CHAPTER XV.
MR. HARCOURT'S VISIT TO LITTLEBATH.
During the whole of the winter and spring, George's attention tohis work had been unremitting. Mr. Die was always prophesying stillgreater things, and still greater. Once a fortnight, on every otherSaturday, Bertram had gone down to Littlebath, but he had alwaysreturned to London by the first train on Monday morning, and wasalways up to his elbows in law, even on that morning, before eleven.
During the whole of this time, he had not once seen his uncle,although Miss Baker had softly endeavoured to talk him into visitingHadley. "I never go there without being asked," he had said. "It isquite understood between us."
He had made but one excursion out of London, except those toLittlebath, and that had been to Hurst Staple. Mr. Wilkinson had diedvery suddenly, as has been told, about the end of the winter, andBertram had of course not been able to see him. Arthur Wilkinson hadthen been quickly put into the living, and as soon as he had takenup his residence in the parsonage, Bertram had gone down. This visithad been made before the last walk to West Putford; but even then theyoung barrister had found the young vicar in rather a plaintive mood.Wilkinson, however, had said nothing of his love, and George was toomuch occupied with talking of his own heart to think much of hiscousin's.
Miss Gauntlet--I hope the reader has not altogether forgotten AdelaGauntlet--had also an aunt living at Littlebath, Miss PenelopeGauntlet; and it so happened, that very shortly after that memorablewalk and the little scene that took place in the West Putforddrawing-room, Adela visited her aunt. Bertram, who had known her wellwhen they were children together, had not yet seen her there; indeed,her arrival had taken place since his last visit; but there she was,staying with Miss Penelope Gauntlet, when he and Harcourt went downto Littlebath together.
Caroline and Adela had for years been friends. Not bosom friends,perhaps; that is, they did not correspond three times a week, eachsending to the other on each occasion three sheets of note papercrossed over on every page from top to bottom. Caroline had certainlyno such bosom friend, and perhaps neither had Adela; but they werefriends enough to call each other by their Christian names, to lendeach other music and patterns, and perhaps to write when they hadanything special to say. There had been a sort of quasi-connectionbetween Miss Baker and the elder Miss Gauntlet--a connection of avery faint local character--in years gone by. Miss Baker, by reasonof her Bertram relations, had been at Hurst Staple, and Miss Gauntlethad been at West Putford at the same time. They had thus becomeacquainted, and the acquaintance there had led to a Littlebathfriendship. Friendships in Littlebath are not of a very ferviddescription.
Miss Waddington had now been engaged for six months, and hithertoshe had made no confidante. She knew no resident at Littlebath whomshe would willingly trust with her heart's secret: her aunt, and heraunt's cognizance of the matter were quite another thing. No onecould be more affectionate than aunt Mary, no one more trustworthy,no one more thoroughly devoted to another than she was to her niece.But then she was not only old, but old-fashioned. She was prudent,and Caroline also was prudent; but their prudence was a differentkind. There was no dash, no ambition about aunt Mary's prudence.She was rather humdrum, Caroline thought; and, which was worse,though she liked George Bertram, she did not seem to understand hischaracter at all in the same light as that in which Caroline regardedit.
From these circumstances it came to pass that Adela had not been aweek at Littlebath before she was made acquainted with the grandsecret. She also had a secret of her own; but she did not tell thatin return. Secrets such as Caroline's are made to be told; but thoseother secrets, those which burn up the heart instead of watering itas with a dew from heaven, those secrets for the most part are notmade to be told.
"And yet, Adela, I suppose it will never happen." This had been saidon the morning of that Saturday which was to bring down not onlyBertram, but Harcourt. Caroline knew well that the London friend,the man of the world, was being brought to inspect her, and was byno means afraid of undergoing the inspection. She was not timid bynature; and though, as has been already said, she was hardly yetconscious of her powers of attracting, she was never ashamed ofherself.
"And why not? I think that is nonsense, Caroline. If you reallythought that, you would not receive him as you will do, nor hisfriend neither."
"I do think it; that is to say, I think it very probable. I cannotexplain to you, Adela, all the turns of my mind, or of my heart. Iwould not for worlds of gold marry a man I did not love."
"And do not you love Mr. Bertram?"
"Yes, I do; at times very, very much; but I fear the time may comewhen I may love him less. You will not understand me; but the factis, I should love him better if he were less worthy of my love--if hewere more worldly."
"No, I do not understand that," said Adela, thinking of her love, andthe worldly prudence of him who should have been her lover.
"That is it--you do not understand me; and yet it is not selfishnesson my part. I would marry a man in the hope of making him happy."
"Certainly," said Adela; "no girl should marry unless she havereasonable hope that she can do that."
"He would wish me to go to him now, at once; when we have nosufficient income to support us."
"Four hundred a year!" said Adela, reproachfully.
"What would four hundred a year do in London? Were I to consent, ina year or two he would be sick of me. He would be a wretched man,unless, indeed, his law-courts and his club kept him from beingwretched;--his home would not do so."
Adela silently compared the matter with her own affairs: her ideaswere so absolutely different. "If he could have contented himself tolive upon potatoes," she had once thought to herself, "I could havecontented myself to live on the parings." She said nothing of thishowever to Caroline. Their dispositions she knew were different.After all, it may be that Miss Waddington had a truer knowledge ofhuman nature.
"No, I shall not consent; I will not consent to be the cause of hismisery and poverty; and then he will be angry with me, and we shallquarrel. He can be very stern, Adela; very."
"He is impetuous; but however angry he may be, he forgivesimmediately. He never bears malice," said Adela, remembering herearly dealings with the boy-friend of her girlhood.
"He can be very stern now. I know it will come to our quarrelling;and when he finds that he cannot have his own way, that I cannotyield to him, his proud heart will revolt from me; I know it will."
Adela could only say that were she in her friend's place she wouldnot think so much about income; but her gentle speech, the eloquenceof which had an inward, rather than an outward tendency, had noeffect on Caroline. If Bertram could not persuade her, it certainlywas not probable that Adela Gauntlet should do so.
Messrs. Harcourt and Bertram reached Littlebath quite safely.Harcourt was to dine with the ladies in Montpellier Crescent--it wasin Montpellier Crescent that Miss Baker lived--and as some sort ofparty was necessary for his honour, the curate was again invited, aswere also the two Miss Gauntlets.
"You'll go on first, I suppose?" said Harcourt, when they had securedtheir rooms at the "Plough," and were preparing to dress. Bertramwas well known at the "Plough" now, and there was not a bootsor chambermaid about the house who did not know why he came toLittlebath.
"Oh, no," said Bertram, "I'll wait for you."
"I didn't know; I thought there might be some lovers' privileges tobe exercised, for which the eyes of the world might be inconvenient."
"They shall be postponed on your behalf, my dear fellow." And so thetwo went off together.
They found Miss Baker in her drawing-room, and with her Adela andaunt Penelope.
"And where is Caroline?" said George, when the introductions had beenduly performed. He had to make a little effort to say this in a voicethat should signify that he was at home there, but which should notsavour too much of the lover. On the whole, he succeeded pretty well.
"Why, to tell the truth," said Miss Baker, laughing, "she is doi
ngduty at this moment as head butler in the dining-room. If you feelany vocation that way, you may go and help her."
"Well, I am a fairish good hand at drawing a cork," said Bertram, ashe left the room.
"So the lovers' privileges are all arranged for," thought Harcourt tohimself.
When Bertram entered the dining-room, the butler's duties seemed tobe complete; at any rate, Miss Waddington was not engaged in theirperformance. She was leaning on the mantel-piece, and was apparentlyengaged in contemplating a bouquet of flowers which Bertram hadcontrived to send to the house since his arrival at Littlebath. Itwas no wonder that the boots should know all about it.
Let us agree to say nothing about the lovers' privileges. CarolineWaddington was not a girl to be very liberal of such favours, and onthe occasion in question she was not more liberal than usual.
"Is Mr. Harcourt here?" said she.
"Yes, of course he is. He is upstairs."
"And I am to go up to be looked at. How vain you men are of yourplaythings! Not that you have anything in this respect of which youought to be vain."
"But a great deal of which I ought to be, and am, very proud. I amproud of you, Caroline; proud at this moment that my friend shouldsee how beautiful is the girl that loves me."
"Tush!" said Caroline, putting the back of her nosegay up to hismouth. "What delightful nonsense you can talk. But come, your Londonfriend won't much appreciate my excellence if I keep him waiting forhis dinner." And so they went upstairs.
But Caroline, though she laughed at her lover for showing her off,had not failed to make the best of herself. She was sufficientlyanxious that Bertram should be proud of her, should have cause to beproud of her; and she seemed to be aware that if she could satisfyMr. Harcourt's fastidious judgment, she might probably hope to passas approved of among his other friends. She determined, therefore, tolook her best as she walked into the drawing-room; and she did lookher best.
"Mr. Harcourt, my niece, Miss Waddington," said Miss Baker. Harcourt,as he rose and bowed, was lost in wonder.
Bertram fell immediately into conversation with Miss PenelopeGauntlet, but even while listening to her enthusiasm as to ArthurWilkinson's luck in getting the living of Hurst Staple, and herpraise of Lord Stapledean, he contrived to keep an eye on his friendHarcourt. "Yes, indeed, quite fortunate; wasn't it?" But as he thusspoke, his very soul within him was rejoicing at his own triumph.He had said nothing about Caroline personally; he had refrained histongue, and now he had his reward.
We have said that Harcourt was lost in wonder, and such was literallythe case. He had taught himself to believe that Caroline Waddingtonwas some tall, sharp-nosed dowdy; with bright eyes, probably, andeven teeth; with a simpering, would-be-witty smile, and full oflittle quick answers such as might suit well for the assembly-roomsat Littlebath. When he heard that she was engaged in seeing that thesherry-bottles were duly decantered, the standard of her value didnot at all rise in his estimation. Candle-ends and cold mutton woulddoubtless be her forte, an economical washing-bill her strong point.
So was he thinking, much distressed in mind--for, to do him justice,he was as anxious on behalf of Bertram as it was in his nature to beanxious for any one--when a Juno entered the room. She did not swimin, or fly in, or glide in, but walked in, as women should walk ifthey properly understood their parts. She walked in as though shewere mistress of her own soul, and afraid to meet no pair of eyeswhich any human being could bend upon her. He had intended in hisgood-nature to patronise her; but that other question instantlyoccurred to him--would she patronise him? Bertram he had knownlong and intimately, and held him therefore somewhat cheap in manyrespects, as we are all accustomed to hold our dearest friends. Butnow, at once he rose in his estimation a hundred per cent. What mightnot be expected of a man whom such a woman would acknowledge that sheloved?
A Juno had entered the room; for her beauty, as we have said before,was that rather of the queen of the gods. George immediatelyacknowledged to himself that he had never before seen her look sograndly beautiful. Her charms have been related, and that relationshall not be repeated; but when first seen by Harcourt, their powerwas more thoroughly acknowledged by him, much more thoroughly thanthey had been by her lover when he had first met her. Then, however,she had been sitting at dinner between her aunt and Mr. M'Gabbery,quite unconscious that any one was arriving whose existence could beof importance to her.
There was no time for conversation then. The surprise arising fromher entrance had, on Harcourt's part, hardly subsided, when theservant announced dinner, and he was called on to give his arm toMiss Baker.
"I hope you approve your friend's choice," said that lady, smiling.
"Miss Waddington is certainly the most lovely girl I ever beheld,"replied he, with enthusiasm.
The Rev. Mr. Meek handed down Miss Penelope Gauntlet, and Bertramfollowed with the two girls, happy and high-spirited. He firsttendered his arm to Adela, who positively refused it; then toCaroline, who was equally determined. Then, putting a hand behind thewaist of each of them, he pushed them through the door before him.There are certainly some privileges which an accepted lover may takein a house, and no one but an accepted lover.
George took his seat at the bottom of the table, as though he werequite at home; and Harcourt, happy sinner! found himself seatedbetween Adela and Caroline. He was not good enough for such bliss.But had his virtues been ever so shining, how could they have availedhim? Neither of his neighbours had a portion of a heart left to callher own.
But he was able to perceive that Caroline was not only beautiful. Shetalked to him almost exclusively, for she had capriciously seatedherself away from her lover, and next to her aunt. "Adela," she hadwhispered, going downstairs, "I shall look to you to talk to Georgeall the evening, for I mean to make a new conquest."
Bertram was delighted. It was hardly in him to be jealous, even hadthere been a shadow of cause. As it was, his love was doing exactlythat which he wished her to do. She was vindicating his choice to theman whose judgment on the matter was most vitally essential to him.
When the ladies left the dining-room, both Bertram and Harcourtheartily wished that Miss Baker had not been so scrupulouslyhospitable. They hardly knew what to do with Mr. Meek. Mr. Meekremarked that Miss Baker was a very nice person, that Miss Waddingtonwas a charming person, that Miss Penelope Gauntlet was a very niceperson indeed, and that Miss Adela was a very sweet person; andthen it seemed that all conversation was at end. "Eh! what! noneespecially; that is to say, the Middle Temple." Such had beenHarcourt's reply to Mr. Meek's inquiry as to what London congregationhe frequented; and then the three gentlemen seemed to be muchoccupied with their wine and biscuits. This invitation to Mr. Meekhad certainly been a mistake on Miss Baker's part.
But the misery did not last long. Of the first occasion on which Mr.Meek's glass was seen to be well empty, George took advantage. "Ifyou don't take any more wine, Mr. Meek, we may as well go upstairs;eh, Harcourt?" and he looked suppliantly at his friend.
"Oh, I never take any more wine, you know. I'm an anchorite on suchoccasions as these." And so they went into the drawing-room, longbefore Miss Baker had her coffee ready for them.
"You see a good deal of Arthur now, I suppose?" said Bertram,addressing Adela.
"Yes; that is, not a very great deal. He has been busy since he tookup the parish. But I see Mary frequently."
"Do you think Arthur likes it? He seemed to me to be hardly so muchgratified as I should have thought he would have been. The living isa good one, and the marquis was certainly good-natured about it."
"Oh, yes, he was," said Adela.
"It will be a long time, I know, before I earn five hundred pounds ayear. Do you know, he never wrote about it as though he thought he'dbeen lucky in getting it."
"Didn't he?"
"Never; and I thought he was melancholy and out of spirits when Isaw him the other day. He ought to marry; that's the fact. A youngclergyman with a living should always get a wife."
"You are like the fox that lost its tail," said Adela, trying hard toshow that she joined in the conversation without an effort.
"Ah! but the case is very different. There can be no doubt thatArthur ought to lose his tail. His position in the world is one whichespecially requires him to lose it."
"He has his mother and sisters, you know."
"Oh, mother and sisters! Mother and sisters are all very well, or notvery well, as the case may be; but the vicar of a parish should be amarried man. If you can't get a wife for him down there in Hampshire,I shall have him up to London, and look one out for him there. Praytake the matter in hand when you go home, Miss Gauntlet."
Adela smiled, and did not blush; nor did she say that she quiteagreed with him that the vicar of a parish should be a married man.
"Well, I shan't ask any questions," said Bertram, as soon as he andHarcourt were in the street, "or allow you to offer any opinion;because, as we have both agreed, you have not pluck enough to give itimpartially." Bertram as he said this could hardly preserve himselffrom a slight tone of triumph.
"She is simply the most most lovely woman that my eyes ever beheld,"said Harcourt.
"Tush! can't you make it a little more out of the common way thanthat? But, Harcourt, without joke, you need not trouble yourself. Idid want you to see her; but I don't care twopence as to your likingher. I shall think much more of your wife liking her--if you everhave a wife."
"Bertram, upon my word, I never was less in a mood to joke."
"That is saying very little, for you are always in a mood tojoke." Bertram understood it all; saw clearly what impression MissWaddington had made, and for the moment was supremely happy.
"How ever you had the courage to propose yourself and your twohundred pounds a year to such a woman as that!"
"Ha! ha! ha! Why, Harcourt, you are not at all like yourself. If youadmire her so much, I shall beg you not to come to Littlebath anymore."
"Perhaps I had better not. But, Bertram, I beg to congratulate youmost heartily. There is this against your future happiness--"
"What?"
"Why, you will never be known as Mr. George Bertram; but always asMrs. George Bertram's husband. With such a bride-elect as that, youcannot expect to stand on your own bottom. If you can count on beinglord-chancellor, or secretary of state, you may do so; otherwise,you'll always be known as an appendage."
"Oh, I'll put up with that misery."
This visit of inspection had been very successful, and George wentto bed in the highest spirits. In the highest spirits also he walkedto church with Harcourt, and there met the two ladies. There wassomething especially rapturous in the touch of his fingers as heshook hands with Caroline when the service was over; and Miss Bakerdeclared that he looked almost handsome when he went home with themto lunch.
But that afternoon his bliss was destined to receive something of acheck. It was imperative that Harcourt should be in town early on theMonday morning, and therefore it had been settled that they shouldreturn by the latest train that Sunday evening. They would just beable to dine with Miss Baker, and do this afterwards. Harcourt had,of course, been anxious to be allowed to return alone; but Bertramhad declined to appear to be too much in love to leave his mistress,and had persisted that he would accompany him.
This having been so decided, he had been invited to a littleconference at Miss Baker's, to be holden upstairs in her privatelittle sitting-room before dinner. He had had one or two chats withMiss Baker in that same room before now, and therefore did notthink so much of the invitation; but on this occasion he also foundCaroline there. He felt at once that he was to be encountered withopposition.
Miss Baker opened the battle. "George," said she, "Caroline has mademe promise to speak to you before you go up to town. Won't you sitdown?"
"Upon my word," said he, seating himself on a sofa next to Caroline;"I hardly know what to say to it. You look so formal both of you. IfI am to be condemned, my lord, I hope you'll give me a long day."
"That's just it," said Miss Baker; "it must be a long day, I'mafraid, George."
"What do you mean?"
"Why this; we think the marriage must be put off till after you havebeen called. You are both young, you know."
"Nonsense!" said George, rather too imperiously for a lover.
"Nay, but George, it is not nonsense," said Caroline, in her sweetestvoice, almost imploringly. "Don't be impetuous; don't be angry withus. It is for your sake we say so."
"For my sake!"
"Yes, for your sake; for your sake;" and she put his hand inside herarm, and almost pressed it to her bosom. "For your sake, certainly,George; you of whom we are so much bound to think."
"Then for my own sake I disdain any such solicitude. I know theworld, at any rate, as well as either of you--"
"Ah! I am not sure of that," said Caroline.
"And I know well, that our joint income should be ample for the nextfour or five years. You will have to give up your horse--"
"I should think nothing of that, George; nothing."
"And that is all. How many thousand married couples are there, do yousuppose, in London, who are now living on less than what our incomewill be?"
"Many thousands, doubtless. But very few, probably not one, so livinghappily, when the husband has been brought up in such a manner as hasbeen Master George Bertram."
"Caroline, my belief is, that you know nothing about it. Some of yourwould-be-grand friends here in Littlebath have been frightening youon the score of income."
"I have no friend in Littlebath to whom I would condescend to speakon such a matter, except aunt Mary." Caroline's tone as she said thisshowed some slight offence; but not more than she had a right toshow.
"And what do you say, aunt Mary?"
"Well, I really agree with Caroline; I really do."
"Ah, she has talked you over." This was true.
"And what is the date, Miss Waddington, that you are now kind enoughto name for our wedding-day?" asked George, in a tone half ofanger and half of banter. To Caroline's ear, the anger seemed topredominate.
"The day after you shall have been called to the bar, Mr. Bertram.That is, if the press of two such great events together will not betoo much for you."
"Of course you know that that is putting it off for nearly threeyears?"
"For more than two, I believe, certainly."
"And you can talk quite coolly about such a delay as that?"
"Not quite coolly, George; but, at any rate, with a fixed purpose."
"And am not I then to have a fixed purpose also?"
"Certainly, dearest, you can. You can say, if you are cruel enough,that it shall be postponed for two years again, after that. Or youcan say, if you will do so, that under such circumstances you willnot marry me at all. We have each got what you lawyers call a veto.Now, George, I put my veto upon poverty for you, and discomfort, andan untidy house, and the perils of a complaining, fretful wife. IfI can ever assist you to be happy, and prosperous, and elate beforethe world, I will try my best to do so; but I will not come to youlike a clog round your neck, to impede all your efforts in yourfirst struggle at rising. If I can wait, George, surely you can? Anunfulfilled engagement can be no impediment to a man, whatever it maybe to a girl."
It may have been perceived by this time that Miss Waddington was nota person easy to be talked over. On this occasion, Bertram failedaltogether in moving her. Even though at one moment aunt Mary hadalmost yielded to him, Caroline remained steady as a rock. None ofhis eloquence--and he was very eloquent on the occasion--changedher at all. She became soft in her tone, and affectionate, almostcaressing in her manner; but nothing would induce her to go from herpoint. Bertram got on a very high horse, and spoke of the engagementas being thus practically broken off. She did not become angry, ordeclare that she took him at his word; but with a low voice she saidthat she was aware that her determination gave him an option in thematter. He would certainly be justified in so resolving; nay, mightdo so witho
ut the slightest stain upon his faith. She herself wouldnot violate the truth by saying that such a decision would give herpleasure; that it would--would-- Here for the first time she becamerather agitated, and before she could finish, George was at her feet,swearing that he could not, would not live without her; that she knewthat he could not, and would not do so.
And so the little conference ended. George had certainly gainednothing. Caroline had gained this, that she had made known herresolution, and had, nevertheless, not lost her lover. To all theexpressions of her determination not to marry till George should bea barrister, aunt Mary had added a little clause--that such decisionmight at any moment be changed by some new act of liberality on thepart of uncle Bertram. In aunt Mary's mind, the rich uncle, the richgrandfather, was still the god that was to come down upon the stageand relieve them from their great difficulty.
As George returned to town with his friend, his love was not quite sotriumphant as it had been that morning on his road to church.
END OF VOL. I.
* * * * *
THE BERTRAMS.
A Novel.
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
Author of "Barchester Towers," "Doctor Thorne," etc.
In Three Volumes
VOL. II.
Second Editon
London:Chapman & Hall, 193 Piccadilly.1859.
[The right of Translation is reserved.]
London: Printed by W. Clowes and Sons, Stamford Street.