoroughbung chose to hold him to his offer, he must
marry her. It was not that he feared an action for breach of promise,
but that, as a gentleman, it would behoove him to be true to his word.
He need not, however, marry Miss Tickle. He had offered no terms in
respect to Miss Tickle. With great presence of mind he resolved at once
that Miss Tickle should never find a permanent resting-place for her
foot at Buston Hall. "I am extremely indebted to Miss Tickle," said he.
"Why haven't you come over just to have a little chat in a friendly way?
It's all because of those stupid lawyers, I suppose. What need you and I
care for the lawyers? They can do their work without troubling us,
except that they will be sure to send in their bills fast enough."
"I have had Mr. Barry, from the firm of Messrs. Grey & Barry, of
Lincoln's Inn, with me this morning."
"I know you have. I saw the little man at Soames & Simpson's, and drove
out here immediately, after five minutes' conversation. Now, Mr.
Prosper, you must let me have those ponies."
That was the very thing which he was determined not to do. The ponies
grew in imagination, and became enormous horses capable of consuming any
amount of oats. Mr. Prosper was not of a stingy nature, but he had
already perceived that his escape, if it were effected, must be made
good by means of those ponies. A steady old pair of carriage-horses had
been kept by him, and by his father before him, and he was not going to
be driven out of the old family ways by a brewer's daughter. And he had,
but that morning, instructed his lawyer to stand out against the ponies.
He felt that this was the moment for firmness. Now, this instant, he
must be staunch, or he would be saddled with this woman,--and with Miss
Tickle,--for the whole of his life. She had left him no time for
consideration, but had come upon him as soon almost as the words spoken
to the lawyer had been out of his mouth. But he would be firm. Miss
Thoroughbung opened out instantly about the ponies, and he at once
resolved that he would be firm. But was it not very indelicate on her
part to come to him and to press him in this manner? He began to hope
that she also would be firm about the ponies, and that in this way the
separation might be effected. At the present moment he stood dumb.
Silence would not in this case be considered as giving consent. "Now,
like a good man, do say that I shall have the ponies," she continued. "I
can keep 'em out of my own money, you know, if that's all." He perceived
at once that the offer amounted to a certain yielding on her part, but
he was no longer anxious that she should give way. "Do'ee now say yes,
like a dear old boy." She came closer to him, and took hold of his arm,
as though she were going to perform that other ceremony. But he was
fully aware of the danger. If there came to be kissing between them it
would be impossible for him to go back afterward in such a manner but
that the blame of the kiss should rest with him. When he should desire
to be "off," he could not plead that the kissing had been all her doing.
A man in Mr. Prosper's position has difficulties among which he must be
very wary. And then the ridicule of the world is so strong a weapon, and
is always used on the side of the women! He gave a little start, but he
did not at once shake her off. "What's the objection to the ponies,
dear?"
"Two pair of horses! It's more than we ought to keep." He should not
have said "we." He felt, when it was too late, that he should not have
said "we."
"They aren't horses."
"It's the same, as far as the stables are concerned."
"But there's room enough, Lord bless you! I've been in to look. I can
assure you that Dr. Stubbs says they are required for my health. You ask
him else. It's just what I'm up to--is driving. I've only taken to them
lately, and I cannot bring myself to give 'em up. Do'ee love. You're not
going to throw over your own Matilda for a couple of little beasts like
that!"
Every word that came out of her mouth was an offence. But he could not
tell her so; nor could he reject her on that score. He should have
thought beforehand what kind of words might probably come out of her
mouth. Was her name Matilda? Of course he knew the fact. Had any one
asked him he could have said, with two minutes' consideration, that her
name was Matilda. But it had never become familiar to his ears, and now
she spoke of it as though he had called her Matilda since their earliest
youth. And to be called "Love!" It might be very nice when he had first
called her "Love" a dozen times; but now it sounded extravagant--and
almost indelicate. And he was about to throw her over for a couple of
little beasts. He felt that that was his intention, and he blushed
because it was so. He was a true gentleman, who would not willingly
depart from his word. If he must go on with the ponies he must. But he
had never yet yielded about the ponies. He felt now that they were his
only hope. But as the difficulties of his position pressed upon him the
sweat stood out upon his brow. She saw it all and understood it all, and
deliberately determined to take advantage of his weakness. "I don't
think that there is anything else astray between us. We've settled about
the jointure,--four hundred a year. It's too little, Soames & Simpson
say; but I'm soft, and in love, you know." Here she leered at him, and
he began to hate her. "You oughtn't to want a third of my income, you
know. But you're to be lord and master, and you must have your own way.
All that's settled."
"There is Miss Tickle," he said, in a voice that was almost cadaverous.
"Miss Tickle is of course to come. You said that from the very first
moment when you made the offer."
"Never!"
"Oh, Peter, how can you say so!" He shrunk visibly from the sound of his
own Christian name. But she determined to persevere. The time must come
when she should call him Peter, and why not commence the practice now,
at once? Lovers always do call each other Peter and Matilda. She wasn't
going to stand any nonsense, and if he intended to marry her and use a
large proportion of her fortune, Peter he should be to her. "You did,
Peter. You know you told me how much attached you were to her."
"I didn't say anything about her coming with you."
"Oh, Peter, how can you be so cruel? Do you mean to say that you will
deprive me of the friend of my youth?"
"At any rate, there shall never be a pony come into my yard!" He knew
when he made this assertion that he was abandoning his objection to Miss
Tickle. She had called him cruel, and his conscience told him that if he
received Miss Thoroughbung and refused admission to Miss Tickle he
would be cruel. Miss Tickle, for aught that he knew, might have been a
friend of her youth. At any rate, they had been constant companions for
many years. Therefore, as he had another solid ground on which to stand,
he could afford to yield as to Miss Tickle. But as he did so, he
remembered that Miss Tickle had accused him of "keeping company," and he
declared to himself that it would be impossible to live in the same
house with her.
"But Miss Tickle may come?" said Miss Thoroughbung. Was the solid
ground--the rock, as he believed it to be, of the ponies, about to sink
beneath his feet? "Say that Miss Tickle may come. I should be nothing
without Miss Tickle. You cannot be so hard-hearted as that."
"I don't see what is the good of talking about Miss Tickle till we have
come to some settlement about the ponies. You say that you must have the
ponies. To tell you the truth, Miss Thoroughbung, I don't like any such
word as 'must.' And a good many things have occurred to me."
"What kind of things, deary?"
"I think you are inclined to be--gay--"
"Me! gay!"
"While I am sober, and perhaps a little grave in my manners of life. I
am thinking only of domestic happiness, while your mind is intent upon
social circles. I fear that you would look for your bliss abroad."
"In France or Germany?"
"When I say abroad, I mean out of your own house. There is perhaps some
discrepancy of taste of which I ought earlier to have taken cognizance."
"Nothing of the kind," said Miss Thoroughbung. "I am quite content to
live at home and do not want to go abroad, either to France nor yet to
any other English county. I should never ask for anything, unless it be
for a single month in London."
Here was a ground upon which he perhaps could make his stand. "Quite
impossible!" said Mr. Prosper.
"Or for a fortnight," said Miss Thoroughbung.
"I never go up to London except on business."
"But I might go alone, you know--with Miss Tickle. I shouldn't want to
drag you away. I have always been in the habit of having a few weeks in
London about the Exhibition time."
"I shouldn't wish to be left by my wife."
"Of course we could manage all that. We're not to settle every little
thing beforehand, and put it into the deeds. A precious sum we should
have to pay the lawyers!"
"It's as well we should understand each other."
"I think it pretty nearly is all settled that has to go into the deeds.
I thought I'd just run over, after seeing Mr. Barry, and give the final
touch. If you'll give way, dear, about Miss Tickle and the ponies, I'll
yield in everything else. Nothing, surely, can be fairer than that."
He knew that he was playing the hypocrite, and he knew also that it did
not become him as a gentleman to be false to a woman. He was aware that
from minute to minute, and almost from word to word, he was becoming
ever more and more averse to this match which he had proposed to
himself. And he knew that in honesty he ought to tell her that it was
so. It was not honest in him to endeavor to get rid of her by a
side-blow, as it were. And yet this was the attempt which he had
hitherto been making. But how was he to tell her the truth? Even Mr.
Barry had not understood the state of his mind. Indeed, his mind had
altered since he had seen Mr. Barry.
He had heard within the last half hour many words spoken by Miss
Thoroughbung which proved that she was altogether unfit to be his wife.
It was a dreadful misfortune that he should have rushed into such peril;
but was he not bound as a gentleman to tell her the truth? "Say that I
shall have Jemima Tickle!" The added horrors of the Christian name
operated upon him with additional force. Was he to be doomed to have the
word Jemima hallooed about his rooms and staircases for the rest of his
life? And she had given up the ponies, and was taking her stand upon
Miss Tickle, as to whom at last he would be bound to give way. He could
see now that he should have demanded her whole income, and have allowed
her little or no jointure. That would have been grasping, monstrous,
altogether impracticable, but it would not have been ungentleman-like.
This chaffering about little things was altogether at variance with his
tastes,--and it would be futile. He must summon courage to tell her that
he no longer wished for the match; but he could not do it on this
morning. Then,--for that morning,--some benign god preserved him.
Matthew came into the room and whispered into his ear that a gentleman
wished to see him. "What gentleman?" Matthew again whispered that it was
his brother-in-law. "Show him in," said Mr. Prosper, with a sudden
courage. He had not seen Mr. Annesley since the day of his actual
quarrel with Harry. "I shall have the ponies?" said Miss Thoroughbung
during the moment that was allowed to her.
"We are interrupted now. I am afraid that the rest of this interview
must be postponed." It should never be renewed, though he might have to
leave the country forever. Of that he gave himself assurance. Then the
parson was shown into the room.
The constrained introduction was very painful to Mr. Prosper, but was
not at all disagreeable to the lady. "Mr. Annesley knows me very well.
We are quite old friends. Joe is going to marry his eldest girl. I hope
Molly is quite well." The rector said that Molly was quite well. When he
had come away from home just now he had left Joe at the parsonage.
"You'll find him there a deal oftener than at the brewery," said Miss
Thoroughbung. "You know what we're going to do, Mr. Annesley. There are
no fools like old fools." A thunder-black cloud came across Mr.
Prosper's face. That this woman should dare to call him an old fool! "We
were discussing a few of our future arrangements. We've arranged
everything about money in the most amicable manner, and now there is
merely a question of a pair of ponies."
"We need not trouble Mr. Annesley about that, I think."
"And Miss Tickle! I'm sure the rector will agree with me that old
friends like me and Miss Tickle ought not to be separated. And it isn't
as though there was any dislike between them, because he has already
said that he finds Miss Tickle charming."
"D---- Miss Tickle!" he said; whereupon the rector looked astonished, and
Miss Thoroughbung jumped a foot from off the ground. "I beg the lady's
pardon," said Mr. Prosper, piteously, "and yours, Miss Thoroughbung,--and
yours, Mr. Annesley." It was as though a new revelation of character had
been given. No one except Matthew had ever heard the Squire of Buston
swear. And with Matthew the cursings had been by no means frequent, and
had been addressed generally to some article of his clothing, or to some
morsel of food prepared with less than the usual care. But now the oath
had been directed against a female, and the chosen friend of his
betrothed. And it had been uttered in the presence of a clergyman, his
brother-in-law, and the rector of his parish. Mr. Prosper felt that he
was disgraced forever. Could he have overheard them laughing over his
ebullition in the drawing-room half an hour afterward, and almost
praising his violence, some part of the pain might have been removed.
As it was he felt at the time that he was disgraced forever.
"We will return to the subject when next we meet," said Miss
Thoroughbung.
"I am very sorry that I should so far have forgotten myself," said Mr.
Prosper, "but--"
"It does not signify,--not as far as I am concerned;" and she made a
little motion to the clergyman, half bow and half courtesy. Mr. Annesley
bowed in return, as though declaring that neither did it signify very
much as far as he was concerned. Then she left the room, and Matthew
handed her into the carriage, when she took the ponies in hand with
quite as much composure as though her friend had not been sworn at.
"Upon my word, sir," said Prosper, as soon as the door was shut, "I beg
your pardon. But I was so moved by certain things which have occurred
that I was carried much beyond my usual habits."
"Don't mention it."
"It is peculiarly distressing to me that I should have been induced to
forget myself in the presence of a clergyman of the parish and my
brother-in-law. But I must beg you to forget it."
"Oh, certainly. I will tell you now why I have come over."
"I can assure you that such is not my habit," continued Mr. Prosper, who
was thinking much more of the unaccustomed oath which he had sworn than
of his brother-in-law's visit, strange as it was. "No one, as a rule, is
more guarded in his expressions than I am. How it should have come to
pass that I was so stirred I can hardly tell. But Miss Thoroughbung had
said certain words which had moved me very much." She had called him
"Peter" and "deary," and had spoken of him as "keeping company" with
her. All these disgusting terms of endearment he could not repeat to his
brother-in-law, but felt it necessary to allude to them.
"I trust that you may be happy with her when she is your wife."
"I can't say. I really don't know. It's a very important step to take at
my age, and I'm not quite sure that I should be doing wisely."
"It's not too late," said Mr. Annesley.
"I don't know. I can't quite say." Then Mr. Prosper drew himself up,
remembering that it would not become him to discuss the matter of his
marriage with the father of his heir.
"I have come over here," said Mr. Annesley, "to say a few words about
Harry." Mr. Prosper again drew himself up. "Of course you're aware that
Harry is at present living with us." Here Mr. Prosper bowed. "Of course,
in his altered circumstances, it will not do that he shall be idle, and
yet he does not like to take a final step without letting you know what
it is." Here Mr. Prosper bowed twice. "There is a gentleman of fortune
going out to the United States on a mission which will probably occupy
him for three or four years. I am not exactly warranted in mentioning
his name, but he has taken in hand a political project of much
importance." Again Mr. Prosper bowed. "Now he has offered Harry the
place of private secretary, on condition that Harry will undertake to
stay the entire term. He is to have a salary of three hundred a year,
and his travelling expenses will of course be paid for him. If he goes,
poor boy! he will in all probability remain in his new home and become a
citizen of the United States. Under these circumstances I have thought
it best to step up and tell you in a friendly manner what his plans
are." Then he had told his tale, and Mr. Prosper again bowed.
The rector had been very crafty. There was no doubt about the wealthy
gentleman with the American project, and the salary had been offered.
But in other respects there had been some exaggeration. It was well
known to the rector that Mr. Prosper regarded America and all her
institutions with a religious hatred. An American was to him an
ignorant, impudent, foul-mouthed, fraudulent creature, to have any
acquaintance with whom was a disgrace. Could he have had his way, he
would have reconstituted the United States as British Colonies at a
moment's notice. Were he to die without having begotten another heir,
Buston must become the property of Harry Annesley; and it would be
dreadful to him to think that Buston should be owned by an American
citizen. "The salary offered is too good to be abandoned," said Mr.
Annesley, when he saw the effect which his story had produced.
"Everything is going against me!" exclaimed Mr. Prosper.
"Well: I will not talk about that. I did not come here to discuss Harry
or his sins,--nor, for the matter of that, his virtues. But I felt it
would be improper to let him go upon his journey without communicating
with you." So saying, he took his departure and walked back to the
rectory.