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Файл:Ayala’s Angel II
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AYALA’S ANGEL
“You’d better take her and shoot her,” said Sir Thomas,
still addressing the groom. “She was the best thing we had in
the stable, but now she is done for.” With that he turned away
from the yard without having as yet addressed a word to his
son-in-law.
This was so intolerable that even Mr. Traffick could not
bear it in silence. “I have told you that I am very sorry,” said he,
following Sir Thomas closely, “and I don’t know what a man
can do more.”
“Nothing, — unless it be not to borrow a horse again.”
“You may be sure I will never do that.”
“I’m not sure of it at all. If you wanted another to-morrow
you’d ask for him if you thought you could get him.”
“I call that very uncivil, Sir Thomas, — and very unkind.”
“Bother!” said Sir Thomas. “It is no good in being kind to
a fellow like you. Did you ever hear what the cabman did who
had a sovereign given to him for driving a mile. He asked
the fool who gave it him to make it a guinea. I am the fool,
and, by George, you are the cabman!” With this Sir Thomas
turned into the house by a small door, leaving his son-inlaw to wander round to the front by himself.
“Your father has insulted me horribly,” he said to his wife,
whom he found up in her bed-room.
“What is the matter now, Septimus?”
“That little mare of his, which I have no doubt has come
down half a score of times before, fell with me and cut her
knees.”
“That’s Phœbe,” said Augusta. “She was his favourite.”
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
“It’s a kind of thing that might happen to anyone, and no
gentleman thinks of mentioning it. He said such things to
me that upon my word I don’t think I can stop in the house
any longer.”
“Oh, yes, you will,” said the wife.
“Of course, it is a difference coming from one’s father-inlaw. It’s almost the same as from one’s father.”
“He didn’t mean it, Septimus.”
“I suppose not. If he had, I really couldn’t have borne it.
He does become very rough sometimes, but I know that at bottom he has a thorough respect for me. It is only that induces
me to bear it.” Then it was settled between husband and wife
that they should remain in their present quarters, and that
not a word further should be said at any rate by them about
the Phœbe mare. Nor did Sir Thomas say another word about
the mare, but he added a note to those already written in
the tablets of his memory as to his son-in-law, and the note
declared that no hint, let it be ever so broad, would be effectual with Mr. Traffick.
The next day was a Sunday, and then another trouble
awaited Sir Thomas. At this time it was not customary with
Tom to come often to Merle Park. He had his own lodgings in
London and his own club, and did not care much for the rural charms of Merle Park. But on this occasion he had condescended to appear, and on the Sunday afternoon informed
his father that there was a matter which he desired to discuss with him. “Father,” said he, “I am getting confoundedly
sick of all this.”
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AYALA’S ANGEL
“Confounded,” said Sir Thomas, “is a stupid foolish word,
and it means nothing.”
“There is a sort of comfort in it, Sir,” said Tom; “but if it’s
objectionable I’ll drop it.”
“It is objectionable.”
“I’ll drop it, Sir. But nevertheless I am very sick of it.”
“What are you sick of, Tom?”
“All this affair with my cousin.”
“Then, if you take my advice, you’ll drop that too.”
“I couldn’t do that, father. A word is all very well. A man
can drop a word; but a girl is a different sort of thing. One can’t
drop a girl, even if one tries.”
“Have you tried, Tom?”
“Yes, I have. I’ve done my best to try. I put it out of my mind
for a fortnight and wouldn’t think of her. I had a bottle of
champagne every day at dinner and then went to the theatre.
But it was all of no use. I have set my heart on it and I can’t
give her up. I’ll tell you what I’d like to do. I’d like to give her
a diamond necklace.”
“It wouldn’t be the slightest use,” said Sir Thomas, shaking
his head.
“Why not? It’s what other men do. I mean it to be something handsome; — about three hundred pounds.”
“That’s a large sum of money for a necklace.”
“Some of them cost a deal more than that.”
“And you’d only throw away your money.”
“If she took it, she’d take me too. If she didn’t, — why
I should still have the diamonds. I mean to try any way.”
“Then it’s of no use your coming to me.”
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
“I thought you’d let me have the money. It’s no good running into debt for them. And then if you’d add something of
your own, — a locket, or something of that kind, — I think it
would have an effect. I have seen a necklace at Ricolay’s, and if
I could pay ready money for it I could have 20 per cent. off it.
The price named is three hundred guineas. That would make
it £254 5s. £250 would buy it if the cheque was offered.”
There was a spirit about the son which was not displeasing to the father. That idea that the gift, if accepted, would
be efficacious, or if not that it would be rejected, — so that
Tom would not lose his hopes and his diamonds together, — seemed to be sound. Sir Thomas, therefore, promised
the money, with the distinct understanding that if the gift
were not accepted by Ayala it should be consigned to his own
hands. But as for any present from himself, he felt that this
would not be the time for it. He had called upon his niece and
solicited her himself, and she had been deaf to his words. After
that he could not condescend to send her gifts. “Should she
become my promised daughter-in-law then I would send her
presents,” said Sir Thomas.
The poor man certainly received less pleasure from his
wealth than was credited to him by those who knew his circumstances. Yet he endeavoured to be good to those around
him, and especially good to his children. There had been present to him ever since the beginning of his successes, — ever
since his marriage, — a fixed resolution that he would not
be a curmudgeon with his money, that he would endeavour to make those happy who depended on him, and that he
would be liberal in such settlements for his children as might
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AYALA’S ANGEL
be conducive to their happiness and fortunes in life. In this
way he had been very generous to Mr. Traffick. The man was
a Member of Parliament, the son of a peer, and laborious. Why
should he expect more? Money was wanting, but he could supply the money. So he had supplied it, and had been content to
think that a good man should be propped up in the world by
his means. What that had come to the reader knows. He thoroughly detested his son-in-law, and would have given much to
have had his money back again, — so that Mr. Traffick should
have had no share in it.
Then there was his second daughter! What should be done
with Gertrude? The money should be forthcoming for her too
if the fitting man could be found. But he would have nothing further to do with a penniless lover, let his position in
the world of fashion, or even in the world of politics, be what
it might. The man should either have wealth of his own, or
should be satisfied to work for it. Houston had been unfortunate in the moment of his approaches. Sir Thomas had been
driven by his angry feelings to use hard, sharp words, and now
was forced to act up to his words. He declared roughly that Mr.
Houston should not have a shilling of his money, — as he had
certainly been justified for doing; and his daughter, who had
always been indulged in every kind of luxury, had at once concocted a plot for running away from her home! As he thought of
the plot it seemed to be wonderful to him that she should be
willing to incur such a danger, — to be ready without a penny to marry a penniless man, — till he confessed to himself
that, were she to do so, she would certainly have the money
sooner or later. He was capable of passion, capable of flying out
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
and saying a very severe thing to Septimus Traffick or another
when his temper was hot; but he was incapable of sustained
wrath. He was already aware that if Mr. Traffick chose to stay
he would stay; — that if Mr. Houston were brave enough to be
persistent he might have both the money and the girl. As he
thought of it all he was angry with himself, wishing that he
were less generous, less soft, less forgiving.
And now here was Tom, — whom at the present moment
he liked the best of all his children, who of the three was
the least inclined to run counter to him, — ready to break his
heart, because he could not get a little chit of a girl of whom he
would probably be tired in twelve months after he possessed
her! Remembering what Tom had been, he was at a loss to understand how such a lad should be so thoroughly in love. At
the present moment, had Ayala been purchaseable, he would
have been willing to buy her at a great price, because he would
fain have pleased Tom had it been possible. But Ayala, who had
not a penny in the world, — who never would have a penny
unless he should give it her, — would not be purchased, and
would have nothing to do with Tom! The world was running
counter to him, so that he had no pleasure in his home, no
pleasure in his money, no pleasure in his children. The little
back-parlour in Lombard Street was sweeter to him than Merle Park, with all its charms. His daughter Gertrude wanted to
run away from him, while by no inducement could he get Mr.
Traffick to leave the house.
While he was in this humour he met his niece Lucy roaming about the garden. He knew the whole story of Lucy’s love,
and had been induced by his wife to acknowledge that her
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AYALA’S ANGEL
marriage with the sculptor was not to be sanctioned. He had
merely expressed his scorn when the unfortunate circumstances of Hamel’s birth had been explained to him again and
again. He had ridiculed the horror felt by his wife at the equally ill-born brothers and sisters in Rome. He had merely shaken
his head when he was told that Hamel’s father never went inside of any place of worship. But when it was explained to him
that the young man had, so to say, no income at all, then he
was forced to acknowledge that the young man ought not to
be allowed to marry his niece.
To Lucy herself he had as yet said nothing on the subject since he had asked the lover in to lunch at Glenbogie.
He heard bad accounts of her. He had been told by his wife, on
different occasions, — not in the mere way of conversation,
but with a premeditated energy of fault-finding, — that Lucy
was a disobedient girl. She was worse than Ayala. She persisted in saying that she would marry the penniless artist as soon
as he should profess himself to be ready. It had been different,
she had tried to explain to her aunt, before she had been engaged to him. Now she considered herself to be altogether at
his disposal. This had been her plea, but her plea had been
altogether unacceptable to Aunt Emmeline. “She can do as
she pleases, of course,” Sir Thomas had said. That might be
all very well; but Aunt Emmeline was strongly of opinion
that an adopted daughter of Queen’s Gate, of Glenbogie, and
Merle Park, ought not to be allowed to do as she pleased with
herself. A girl ought not to be allowed to have the luxuries of
palatial residences, and the luxuries of free liberty of choice at
the same time. More than once it had occurred to Sir Thom-
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
as that he would put an end to all these miseries by a mere
scratch of his pen. It need not be £120,000, or £100,000, as
with a daughter. A few modest thousands would do it. And
then this man Hamel, though the circumstances of his birth
had been unfortunate, was not an idler like Frank Houston.
As far as Sir Thomas could learn, the man did work, and was
willing to work. The present small income earned would
gradually become more. He had a kindly feeling towards Lucy,
although he had been inclined to own that her marriage with
Hamel was out of the question. “My dear,” he said to her, “why
are you walking about alone?” She did not like to say that
she was walking alone because she had no one to walk with
her, — no such companion as Isadore would be if Isadore
were allowed to come to Merle Park; so she simply smiled, and
went on by her uncle’s side. “Do you like this place as well as
Glenbogie?” he asked.
“Oh; yes.”
“Perhaps you will be glad to get back to London again?”
“Oh; no.”
“Which do you like best, then?”
“They are all so nice, if — “
“If what, Lucy?”
“Cælum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt,”
Lucy might have said, had she known the passage. As it was
she put the same feeling into simpler words, “I should like one
as well as the other, Uncle Tom, if things went comfortably.”
“There’s a great deal in that,” he said. “I suppose the meaning is, that you do not get on well with your aunt?”
“I am afraid she is angry with me, Uncle Tom.”
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AYALA’S ANGEL
“Why do you make her angry, Lucy? When she tells you
what is your duty, why do you not endeavour to do it?”
“I cannot do what she tells me,” said Lucy; “and, as I cannot, I think I ought not to be here.”
“Have you anywhere else to go to?” To this she made no reply, but walked on in silence. “When you say you ought not to
be here, what idea have you formed in your own mind as to
the future?”
“That I shall marry Mr. Hamel, some day.”
“Do you think it would be well to marry any man without
an income to live upon? Would it be a comfort to him seeing
that he had just enough to maintain himself, and no more?”
These were terrible questions to her, — questions which she
could not answer, but yet as to which her mind entertained
an easy answer. A little help from him, who was willing to indulge her with so many luxuries while she was under his roof,
would enable her to be an assistance rather than a burden to
her lover. But of this she could not utter a word. “Love is all
very well,” continued Sir Thomas, in his gruffest voice; “but
love should be regulated by good sense. It is a crime when two
beggars think of marrying each other, — two beggars who are
not prepared to live as beggars do.”
“He is not a beggar,” said Lucy, indignantly. “He has begged
nothing; nor have I.”
“Pshaw!” said Sir Thomas; “I was laying down a general
rule. I did not mean to call anybody a beggar. You shouldn’t
take me up like that.”
“I beg your pardon, Uncle Tom,” she said piteously.
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
“Very well; very well; that will do.” But still he went on
walking with her, and she felt she could not leave him till he
gave her some signal that she was to go. They continued in this
way till they had come nearly round the large garden; when
he stopped, as he was walking, and addressed her again. “I suppose you write to him sometimes.”
“Yes,” said Lucy, boldly.
“Write to him at once, and tell him to come and see me in
Lombard Street on Tuesday, at two o’clock. Give me the letter,
and I will take care it is sent to him directly I get to town. Now
you had better go in, for it is getting very cold.”
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