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CHAPTER XXXVIII
FOR TWO REASONS
The young Squire, as soon as Neefit had left him in his
own sitting-room at the Moonbeam, sat himself down and
began to think over his affairs seriously. One thing was certain to him; — nothing on earth should induce him to offer
his hand again to Polly Neefit. He had had a most miraculous
escape, and assuredly would run no further risk in that direction. But though he had escaped, he could perceive that there
was considerable trouble before him, — considerable trouble
and perhaps some disgrace. It certainly could not be proved
against him that he had broken any promise, as there had
been no engagement; but it could be made public that he had
twice offered himself to Polly, and could also be made public
that he had borrowed the breeches-maker’s money. He kept
himself alone on that evening; and though he hunted on
the following day, he was not found to be a lively companion either by Cox or Pepper. The lieutenant was talking about
Neefit and Neefit’s daughter all day: but Mr. Pepper, who was
more discreet, declined to canvass the subject. “It’s nothing to
me who a man marries and who he don’t,” said Mr. Pepper.
“What sort of horses he rides; — that’s what I look at.” During
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
this day and the next Ralph did consider the state of his affairs very closely, and the conclusion he came to was this, that
the sooner he could engage himself to marry Mary Bonner
the better. If he were once engaged, the engagement would
not then be broken off because of any previous folly with Miss
Neefit; and, again, if he were once engaged to Mary Bonner,
Neefit would see the absurdity of torturing him further in regard to Polly. On the Wednesday evening he went up to town,
and on the Thursday morning he put himself into a cab and
ordered the man to drive him to Popham Villa.
It was about noon when he started from town; and though
he never hesitated, — did not pause for a moment after he
had made up his mind as to the thing that he would do, still he
felt many misgivings as he was driven down to Fulham. How
should he begin his story to Mary Bonner, and how should he
look Clary Underwood in the face? And yet he had not an idea
that he was in truth going to behave badly to Clarissa. There
had no doubt been a sort of tenderness in the feeling that had
existed between them, — a something just a little warmer than
brotherly regard. They had been thrown together and had
liked each other. And as he was driven nearer to the villa, he
remembered distinctly that he had kissed her on the lawn. But
did any one suppose that a man was bound to marry the first
girl he kissed, — or if not the first, then why the second, or
the third? Clarissa could have no fair ground of complaint
against him; and yet he was uneasy as he reflected that she too
must know the purport of his present visit to the villa.
And he was not quite easy about Mary. The good things
which he carried in his hand were so many that he did not
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conceive that Mary would refuse him; but yet he wished that
the offer had been made, and had been accepted. Hitherto he
had taken pleasure in his intercourse with young ladies, and
had rather enjoyed the excitement of those moments which to
some men are troublesome and even painful. When he had
told Clarissa that she was dearer than any one else, he had been
very happy while he was telling her. There had been nothing of
embarrassment to him in the work of proposing to Polly Neefit. There may perhaps have been other passages in his life of
the same nature, and he certainly had not feared them beforehand or been ashamed of them afterwards. But now he found
himself endeavouring to think what words he would use to
Mary Bonner, and in what attitude he would stand or sit as he
used them. “The truth is,” he said to himself, “a man should do
these kind of things without premeditation.” But not the less
was he resolved, and at the gate he jumped out of his cab with
a determination to have it over as soon as possible. He desired
the cabman to wait for him at the nearest stables, remarking
that he might be there for a few minutes, or for a few hours,
and then turned to the gate. As he did so, he saw Sir Thomas
walking from the direction of Fulham Bridge. Sir Thomas had
come down by the railway on the other side of the river, and
was now walking home. A sudden thought struck the young
Squire. He would begin his work by telling his tale to Sir
Thomas. There could be nothing so fitting as that he should
obtain the uncle’s leave to address the niece.
The two men greeted each other, and there were many
things to be said. Sir Thomas had not seen his ward since
the old Squire’s death, and Ralph had not seen Sir Thomas
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
since the election at Percycross and the accident of the broken arm. Sir Thomas was by far too reticent, too timid, and
too reflective a man to begin at once whatever observations he
might have to make ultimately in regard to Miss Polly Neefit.
He was somewhat slow of speech, unless specially aroused, and
had hardly received the congratulations of his young friend respecting the election, and expressed with some difficult decency his sorrow for the old Squire’s death as combined with his
satisfaction that the estate had not been sacrificed, when Ralph
stopped him just as they had reached the front door, and, with
much solemnity of manner, declared his wish to make a very
particular private communication to Sir Thomas. “Certainly,”
said Sir Thomas, “certainly. Come into my room.” But there
was some delay before this privacy could be achieved, for in
the hall they were met by the three girls, and of course there
were many things to be said by them. Clarissa could hardly
repress the flutter of her heart. When the reader last saw her
flutter, and last heard her words as she spoke of her love to
her cousin, she was taking an opportunity of declaring to Mary
Bonner that she did not begrudge the brilliance of Mary’s present prospects, — though the grand estate which made them
brilliant was in a measure taken from her own hopes. And she
had owned at the same time that she did not dare to feel confidence in her own love, because her lover would now be too
poor in his own esteem to indulge himself with the luxury of
a wife. All this Mary had accepted from her, certainly with no
expression of triumph, but certainly with some triumph in her
heart. Now this was entirely changed, — and here was her
lover, with his fortune restored to him, once more beneath
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her father’s roof! She gave him her hand the first of the three.
She could not repress herself. He took it with a smile, and
pressed it warmly. But he turned to Patience and took hers
as rapidly as he was able. Then came Mary’s turn. “I hope you
also are glad to see me once again?” he said. Clarissa’s heart
sank within her as she heard the words. The appreciation of
a woman in such matters is as fine as the nose of a hound, and
is all but unintelligible to a man. “Oh, yes, Mr. Newton,” said
Mary smiling. “But if he asks her, she’ll take him.” No such
words as these were formed even in Clarissa’s mind; but after some fashion such was the ejaculation of her heart. Mary’s
“Oh, yes,” had meant little enough, but could Mary withstand
such chances if they were offered to her?
Sir Thomas led the way into his private room, and Ralph
followed him. “You won’t be long, papa,” said Patience.
“I hope not,” said Sir Thomas.
“Remember, Ralph, you will be keeping lunch waiting,”
said Patience.
Then the two men were alone. Sir Thomas’s mind had
recurred to Neefit at the first moment of Ralph’s request.
The young man was going to consult him as to the best
mode of getting rid of that embarrassment. But in the hall
another idea had come upon him. He was to be asked for his
consent regarding Clarissa. As he seated himself in one chair
and asked Ralph to take another, he had not quite made up his
mind as to the answer he would give. There must at any rate
be some delay. The reader will of course remember that Sir
Thomas was persuaded that Ralph had engaged himself to
marry Polly Neefit.
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
Ralph rushed boldly at his subject at once. “Sir Thomas,”
he said, “I am going to make a proposition, and I wish to ask
you for your consent. I have made up my mind that the sooner
I marry in my present condition the better.” Sir Thomas smiled
and assented. “And I want to know whether you will object to
my asking Miss Bonner to be my wife.”
“Miss Bonner!” said Sir Thomas, throwing up both his
hands.
“Yes, sir; — is there any objection on your part?”
Sir Thomas hardly knew how to say whether there was
or was not an objection on his part. In the first place he had
made up his mind that the other Ralph was to marry Mary, —
that he would do so in spite of that disclaimer which had
been made in the first moment of the young man’s disinheritance. He, Sir Thomas, however, could have no right to object
on that score. Nor could he raise any objection on the score of
Clarissa. It did seem to him that all the young people were
at cross purposes, that Patience must have been very stupid
and Clarissa most addlepated, or else that this Ralph was
abominably false; but still, he could say nothing respecting
that. No tale had reached his ears which made it even possible
for him to refer to Clarissa. But yet he was dissatisfied with
the man, and was disposed to show it. “Perhaps I ought to tell
you,” said Sir Thomas, “that a man calling himself Neefit was
with me yesterday.”
“Oh, yes; the breeches-maker.”
“I believe he said that such was his trade. He assured me
that you had borrowed large sums of money from him.”
“I do owe him some money.”
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“A thousand pounds, I think he said.”
“Certainly as much as that.”
“Not for breeches, — which I suppose would be impossible, but for money advanced.”
“Part one and part the other,” said Ralph.
“And he went on to tell me that you were engaged, — to
marry his daughter.”
“That is untrue.”
“Were you never engaged to her?”
“I was never engaged to her, Sir Thomas.”
“And it was all a lie on the part of Mr. Neefit? Was there no
foundation for it? You had told me yourself that you thought of
such a marriage.”
“There is nothing to justify him in saying that I was ever
engaged to the young lady. The truth is that I did ask her and
she, — refused me.”
“You did ask her?”
“I did ask her,” said Ralph.
“In earnest?”
“Well; yes; — certainly in earnest. At that time I thought
it the only way to save the property. I need not tell you how
wretched I was at the time. You will remember what you yourself had said to me. It is true that I asked her, and that I did so by
agreement with her father. She refused me, — twice. She was
so good, so sensible, and so true, that she knew she had better
not make herself a party to such a bargain. Whatever you may
think of my own conduct I shall not have behaved badly to
Miss Neefit.”
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
Sir Thomas did think very ill of Ralph’s conduct, but he
believed him. After a while the whole truth came out, as to
the money lent and as to Neefit’s schemes. It was of course
understood by both of them that Ralph was required neither
by honesty nor by honour to renew his offer. And then under such circumstances was he or was he not to be allowed to
propose to Mary Bonner? At first Ralph had been much
dismayed at having the Neefit mine sprung on him at such
a moment; but he collected himself very quickly, and renewed his demand as to Mary. Sir Thomas could not mean to
say that because he had been foolish in regard to Polly Neefit, that therefore he was to be debarred from marrying! Sir
Thomas did not exactly say that; but, nevertheless, Sir Thomas showed his displeasure. “It seems,” said he, “particularly
easy to you to transfer your affections.”
“My affection for Miss Neefit was not strong,” said Ralph.
“I did, and always shall, regard her as a most excellent young
woman.”
“She showed her sense in refusing you,” said Sir Thomas.
“I think she did,” said Ralph.
“And I doubt much whether my niece will not be equally — sensible.”
“Ah, — I can say nothing as to that.”
“Were she to hear this story of Miss Neefit I am sure she
would refuse you.”
“But you would not tell it to her, — as yet! If all goes well
with me I will tell it to her some day. Come, Sir Thomas, you
don’t mean to be hard upon me at last. It cannot be that you
should really regret that I have got out of that trouble.”
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“But I regret much that you should have borrowed a tradesman’s money, and more that you should have offered to pay
the debt by marrying his daughter.” Through it all, however,
there was a feeling present to Sir Thomas that he was, in truth,
angry with the Squire of Newton, not so much for his misconduct in coming to propose to Mary so soon after the affair with Polly Neefit, but because he had not come to propose to Clarissa. And Sir Thomas knew that such a feeling, if
it did really exist, must be overcome. Mary was entitled to her
chance, and must make the best of it. He would not refuse his
sanction to a marriage with his niece on account of Ralph’s
misconduct, when he would have sanctioned a marriage with
his own daughter in spite of that misconduct. The conversation was ended by Sir Thomas leaving the room with a promise that Miss Bonner should be sent to fill his place. In five
minutes Miss Bonner was there. She entered the room very
slowly, with a countenance that was almost savage, and during
the few minutes that she remained there she did not sit down.
“Sir Thomas has told you why I am here?” he said, advancing towards her, and taking her hand.
“No; that is; — no. He has not told me.”
“Mary — ”
“Mr. Newton, my name is Miss Bonner.”
“And must it between us be so cold as that?” He still had
her by the hand, which she did not at the moment attempt to
withdraw. “I have come to tell you, at the first moment that was
possible to me after my uncle’s death, that of all women in
the world I love you the best.”
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
Then she withdrew her hand. “Mr. Newton, I am sorry to
hear you say so; — very sorry.”
“Why should you be sorry? If you are unkind to me like
this, there may be reason why I should be sorry. I shall, indeed, be very sorry. Since I first saw you, I have hoped that you
would be my wife.”
“I never can be your wife, Mr. Newton.”
“Why not? Have I done anything to offend you? Being here
as one of the family you must know enough of my affairs to
feel sure, — that I have come to you the first moment that was
possible. I did not dare to come when I thought that my position was one that was not worthy of you.”
“It would have been the same at any time,” said Mary.
“And why should you reject me, — like this; without a moment’s thought?”
“For two reasons,” said Mary, slowly, and then she paused,
as though doubting whether she would continue her speech,
or give the two reasons which now guided her. But he stood,
looking into her face, waiting for them. “In the first place,”
she said, “I think you are untrue to another person.” Then she
paused again, as though asking herself whether that reason
would not suffice. But she resolved that she would be bold,
and give the other. “In the next place, my heart is not my
own to give.”
“Is it so?” asked Ralph.
“I have said as much as can be necessary, — perhaps more,
and I would rather go now.” Then she left the room with
the same slow, stately step, and he saw her no more on that day.
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