THE CHRONICLES OF BARSETSHIRE (Complete Collection). Anthony Trollope
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“She was stretching her beautiful neck to look at you, and now you have disturbed her. Well, I declare I believe I am wrong about you; I believe that you do think Mrs. Bold a charming woman. Your looks seem to say so, and by her looks I should say that she is jealous of me. Come, Mr. Arabin, confide in me, and if it is so, I’ll do all in my power to make up the match.”
It is needless to say that the signora was not very sincere in her offer.. She was never sincere on such subjects. She never expected others to be so, nor did she expect others to think her so. Such matters were her playthings, her billiard table, her hounds and hunters, her waltzes and polkas, her picnics and summer-day excursions. She had little else to amuse her and therefore played at love-making in all its forms. She was now playing at it with Mr. Arabin, and did not at all expect the earnestness and truth of his answer.
“All in your power would be nothing,” said he, “for Mrs. Bold is, I imagine, already engaged to another.”
“Then you own the impeachment yourself.”
“You cross-question me rather unfairly,” he replied, “and I do not know why I answer you at all. Mrs. Bold is a very beautiful woman, and as intelligent as beautiful. It is impossible to know her without admiring her.”
“So you think the widow a very beautiful woman?”
“Indeed I do.”
“And one that would grace the parsonage of St. Ewold’s.”
“One that would well grace any man’s house.”
“And you really have the effrontery to tell me this,” said she; “to tell me, who, as you very well know, set up to be a beauty myself, and who am at this very moment taking such an interest in your affairs, you really have the effrontery to tell me that Mrs. Bold is the most beautiful woman you know.”
“I did not say so,” said Mr. Arabin; “you are more beautiful —”
“Ah, come now, that is something like. I thought you could not be so unfeeling.”
“You are more beautiful, perhaps more clever.”
“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Arabin. I knew that you and I should be friends.”
“But —”
“Not a word further. I will not hear a word further. If you talk till midnight you cannot improve what you have said.”
“But Madame Neroni, Mrs. Bold —”
“I will not hear a word about Mrs. Bold. Dread thoughts of strychnine did pass across my brain, but she is welcome to the second place.”
“Her place —”
“I won’t hear anything about her or her place. I am satisfied, and that is enough. But Mr. Arabin, I am dying with hunger; beautiful and clever as I am, you know I cannot go to my food, and yet you do not bring it to me.”
This at any rate was so true as to make it necessary that Mr. Arabin should act upon it, and he accordingly went into the dining-room and supplied the signora’s wants.
“And yourself?” said she.
“Oh,” said he, “I am not hungry. I never eat at this hour.”
“Come, come, Mr. Arabin, don’t let love interfere with your appetite. It never does with mine. Give me half a glass more champagne and then go to the table. Mrs. Bold will do me an injury if you stay talking to me any longer.”
Mr. Arabin did as he was bid. He took her plate and glass from her and, going into the dining-room, helped himself to a sandwich from the crowded table and began munching it in a corner.
As he was doing so Miss Thorne, who had hardly sat down for a moment, came into the room and, seeing him standing, was greatly distressed.
“Oh, my dear Mr. Arabin,” said she, “have you never sat down yet? I am so distressed. You of all men, too.”
Mr. Arabin assured her that he had only just come into the room.
“That is the very reason why you should lose no more time. Come, I’ll make room for you. Thank’ee, my dear,” she said, seeing that Mrs. Bold was making an attempt to move from her chair, “but I would not for worlds see you stir, for all the ladies would think it necessary to follow. But, perhaps, if Mr. Stanhope has done — just for a minute, Mr. Stanhope, till I can get another chair.”
And so Bertie had to rise to make way for his rival. This he did, as he did everything, with an air of good-humoured pleasantry which made it impossible for Mr. Arabin to refuse the proffered seat.
“His bishopric let another take,” said Bertie, the quotation being certainly not very appropriate either for the occasion or the person spoken to. “I have eaten and am satisfied; Mr. Arabin, pray take my chair. I wish for your sake that it really was a bishop’s seat.”
Mr. Arabin did sit down, and as he did so Mrs. Bold got up as though to follow her neighbour.
“Pray, pray don’t move,” said Miss Thorne, almost forcing Eleanor back into her chair. “Mr. Stanhope is not going to leave us. He will stand behind you like a true knight as he is. And now I think of it, Mr. Arabin, let me introduce you to Mr. Slope. Mr. Slope, Mr. Arabin.” And the two gentlemen bowed stiffly to each other across the lady whom they both intended to marry, while the other gentleman who also intended to marry her stood behind, watching them.
The two had never met each other before, and the present was certainly not a good opportunity for much cordial conversation, even if cordial conversation between them had been possible. As it was, the whole four who formed the party seemed as though their tongues were tied. Mr. Slope, who was wide awake to what he hoped was his coming opportunity, was not much concerned in the interest of the moment. His wish was to see Eleanor move, that he might pursue her. Bertie was not exactly in the same frame of mind; the evil day was near enough; there was no reason why he should precipitate it. He had made up his mind to marry Eleanor Bold if he could, and was resolved today to take the first preliminary step towards doing so. But there was time enough before him. He was not going to make an offer of marriage over the table-cloth. Having thus good-naturedly made way for Mr. Arabin, he was willing also to let him talk to the future Mrs. Stanhope as long as they remained in their present position.
Mr. Arabin, having bowed to Mr. Slope, began eating his food without saying a word further. He was full of thought, and though he ate he did so unconsciously.
But poor Eleanor was the most to be pitied. The only friend on whom she thought she could rely was Bertie Stanhope, and he, it seemed, was determined to desert her. Mr. Arabin did not attempt to address her. She said a few words in reply to some remarks from Mr. Slope and then, feeling the situation too much for her, started from her chair in spite of Miss Thorne and hurried from the room. Mr. Slope followed her, and young Stanhope lost the occasion.
Madeline Neroni when she was left alone, could not help pondering much on the singular interview she had had with this singular man. Not a word that she had spoken to him had been intended by her to be received as true, and yet he had answered her in the very spirit of truth. He had done so, and she had been aware that he had so done. She had wormed from him his secret, and he, debarred as it would seem from man’s usual privilege of lying, had innocently laid bare his whole soul to her. He loved Eleanor Bold, but Eleanor was not in his eye so beautiful as herself. He would fain have Eleanor for his wife, but yet he had acknowledged that she was the less gifted of the two. The man had literally been unable to falsify his thoughts when questioned and had been compelled to be true malgré lui, even when truth must have been so disagreeable to him.
This teacher of men, this Oxford pundit, this double-distilled quintessence of university perfection, this writer of religious treatises, this speaker of ecclesiastical speeches, had been like a little child in her hands; she had turned him inside out and read his very heart as she might have done that of a young girl. She could not but despise him for his facile openness, and yet she liked him for it, too. It was a novelty to her, a new trait in a man’s character. She felt also that she could never