The Last Chronicle of Barset

Musselboro had been there about half an hour before, and had then gone off in a cab with Mrs. Van Siever. It was now nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, and no one in the house knew when Mrs. Van Siever would be back. Miss Van Siever was out, and had been out when Mr. Musselboro had called, but was expected in every minute. Conway therefore said that he would call again, and on returning found Clara alone. She had not then heard a word of the fate of Dobbs Broughton. Of course she would go at once to Mrs. Broughton, and if necessary stay with her during the night. She wrote a line at once to her mother, saying where she was, and went across to Mrs. Broughton leaning on Dalrymple’s arm.

“Be good to her,” said Conway, as he left her at the door.

“I will,” said Clara. “I will be as kind as my nature will allow me.”

“And remember,” said Conway, whispering into her ear as he pressed her hand at leaving her, “that you are all the world to me.” It was perhaps not a proper time for an expression of love, but Clara Van Siever forgave the impropriety.

LXV

Miss Van Siever Makes Her Choice

Clara Van Siever did stay all that night with Mrs. Broughton. In the course of the evening she received a note from her mother, in which she was told to come home to breakfast. “You can go back to her afterwards,” said Mrs. Van Siever; “and I will see her myself in the course of the day, if she will let me.” The note was written on a scrap of paper, and had neither beginning nor end; but this was after the manner of Mrs. Van Siever, and Clara was not in the least hurt or surprised.

“My mother will come to see you after breakfast,” said Clara, as she was taking her leave.

“Oh, goodness! And what shall I say to her?”

“You will have to say very little. She will speak to you.”

“I suppose everything belongs to her now,” said Mrs. Broughton.

“I know nothing about that. I never do know anything of mamma’s money matters.”

“Of course she’ll turn me out. I do not mind a bit about that⁠—only I hope she’ll let me have some mourning.” Then she made Clara promise that she would return as soon as possible, having in Clara’s presence overcome all that feeling of dislike which she had expressed to Conway Dalrymple. Mrs. Broughton was generally affectionate to those who were near to her. Had Musselboro forced himself into her presence, she would have become quite confidential with him before he left her.

“Mr. Musselboro will be here directly,” said Mrs. Van Siever, as she was starting for Mrs. Broughton’s house. “You had better tell him to come to me there; or, stop⁠—perhaps you had better keep him here till I come back. Tell him to be sure and wait for me.”

“Very well, mamma. I suppose he can wait below?”

“Why should he wait below?” said Mrs. Van Siever, very angrily.

Clara had made the uncourteous proposition to her mother with the express intention of making it understood that she would have nothing to say to him. “He can come upstairs if he likes it,” said Clara; “and I will go up to my room.”

“If you fight shy of him, miss, you may remember this⁠—that you will fight shy of me at the same time.”

“I am sorry for that, mamma, for I shall certainly fight shy of Mr. Musselboro.”

“You can do as you please. I can’t force you, and I shan’t try. But I can make your life a burden to you⁠—and I will. What’s the matter with the man that he isn’t good enough for you? He’s as good as any of your own people ever was. I hate your newfangled airs⁠—with pictures painted on the sly, and all the rest of it. I hate such ways. See what they have brought that wretched man to, and the poor fool his wife. If you go and marry that painter, some of these days you’ll be very much like what she is. Only I doubt whether he has got courage enough to blow his brains out.” With these comfortable words, the old woman took herself off, leaving Clara to entertain her lover as best she might choose.

Mr. Musselboro was not long in coming, and, in accordance with Mrs. Van Siever’s implied directions to her daughter, was shown up into the drawing-room. Clara gave him her mother’s message in a very few words. “I was expressly told, sir, to ask you to stop, if it is not inconvenient, as she very much wants to see you.” Mr. Musselboro declared that of course he would stop. He was only too happy to have an opportunity of remaining in such delightful society. As Clara answered nothing to this, he went on to say that he hoped that the melancholy occasion of Mrs. Van Siever’s visit to Mrs. Broughton might make a long absence necessary⁠—he did not, indeed, care how long it might be. He had recovered now from that paleness, and that want of gloves and jewellery which had befallen him on the previous day immediately after the sight he had seen in the City. Clara made no answer to the last speech, but, putting some things together in her workbasket, prepared to leave the room.

“I hope you are not going to leave me?” he said, in a voice that was intended to convey much of love, and something of melancholy.

“I am so shocked by what has happened, Mr. Musselboro, that I am altogether unfit for conversation. I was with poor Mrs. Broughton last night, and I shall return to her when mamma comes home.”

“It is sad, certainly; but what was there to be expected? If you’d only seen how he used to go on.” To this Clara made no answer. “Don’t go yet,” said he; “there is something that I