He Knew He Was Right

resolved that he was right in his purpose, and that he could marry Dorothy with a pure conscience, and with a true promise of a husband’s love. “Dear Dolly!” he said to himself, with something of enthusiasm as he walked across the Close. And he looked up to the house as he came to it. There was to be his future home. There was not one of the prebends who had a better house. And there was a dove-like softness about Dorothy’s eyes, and a winning obedience in her manner, that were charming. His lines had fallen to him in very pleasant places. Yes;⁠—he would go up to her, and take her at once by the hand, and ask her whether she would be his, now and forever. He would not let go her hand till he had brought her so close to him that she could hide her blushes on his shoulder. The whole thing had been so well conceived, had become so clear to his mind, that he felt no hesitation or embarrassment as he knocked at the door. Arabella French would, no doubt, hear of it soon. Well;⁠—she must hear of it. After all she could do him no injury.

He was shown up at once into the drawing-room, and there he found⁠—Miss Stanbury the elder. “Oh, Mr. Gibson!” she said at once.

“Is anything the matter with⁠—dear Dorothy?”

“She is the most obstinate, pigheaded young woman I ever came across since the world began.”

“You don’t say so! But what is it, Miss Stanbury?”

“What is it? Why just this. Nothing on earth that I can say to her will induce her to come down and speak to you.”

“Have I offended her?”

“Offended a fiddlestick! Offence indeed! An offer from an honest man, with her friends’ approval, and a fortune at her back, as though she had been born with a gold spoon in her mouth! And she tells me that she can’t, and won’t, and wouldn’t, and shouldn’t, as though I were asking her to walk the streets. I declare I don’t know what has come to the young women;⁠—or what it is they want. One would have thought that butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”

“But what is the reason, Miss Stanbury?”

“Oh, reason! You don’t suppose people give reasons in these days. What reason have they when they dress themselves up with bandboxes on their sconces? Just simply the old reason⁠—‘I do not like thee, Dr. Fell;⁠—why I cannot tell.’ ”

“May I not see her myself, Miss Stanbury?”

“I can’t make her come downstairs to you. I’ve been at her the whole morning, Mr. Gibson. Ever since daylight, pretty nearly. She came into my room before I was up, and told me she had made up her mind. I’ve coaxed, and scolded, and threatened, and cried;⁠—but if she’d been a milestone it couldn’t have been of less use. I told her she might go back to Nuncombe, and she just went off to pack up.”

“But she’s not to go?”

“How can I say what such a young woman will do? I’m never allowed a way of my own for a moment. There’s Brooke Burgess been scolding me at that rate I didn’t know whether I stood on my head or my heels. And I don’t know now.”

Then there was a pause, while Mr. Gibson was endeavouring to decide what would now be his best course of action. “Don’t you think she’ll ever come round, Miss Stanbury?”

“I don’t think she’ll ever come any way that anybody wants her to come, Mr. Gibson.”

“I didn’t think she was at all like that,” said Mr. Gibson, almost in tears.

“No⁠—nor anybody else. I’ve been seeing it come all the same. It’s just the Stanbury perversity. If I’d wanted to keep her by herself, to take care of me, and had set my back up at her if she spoke to a man, and made her understand that she wasn’t to think of getting married, she’d have been making eyes at every man that came into the house. It’s just what one gets for going out of one’s way. I did think she’d be so happy, Mr. Gibson, living here as your wife. She and I between us could have managed for you so nicely.”

Mr. Gibson was silent for a minute or two, during which he walked up and down the room⁠—contemplating, no doubt, the picture of married life which Miss Stanbury had painted for him⁠—a picture which, as it seemed, was not to be realised. “And what had I better do, Miss Stanbury?” he asked at last.

“Do! I don’t know what you’re to do. I’m groom enough to bring a mare to water, but I can’t make her drink.”

“Will waiting be any good?”

“How can I say? I’ll tell you one thing not to do. Don’t go and philander with those girls at Heavitree. It’s my belief that Dorothy has been thinking of them. People talk to her, of course.”

“I wish people would hold their tongues. People are so indiscreet. People don’t know how much harm they may do.”

“You’ve given them some excuse, you know, Mr. Gibson.”

This was very ill-natured, and was felt by Mr. Gibson to be so rude, that he almost turned upon his patroness in anger. He had known Dolly for not more than three months, and had devoted himself to her, to the great anger of his older friends. He had come this morning true to his appointment, expecting that others would keep their promises to him, as he was ready to keep those which he had made;⁠—and now he was told that it was his fault! “I do think that’s rather hard, Miss Stanbury,” he said.

“So you have,” said she;⁠—“nasty, slatternly girls, without an idea inside their noddles. But it’s no use your scolding me.”

“I didn’t mean to scold, Miss Stanbury.”

“I’ve done all that I could.”

“And you think she won’t see me for a minute?”

“She says she won’t. I can’t bid Martha carry her down.”

“Then, perhaps, I had better leave you for the present,” said