Part 80 (1/2)
”Father, I do regard what you say; but you would not have me be false. Had you doubled the property instead of lessening it, I could not regard what you say any more.”
”I should be able to speak in a very different tone; I feel that, Frank.”
”Do not feel it any more, sir; say what you wish, as you would have said it under any other circ.u.mstances; and pray believe this, the idea never occurs to me, that I have ground of complaint as regards the property; never. Whatever troubles we may have, do not let that trouble you.”
Soon after this Frank left him. What more was there that could be said between them? They could not be of one accord; but even yet it might not be necessary that they should quarrel. He went out, and roamed by himself through the grounds, rather more in meditation than was his wont.
If he did marry, how was he to live? He talked of a profession; but had he meant to do as others do, who make their way in professions, he should have thought of that a year or two ago!--or, rather, have done more than think of it. He spoke also of a farm, but even that could not be had in a moment; nor, if it could, would it produce a living. Where was his capital? Where his skill? and he might have asked also, where the industry so necessary for such a trade? He might set his father at defiance, and if Mary were equally headstrong with himself, he might marry her. But, what then?
As he walked slowly about, cutting off the daisies with his stick, he met Mr Oriel, going up to the house, as was now his custom, to dine there and spend the evening, close to Beatrice.
”How I envy you, Oriel!” he said. ”What would I not give to have such a position in the world as yours!”
”Thou shalt not covet a man's house, nor his wife,” said Mr Oriel; ”perhaps it ought to have been added, nor his position.”
”It wouldn't have made much difference. When a man is tempted, the Commandments, I believe, do not go for much.”
”Do they not, Frank? That's a dangerous doctrine; and one which, if you had my position, you would hardly admit. But what makes you so much out of sorts? Your own position is generally considered about the best which the world has to give.”
”Is it? Then let me tell you that the world has very little to give.
What can I do? Where can I turn? Oriel, if there be an empty, lying humbug in the world, it is the theory of high birth and pure blood which some of us endeavour to maintain. Blood, indeed! If my father had been a baker, I should know by this time where to look for my livelihood. As it is, I am told of nothing but my blood. Will my blood ever get me half a crown?”
And then the young democrat walked on again in solitude, leaving Mr Oriel in doubt as to the exact line of argument which he had meant to inculcate.
CHAPTER XL
The Two Doctors Change Patients
Dr Fillgrave still continued his visits to Greshamsbury, for Lady Arabella had not yet mustered the courage necessary for swallowing her pride and sending once more for Dr Thorne. Nothing pleased Dr Fillgrave more than those visits.
He habitually attended grander families, and richer people; but then, he had attended them habitually. Greshamsbury was a prize taken from the enemy; it was his rock of Gibraltar, of which he thought much more than of any ordinary Hamps.h.i.+re or Wilts.h.i.+re which had always been within his own kingdom.
He was just starting one morning with his post-horses for Greshamsbury, when an impudent-looking groom, with a crooked nose, trotted up to his door. For Joe still had a crooked nose, all the doctor's care having been inefficacious to remedy the evil effects of Bridget's little tap with the rolling-pin. Joe had no written credentials, for his master was hardly equal to writing, and Lady Scatcherd had declined to put herself into further personal communication with Dr Fillgrave; but he had effrontery enough to deliver any message.
”Be you Dr Fillgrave?” said Joe, with one finger just raised to his c.o.c.ked hat.
”Yes,” said Dr Fillgrave, with one foot on the step of the carriage, but pausing at the sight of so well-turned-out a servant. ”Yes; I am Dr Fillgrave.”
”Then you be to go to Boxall Hill immediately; before anywhere else.”
”Boxall Hill!” said the doctor, with a very angry frown.
”Yes; Boxall Hill: my master's place--my master is Sir Louis Scatcherd, baronet. You've heard of him, I suppose?”
Dr Fillgrave had not his mind quite ready for such an occasion. So he withdrew his foot from the carriage step, and rubbing his hands one over another, looked at his own hall door for inspiration. A single glance at his face was sufficient to show that no ordinary thoughts were being turned over within his breast.
”Well!” said Joe, thinking that his master's name had not altogether produced the magic effect which he had expected; remembering, also, how submissive Greyson had always been, who, being a London doctor, must be supposed to be a bigger man than this provincial fellow.