A great part too of the quarrelling which went on from day to day between Brooke and Miss Stanbury was due to the difference of their opinions respecting Dorothy and her suitor. “I believe you put her up to it,” said Aunt Stanbury.
“I neither put her up nor down, but I think that she was quite right.”
“You’ve robbed her of a husband, and she’ll never have another chance. After what you’ve done, you ought to take her yourself.”
“I shall be ready tomorrow,” said Brooke.
“How can you tell such a lie?” said Aunt Stanbury.
But after two or three days Brooke was gone to make a journey through the distant part of the county, and see the beauties of Devonshire. He was to be away for a fortnight, and then come back for a day or two before he returned to London. During that fortnight things did not go well with poor Dorothy at Exeter.
“I suppose you know your own business best,” her aunt said to her one morning. Dorothy uttered no word of reply. She felt it to be equally impossible to suggest either that she did or that she did not know her own business best. “There may be reasons which I don’t understand,” exclaimed Aunt Stanbury; “but I should like to know what it is you expect.”
“Why should I expect anything, Aunt Stanbury?”
“That’s nonsense. Everybody expects something. You expect to have your dinner by-and-by—don’t you?”
“I suppose I shall,” said Dorothy, to whom it occurred at the moment that such expectation was justified by the fact that on every day of her life hitherto some sort of a dinner had come in her way.
“Yes—and you think it comes from heaven, I suppose.”
“It comes by God’s goodness and your bounty, Aunt Stanbury.”
“And how will it come when I’m dead? Or how will it come if things should go in such a way that I can’t stay here any longer? You don’t ever think of that.”
“I should go back to mamma, and Priscilla.”
“Psha! As if two mouths were not enough to eat all the meal there is in that tub. If there was a word to say against the man, I wouldn’t ask you to have him; if he drank, or smoked, or wasn’t a gentleman, or was too poor, or anything you like. But there’s nothing. It’s all very well to tell me you don’t love him, but why don’t you love him? I don’t like a girl to go and throw herself at a man’s head, as those Frenches have done; but when everything has been prepared for you and made proper, it seems to me to be like turning away from good victuals.” Dorothy could only offer to go home if she had offended her aunt, and then Miss Stanbury scolded her for making the offer. As this kind of thing went on at the house in the Close for a fortnight, during which there was no going out, and no society at home, Dorothy began to be rather tired of it.
At the end of the fortnight, on the morning of the day on which Brooke Burgess was expected back, Dorothy, slowly moving into the sitting room with her usual melancholy air, found Mr. Gibson talking to her aunt. “There she is herself,” said Miss Stanbury, jumping up briskly, “and now you can speak to her. Of course I have no authority—none in the least. But she knows what my wishes are.” And, having so spoken, Miss Stanbury left the room.
It will be remembered that hitherto no word of affection had been whispered by Mr. Gibson into Dorothy’s ears. When he came before to press his suit, she had been made aware of his coming, and had fled, leaving her answer with her aunt. Mr. Gibson had then expressed himself as somewhat injured, in that no opportunity of pouring forth his own eloquence had been permitted to him. On that occasion Miss Stanbury, being in a snubbing humour, had snubbed him. She had in truth scolded him almost as much as she had scolded Dorothy, telling him that he went about the business in hand as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “You’re stiff as a chair-back,” she had said to him, with a few other compliments, and these amenities had for a while made him regard the establishment at Heavitree as being, at any rate, pleasanter than
