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CHAPTER XIX
POLLY’S ANSWER
Moggs’s bill became due before the 20th of September,
and Ralph Newton received due notice, — as of course he
had known that he would do, — that it had not been cashed
at his banker’s. How should it be cashed at his banker’s, seeing that he had not had a shilling there for the last three
months? Moggs himself, Moggs senior, came to Ralph, and
made himself peculiarly disagreeable. He had never heard of
such a thing on the part of a gentleman! Not to have his bill
taken up! To have his paper dishonoured! Moggs spoke of it
as though the heavens would fall; and he spoke of it, too, as
though, even should the heavens not fall, the earth would be
made a very tumultuous and unpleasant place for Mr. Newton, if Mr. Newton did not see at once that these two hundred and odd pounds were forthcoming. Moggs said so much
that Ralph became very angry, turned him out of the room,
and told him that he should have his dirty money on the morrow. On the morrow the dirty money was paid, Ralph having
borrowed the amount from Mr. Neefit. Mr. Moggs was quite
content. His object had been achieved, and, when the cash was
paid, he was quite polite. But Ralph Newton was not happy as
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
he made the payment. He had declared to himself, after writing
that letter to his brother, that the thing was settled by the very
declaration made by him therein. When he assured his brother that he would not sell his interest in the property, he did, in
fact, resolve that he would make Polly Neefit his wife. And he
did no more than follow up that resolution when he asked
Neefit for a small additional advance. His due would not be
given to the breeches-maker if it were not acknowledged that
on this occasion he behaved very well. He had told Ralph to
come to him when Moggs’s “bit of stiff” came round. Moggs’s
“bit of stiff” did come round, and “the Captain” did as he had
been desired to do. Neefit wrote out the cheque without saying
a word about his daughter. “Do you just run across to Argyle
Street, Captain,” said the breeches-maker, “and get the stuff in
notes.” For Mr. Neefit’s bankers held an establishment in Argyle Street. “There ain’t no need, you know, to let on, Captain;
is there?” said the breeches-maker. Ralph Newton, clearly seeing that there was no need to “let on,” did as he was bid, and
so the account was settled with Mr. Moggs. But now as to settling the account with Mr. Neefit? Neefit had his own idea of
what was right between gentlemen. As the reader knows, he
could upon an occasion make his own views very clearly intelligible. He was neither reticent nor particularly delicate.
But there was something within him which made him give
the cheque to Ralph without a word about Polly. That something, let it be what it might, was not lost upon Ralph.
Any further doubt on his part was quite out of the question. If his mind had not been made up before it must, at least,
be made up now. He had twice borrowed Mr. Neefit’s money,
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and on this latter occasion had taken it on the express understanding that he was to propose to Mr. Neefit’s daughter. And
then, in this way, and in this way only, he could throw over his
uncle and save the property. As soon as he had paid the money to Moggs, he went to his room and dressed himself for
the occasion. As he arranged his dress with some small signs of
an intention to be externally smart, he told himself that it signified nothing at all, that the girl was only a breeches-maker’s
daughter, and that there was hardly a need that he should take
a new pair of gloves for such an occasion as this. In that he was
probably right. An old pair of gloves would have done just as
well, though Polly did like young men to look smart.
He went out in a hansom of course. A man does not become
economical because he is embarrassed. And as for embarrassment, he need not trouble himself with any further feelings
on that score. When once he should be the promised husband of
Polly Neefit, he would have no scruple about the breechesmaker’s money. Why should he, when he did the thing with
the very view of getting it? They couldn’t expect him to be
married till next spring at the earliest, and he would take another winter out of himself at the Moonbeam. As the sacrifice
was to be made he might as well enjoy all that would come of
the sacrifice. Then as he sat in the cab he took to thinking
whether, after any fashion at all, he did love Polly Neefit. And
from that he got to thinking, — not of poor Clary, — but of
Mary Bonner. If his uncle could at once be translated to his
fitting place among the immortals, oh, — what a life might
be his! But his uncle was still mortal, and, — after all, — Polly
Neefit was a very jolly girl.
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
When he got to the house he asked boldly for Miss Neefit.
He had told himself that no repulse could be injurious to him.
If Mrs. Neefit were to refuse him admission into the house,
the breeches-maker would be obliged to own that he had
done his best. But there was no repulse. In two minutes he
found himself in the parlour, with Polly standing up to receive him. “Dear me, Mr. Newton; how odd! You might have
come weeks running before you’d find me here and mother
out. She’s gone to fetch father home. She don’t do it, — not
once a month.” Ralph assured her that he was quite contented
as it was, and that he did not in the least regret the absence of
Mrs. Neefit. “But she’ll be ever so unhappy. She likes to see
gentlemen when they call.”
“And you dislike it?” asked Ralph.
“Indeed I don’t then,” said Polly.
And now in what way was he to do it? Would it be well to
allude to her father’s understanding with himself? In the ordinary way of love-making Ralph was quite as much at home
as another. He had found no difficulty in saying a soft word to
Clarissa Underwood, and in doing more than that. But with
Polly the matter was different. There was an inappropriateness in his having to do the thing at all, which made it difficult to him, — unless he could preface what he did by an allusion to his agreement with her father. He could hardly ask
Polly to be his wife without giving her some reason for the formation of so desperate a wish on his own part. “Polly,” he said
at last, “that was very awkward for us all, — that evening when
Mr. Moggs was here.”
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“Indeed it was, Mr. Newton. Poor Mr. Moggs! He shouldn’t
have stayed; — but mother asked him.”
“Has he been here since?”
“He was then, and he and I were walking together. There
isn’t a better fellow breathing than Ontario Moggs, — in his
own way. But he’s not company for you, Mr. Newton, of course.”
Ralph quailed at this. To be told that his own boot-maker wasn’t “company” for him, — and that by the young lady
whom he intended to make his wife! “I don’t think he is company for you either Polly,” he said.
“Why not, Mr. Newton? He’s as good as me. What’s the difference between him and father?” He wondered whether,
when she should be his own, he would be able to teach her to
call Mr. Neefit her papa. “Mr. Newton, when you know me better, you’ll know that I’m not one to give myself airs. I’ve known
Mr. Moggs all my life, and he’s equal to me, anyways, — only
he’s a deal better.”
“I hope there’s nothing more than friendship, Polly.”
“What business have you to hope?”
Upon that theme he spoke, and told her in plain language
that his reason for so hoping was that he trusted to be able to
persuade her to become his own wife. Polly, when the word
was spoken, blushed ruby red, and trembled a little. The thing
had come to her, and, after all, she might be a real lady if she
pleased. She blushed ruby red, and trembled, but she said not
a word for a while. And then, having made his offer, he began to speak of love. In speaking of it, he was urgent enough,
but his words had not that sort of suasiveness which they
would have possessed had he been addressing himself to Clary
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
Underwood. “Polly,” he said, “I hope you can love me. I will
love you very dearly, and do all that I can to make you happy.
To me you shall be the first woman in the world. Do you think
that you can love me, Polly?”
Polly was, perhaps, particular. She had not quite approved of the manner in which Ontario had disclosed his love,
though there had been something of the eloquence of passion
even in that; — and now she was hardly satisfied with Ralph
Newton. She had formed to herself, perhaps, some idea of
a soft, insinuating, coaxing whisper, something that should be
half caress and half prayer, but something that should at least
be very gentle and very loving. Ontario was loving, but he was
not gentle. Ralph Newton was gentle, but then she doubted
whether he was loving. “Will you say that it shall be so?” he
asked, standing over her, and looking down upon her with his
most bewitching smile.
Polly amidst her blushing and her trembling made up
her mind that she would say nothing of the kind at this present moment. She would like to be a lady though she was not
ashamed of being a tradesman’s daughter; — but she would not
buy the privilege of being a lady at too dear a price. The price
would be very high indeed were she to give herself to a man
who did not love her, and perhaps despised her. And then she
was not quite sure that she could love this man herself, though
she was possessed of a facility for liking nice young men. Ralph
Newton was well enough in many ways. He was good looking, he could speak up for himself, he did not give himself
airs, — and then, as she had been fully instructed by her father, he must ultimately inherit a large property. Were she to
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marry him her position would be absolutely that of one of
the ladies of the land. But then she knew, — she could not but
know, — that he sought her because he was in want of money
for his present needs. To be made a lady of the land would
be delightful; but to have a grand passion, — in regard to
which Polly would not be satisfied unless there were as much
love on one side as on the other, — would be more delightful. That latter was essentially necessary to her. The man must
take an absolute pleasure in her company, or the whole thing
would be a failure. So she blushed and trembled, and thought
and was silent. “Dear Polly, do you mean that you cannot love
me?” said Ralph.
“I don’t know,” said Polly.
“Will you try?” demanded Ralph.
“And I don’t know that you can love me.”
“Indeed, indeed, I can.”
“Ah, yes; — you can say so, I don’t doubt. There’s a many of
them as can say so, and yet it’s not in ’em to do it. And there’s
men as don’t know hardly how to say it, and yet it’s in their
hearts all the while.” Polly must have been thinking of Ontario as she made this latter oracular observation.
“I don’t know much about saying it; but I can do it, Polly.”
“Oh, as for talking, you can talk. You’ve been brought up
that way. You’ve had nothing else much to do.”
She was very hard upon him, and so he felt it. “I think that’s
not fair, Polly. What can I say to you better than that I love you,
and will be good to you?”
“Oh, good to me! People are always good to me. Why
shouldn’t they?”
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
“Nobody will be so good as I will be, — if you will take me.
Tell me, Polly, do you not believe me when I say I love you?”
“No; — I don’t.”
“Why should I be false to you?”
“Ah; — well; — why? It’s not for me to say why. Father’s
been putting you up to this. That’s why.”
“Your father could put me up to nothing of the kind if it
were not that I really loved you.”
“And there’s another thing, Mr. Newton.”
“What’s that, Polly?”
“I’m not at all sure that I’m so very fond of you.”
“That’s unkind.”
“Better be true than to rue,” said Polly. “Why, Mr. Newton,
we don’t know anything about each other, — not as yet. I may
be, oh, anything bad, for what you know. And for anything
I know you may be idle, and extravagant, and a regular man
flirt.” Polly had a way of speaking the truth without much respect to persons. “And then, Mr. Newton, I’m not going to be
given away by father just as he pleases. Father thinks this and
that, and he means it all for the best. I love father dearly. But
I don’t mean to take any body as I don’t feel I’d pretty nigh
break my heart if I wasn’t to have him. I ain’t come to breaking
my heart for you yet, Mr. Newton.”
“I hope you never will break your heart.”
“I don’t suppose you understand, but that’s how it is. Let
it just stand by for a year or so, Mr. Newton, and see how it is
then. Maybe we might get to know each other. Just now, marrying you would be like taking a husband out of a lottery.”
Ralph stood looking at her, passing his hand over his head,
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and not quite knowing how to carry on his suit. “I’ll tell father
what you was saying to me and what I said to you,” continued Polly, who seemed quite to understand that Ralph had
done his duty by his creditor in making the offer, and that justice to him demanded that this should be acknowledged by
the whole family.
“And is that to be all, Polly?” asked Ralph in a melancholy
voice.
“All at present, Mr. Newton.”
Ralph, as he returned to London in his cab, felt more hurt by
the girl’s refusal of him than he would before have thought to
be possible. He was almost disposed to resolve that he would
at once renew the siege and carry it on as though there were no
question of twenty thousand pounds, and of money borrowed
from the breeches-maker. Polly had shown so much spirit in
the interview, and had looked so well in showing it, had
stood up such a perfect specimen of healthy, comely, honest
womanhood, that he thought that he did love her. There was,
however, one comfort clearly left to him. He had done his duty
by old Neefit. The money due must of course be paid; — but he
had in good faith done that which he had pledged himself to
do in taking the money.
As to the surrender of the estate there were still left to him
four days in which to think of it.
CHAPTER XX
THE CONSERVATIVES OF
PERCYCROSS
Early in this month of September there had come a proposition to Sir Thomas, which had thoroughly disturbed him, and
made him for a few days a most miserable man. By the tenth of
the month, however, he had so far recovered himself as to have
made up his mind in regard to the proposition with some feeling of triumphant expectation. On the following day he went
home to Fulham, and communicated his determination to his
eldest daughter in the following words; “Patience, I am going to stand for the borough of Percycross.”
“Papa!”
“Yes. I dare say I’m a fool for my pains. It will cost me some
money which I oughtn’t to spend; and if I get in I don’t know
that I can do any good, or that it can do me any good. I suppose
you think I’m very wrong?”
“I am delighted, — and so will Clary be. I’m so much
pleased! Why shouldn’t you be in Parliament? I have always
longed that you should go back to public life, though I have
never liked to say so to you.”
“It is very kind of you to say it now, my dear.”
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