“We cannot all hope to have such perfect health as you possess.”
“I have never frittered it away,” said the Doctor, “by prolonged residence in foreign parts.” This quotation of his own words was most harassing to Mr. Greenmantle, and made him more than once inclined to bounce in anger out of the Doctor’s study. “I suppose the truth is that Miss Emily is disposed to run counter to your wishes in regard to her marriage, and that she is to be taken away not from consumption or a weak throat, but from a dangerous lover.” Here Mr. Greenmantle’s face became black as thunder. “You see, Greenmantle, there is no good in our talking about this matter unless we understand each other.”
“I do not intend to give my girl to the young man upon whom she thinks that her affections rest.”
“I suppose she knows.”
“No, Dr. Freeborn. It is often the case that a young lady does not know; she only fancies, and where that is the case absence is the best remedy. You have said that Emily is a good girl.”
“A very good girl.”
“I am delighted to hear you so express yourself. But obedience to parents is a trait in character which is generally much thought of. I have put by a little money, Dr. Freeborn.”
“All Plumplington knows that.”
“And I shall choose that it shall go somewhat in accordance with my wishes. The young man of whom she is thinking—”
“Philip Hughes, an excellent fellow. I’ve known him all my life. He doesn’t come to church quite so regularly as he ought, but that will be mended when he’s married.”
“Hasn’t got a shilling in the world,” continued Mr. Greenmantle, finishing his sentence. “Nor is he—just—just—just what I should choose for the husband of my daughter. I think that when I have said so he should take my word for it.”
“That’s not the way of the world, you know.”
“It’s the way of my world, Dr. Freeborn. It isn’t often that I speak out, but when I do it’s about something that I’ve a right to speak of. I’ve heard this affair of my daughter talked about all over the town. There was one Mr. Peppercorn came to me—”
“One Mr. Peppercorn? Why, Hickory Peppercorn is as well known in Plumplington as the church-steeple.”
“I beg your pardon, Dr. Freeborn; but I don’t find any reason in that for his interfering about my daughter. I must say that I took it as a great piece of impertinence. Goodness gracious me! If a man’s own daughter isn’t to be considered peculiar to himself I don’t know what is. If he’d asked you about your daughters—before they were married?” Dr. Freeborn did not answer this, but declared to himself that neither Mr. Peppercorn nor Mr. Greenmantle could have taken such a liberty. Mr. Greenmantle evidently was not aware of it, but in truth Dr. Freeborn and his family belonged altogether to another set. So at least Dr. Freeborn told himself. “I’ve come to you now, Dr. Freeborn, because I have not liked to leave Plumplington for a prolonged residence in foreign parts without acquainting you.”
“I should have thought that unkind.”
“You are very good. And as my daughter will of course go with me, and as this idea of a marriage on her part must be entirely given up;—” the emphasis was here placed with much weight on the world entirely;—“I should take it as a great kindness if you would let my feelings on the subject be generally known. I will own that I should not have cared to have my daughter talked about, only that the mischief has been done.”
“In a little place like this,” said the Doctor, “a young lady’s marriage will always be talked about.”
“But the young lady in this case isn’t going to be married.”
“What does she say about it herself?”
“I haven’t asked her, Dr. Freeborn. I don’t mean to ask her. I shan’t ask her.”
“If I understand her feelings, Greenmantle, she is very much set upon it.”
“I cannot help it.”
“You mean to say then that you intend to condemn her to unhappiness merely because this young man hasn’t got as much money at the beginning of his life as you have at the end of yours?”
“He hasn’t got a shilling,” said Mr. Greenmantle.
“Then why can’t you give him a shilling? What do you mean to do with your money?” Here Mr. Greenmantle again looked offended. “You come and ask me, and I am bound to give you my opinion for what it’s worth. What do you mean to do with your money? You’re not the man to found a Hiram’s Hospital with it. As sure as you are sitting there your girl will have it when you’re dead. Don’t you know that she will have it?”
“I hope so.”
“And because she’s to have it, she’s to be made wretched about it all her life. She’s to remain an old maid, or else to be married to some wellborn pauper, in order that you may talk about your son-in-law. Don’t get into a passion, Greenmantle, but only think whether I’m not telling you the truth. Hughes isn’t a spendthrift.”
“I have made no accusation against him.”
“Nor a gambler, nor a drunkard, nor is he the sort of man to treat a wife badly. He’s there at the bank so that you may keep him under your own eye. What more on earth can a man want in a son-in-law?”
Blood, thought Mr. Greenmantle to himself; an old family name; county associations, and a certain something which he felt quite sure that Philip Hughes did not possess. And he knew well enough that Dr. Freeborn had married his own daughters to husbands who possessed these gifts; but he could not throw the fact back into the Rector’s teeth. He was in some way conscious that the Rector had been entitled to expect so much for his girls, and that he, the banker, was not so entitled. The same idea passed through the Rector’s mind. But the Rector
