“Much better,” said Camilla.
“That you never entertained an idea of offering your hand to my niece.” Miss Stanbury paused, and Mr. Gibson’s jaw fell visibly. But he was not expected to speak as yet; and Miss Stanbury continued her accusation. “Beyond that, I don’t want to mention my niece’s name, if it can be avoided.”
“But it can’t be avoided,” said Camilla.
“If you please, I will continue. Mr. Gibson will understand me. I will not, if I can help it, mention my niece’s name again, Mr. Gibson. But I still have that confidence in you that I do not think that you would have made such a statement in reference to yourself and any young lady—unless it were some young lady who had absolutely thrown herself at your head.” And in saying this she paused, and looked very hard at Camilla.
“That’s just what Dorothy Stanbury has been doing,” said Camilla.
“She has been doing nothing of the kind, and you know she hasn’t,” said Miss Stanbury, raising her arm as though she were going to strike her opponent. “But I am quite sure, Mr. Gibson, that you never could have authorised these young ladies to make such an assertion publicly on your behalf. Whatever there may have been of misunderstanding between you and me, I can’t believe that of you.” Then she paused for a reply. “If you will be good enough to set us right on that point, I shall be obliged to you.”
Mr. Gibson’s position was one of great discomfort. He had given no authority to anyone to make such a statement. He had said nothing about Dorothy Stanbury to Camilla; but he had told Arabella, when hard pressed by that lady, that he did not mean to propose to Dorothy. He could not satisfy Miss Stanbury because he feared Arabella. He could not satisfy the Frenches because he feared Miss Stanbury. “I really do not think,” said he, “that we ought to talk about a young lady in this way.”
“That’s my opinion, too,” said Camilla; “but Miss Stanbury will.”
“Exactly so. Miss Stanbury will,” said that lady. “Mr. Gibson, I insist upon it, that you tell me whether you did give any such authority to Miss Camilla French, or to Miss French.”
“I wouldn’t answer her, if I were you,” said Camilla.
“I really don’t think this can do any good,” said Mrs. French.
“And it is so very harassing to our nerves,” said Arabella.
“Nerves! Pooh!” exclaimed Miss Stanbury. “Now, Mr. Gibson, I am waiting for an answer.”
“My dear Miss Stanbury, I really think it better—the situation is so peculiar, and, upon my word, I hardly know how not to give offence, which I wouldn’t do for the world.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you won’t answer my question?” demanded Miss Stanbury.
“I really think that I had better hold my tongue,” pleaded Mr. Gibson.
“You are quite right, Mr. Gibson,” said Camilla.
“Indeed, it is wisest,” said Mrs. French.
“I don’t see what else he can do,” said Arabella.
Then was Miss Stanbury driven altogether beyond her powers of endurance. “If that be so,” said she, “I must speak out, though I should have preferred to hold my tongue. Mr. Gibson did offer to my niece the week before last—twice, and was refused by her. My niece, Dorothy, took it into her head that she did not like him; and, upon my word, I think she was right. We should have said nothing about this—not a word; but when these false assertions are made on Mr. Gibson’s alleged authority, and Mr. Gibson won’t deny it, I must tell the truth.” Then there was silence among them for a few seconds, and Mr. Gibson struggled hard, but vainly, to clothe his face in a pleasant smile. “Mr. Gibson, is that true?” said Miss Stanbury. But Mr. Gibson made no reply. “It is as true as heaven,” said Miss Stanbury, striking her hand upon the table. “And now you had better, all of you, hold your tongues about my niece, and she will hold her tongue about you. And as for Mr. Gibson—anybody who wants him after this is welcome to him for us. Good morning, Mrs. French; good morning, young ladies.” And so she stalked out of the room, and out of the house, and walked back to her house in the Close.
“Mamma,” said Arabella, as soon as the enemy was gone, “I have got such a headache that I think I will go upstairs.”
“And I will go with you, dear,” said Camilla.
Mr. Gibson, before he left the house, confided his secret to the maternal ears of Mrs. French. He certainly had been allured into making an offer to Dorothy Stanbury, but was ready to atone for this crime by marrying her daughter—Camilla—as soon as might be convenient. He was certainly driven to make this declaration by intense cowardice—not to excuse himself, for in that there could be no excuse;—but how else should he dare to suggest that he might as well leave the house? “Shall I tell the dear girl?” asked Mrs. French. But Mr. Gibson requested a fortnight, in which to consider how the proposition had best be made.
XLIX
Mr. Brooke Burgess After Supper
Brooke Burgess was a clerk in the office of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners in London, and as such had to do with things very solemn, grave, and almost melancholy. He had to deal with the rents of episcopal properties, to correspond with clerical claimants, and to be at home with the circumstances of underpaid vicars and perpetual curates with much less than £300 a-year; but yet he was as jolly and pleasant at his desk as though he were busied about the collection of the malt tax, or wrote his letters to admirals and captains instead of to deans and prebendaries. Brooke Burgess had risen to be a senior clerk, and was held in some respect in his office; but
