“Love you, my angel!”
“And trust me;—and that we should understand each other, and stand close by each other. We can do so much to comfort one another;—but we cannot comfort other people.”
“He must know that best himself, Grace;—but what did he say more to you?”
“I don’t think he said anything more.”
“He just left you then?”
“He said one thing more.”
“And what was that?”
“He said;—but he had no right to say it.”
“What was it, dear?”
“That he knew I loved him, and that therefore—But, mamma, do not think of that. I will never be his wife—never, in opposition to his family.”
“But he did not take your answer?”
“He must take it, mamma. He shall take it. If he can be stubborn, so can I. If he knows how to think of me more than himself, I can think of him and Edith more than of myself. That is not quite all, mamma. Then he wrote to me. There is his letter.”
Mrs. Crawley read the letter. “I suppose you answered it?”
“Yes, I answered it. It was very bad, my letter. I should think after that he will never want to have anything more to say to me. I tried for two days, but I could not write a nice letter.”
“But what did you say?”
“I don’t in the least remember. It does not in the least signify now, but it was such a bad letter.”
“I daresay it was very nice.”
“It was terribly stiff, and all about a gentleman.”
“All about a gentleman! What do you mean, my dear?”
“Gentleman is such a frightful word to have to use to a gentleman; but I did not know what else to say. Mamma, if you please, we won’t talk about it;—not about the letter I mean. As for him, I’ll talk about him forever if you like it. I don’t mean to be a bit brokenhearted.”
“It seems to me that he is a gentleman.”
“Yes, mamma, that he is; and it is that which makes me so proud. When I think of it, I can hardly hold myself. But now I’ve told you everything, and I’ll go away, and go to bed.”
XLII
Mr. Toogood Travels Professionally
Mr. Toogood paid another visit to Barsetshire, in order that he might get a little further information which he thought would be necessary before despatching his nephew upon the traces of Dean Arabin and his wife. He went down to Barchester after his work was over by an evening train, and put himself up at The Dragon of Wantly, intending to have the whole of the next day for his work. Mr. Walker had asked him to come and take a return potluck dinner with Mrs. Walker at Silverbridge; and this he had said that he would do. After having “rummaged about for tidings” in Barchester, as he called it, he would take the train for Silverbridge, and would get back to town in time for business on the third day. “One day won’t be much, you know,” he said to his partner, as he made half an apology for absenting himself on business which was not to be in any degree remunerative. “That sort of thing is very well when one does it without any expense,” said Crump. “So it is,” said Toogood; “and the expense won’t make it any worse.” He had made up his mind, and it was not probable that anything Mr. Crump might say would deter him.
He saw John Eames before he started. “You’ll be ready this day week, will you?” John Eames promised that he would. “It will cost you some forty pounds, I should say. By George—if you have to go on to Jerusalem, it will cost you more.” In answer to this, Johnny pleaded that it would be as good as any other tour to him. He would see the world. “I’ll tell you what,” said Toogood; “I’ll pay half. Only you mustn’t tell Crump. And it will be quite as well not to tell Maria.” But Johnny would hear nothing of this scheme. He would pay the entire cost of his own journey. He had lots of money, he said, and would like nothing better. “Then I’ll run down,” said Toogood, “and rummage up what tidings I can. As for writing to the dean, what’s the good of writing to a man when you don’t know where he is? Business letters always lie at hotels for two months, and then come back with double postage. From all I can hear, you’ll stumble on her before you find him. If we do nothing else but bring him back, it will be a great thing to have the support of such a friend in the court. A Barchester jury won’t like to find a man guilty who is hand-and-glove with the dean.”
Mr. Toogood reached the “Dragon” about eleven o’clock, and allowed the boots to give him a pair of slippers and a candlestick. But he would not go to bed just at that moment. He would go into the coffee-room first, and have a glass of hot brandy-and-water. So the hot brandy-and-water was brought to him, and a cigar, and as he smoked and drank he conversed with the waiter. The man was a waiter of the ancient class, a gray-haired waiter, with seedy clothes, and a dirty towel under his arm; not a dapper waiter, with black shiny hair, and dressed like a guest for a dinner-party. There are two distinct classes of waiters, and as far as I have been able to perceive, the special status of the waiter in question cannot be decided by observation of the class of waiter to which he belongs. In such a town as Barchester you may find the old waiter with the dirty towel in the head inn, or in the second-class inn, and so you may the dapper waiter. Or you may find
