Mr. Scarborough's Family Part 75

"That is nonsense, papa. How can Mr. Barry love me? Did he and I ever have five minutes of free conversation together?"

"Unless he meant to love, would be nearer the mark; and knew that he could do so. You will be quite safe in his hands."

"Safe, papa!"

"So much for yourself; and now I must say a few words as to myself. You are not bound to marry him, or any one else, to do me a good turn; but I think you are bound to remember what my feelings would be if on my death-bed I were leaving you quite alone in the world. As far as money is concerned, you would have enough for all your wants; but that is all that you would have. You have become so thoroughly my friend, that you have hardly another real friend in the world."

"That is my disposition."

"Yes; but I must guard against the ill-effects of that disposition. I know that if some man came the way, whom you could in truth love, you would make the sweetest wife that ever a man possessed."

"Oh, papa, how you talk! No such man will come the way, and there's an end of it."

"Mr. Barry has come the way,--and, as things go, is deserving of your regard. My advice to you is to accept him. Now you will have twenty-four hours to think of that advice, and to think of your own future condition. How will life go with you if you should be left living in this house all alone?"

"Why do you speak as though we were to be parted to-morrow?"

"To-morrow or next day," he said very solemnly. "The day will surely come before long. Mr. Barry may not be all that your fancy has imagined."

"Decidedly not."

"But he has those good qualities which your reason should appreciate.

Think it over, my darling. And now we will say nothing more about Mr.

Barry till he shall have been here and pleaded his own cause."

Then there was not another word said on the subject between them, and on the next morning Mr. Grey went away to his chambers as usual.

Though she had strenuously opposed her father through the whole of the conversation above given, still, as it had gone on, she had resolved to do as he would her; not indeed, that is, to marry this suitor, but to turn him over in her mind yet once again, and find out whether it would be possible that she should do so. She had dismissed him on that former occasion, and had not since given a thought to him, except as to a nuisance of which she had so far ridded herself. Now the nuisance had come again, and she was to endeavor to ascertain how far she could accustom herself to its perpetual presence without incurring perpetual misery. But it has to be acknowledged that she did not begin the inquiry in a fair frame of mind. She declared to herself that she would think about it all the night and all the morning without a prejudice, so that she might be able to accept him if she found it possible.

But at the same time there was present to her a high, black stone wall, at one side of which stood she herself while Mr. Barry was on the other.

That there should be any clambering over that wall by either of them she felt to be quite impossible, though at the same time she acknowledged that a miracle might occur by which the wall would be removed,

So she began her thinking, and used all her father's arguments. Mr.

Barry was honest and good, and would not ill-treat her. She knew nothing about him, but would take all that for granted as though it were gospel,--because her father had said so. And then it was to her a fact that she was by no means good-looking,--the meaning of which was that no other man would probably want her. Then she remembered her father's words,--"To me your face is the sweetest thing on earth to look upon."

This she did believe. Her plainness did not come against her there. Why should she rob her father of the one thing which to him was sweet in the world? And to her, her father was the one n.o.ble human being whom she had ever known. Why should she rob herself of his daily presence? Then she told herself,--as she had told him,--that she had never had five minutes free conversation with Mr. Barry in her life. That certainly was no reason why free conversation should not be commenced. But then she did not believe that free conversation was within the capacity of Mr. Barry.

It would never come, though she might be married to him for twenty years. He too might, perhaps, talk about his business; but there would be none of those considerations as to radical good or evil which made the nucleus of all such conversations with her father. There would be a flatness about it all which would make any such interchange of words impossible. It would be as though she had been married to a log of wood, or rather a beast of the field, as regarded all sentiment. How much money would be coming to him? Now her father had never told her how much money was coming to him. There had been no allusion to that branch of the subject.

And then there came other thoughts as to that interior life which it would be her destiny to lead with Mr. Barry. Then came a black cloud upon her face as she sat thinking of it. "Never," at last she said, "never, never! He is very foolish not to know that it is impossible."

The "he" of whom she then spoke was her father, and not Mr. Barry. "If I have to be left alone, I shall not be the first. Others have been left alone before me. I shall at any rate be left alone." Then the wall became higher and more black than ever, and there was no coming of that miracle by which it was to be removed. It was clearer to her than ever that neither of them could climb it. "And, after all," she said to herself, "to know that your husband is not a gentleman! Ought that not to be enough? Of course a woman has to pay for her fastidiousness. Like other luxuries, it is costly; but then, like other luxuries, it cannot be laid aside." So, before that morning was gone, she made up her mind steadily that Mr. Barry should never be her lord and master.

How could she best make him understand that it was so, so that she might be quickly rid of him? When the first hour of thinking was done after breakfast, it was that which filled her mind. She was sure that he would not take an answer easily and go. He would have been prepared by her father to persevere,--not by his absolute words, but by his mode of speaking. Her father would have given him to understand that she was still in doubt, and therefore might possibly be talked over. She must teach him at once, as well as she could, that such was not her character, and that she had come to a resolution which left him no chance. And she was guilty of one weakness which was almost unworthy of her. When the time came she changed her dress, and put on an old shabby frock, in which she was wont to call upon the Carrolls. Her best dresses were all kept for her father,--and, perhaps, accounted for that opinion that to his eyes her face was the sweetest thing on earth to look upon.

As she sat there waiting for Mr. Barry, she certainly did look ten years older than her age.

In truth both Mr. Grey and Dolly had been somewhat mistaken in their reading of Mr. Barry's character. There was more of intellect and merit in him than he had obtained credit for from either of them. He did care very much for the income of the business, and perhaps his first idea in looking for Dolly's hand had been the probability that he would thus obtain the whole of that income for himself. But, while wanting money, he wanted also some of the good things which ought to accompany it. A superior intellect,--an intellect slightly superior to his own, of which he did not think meanly, a power of conversation which he might imitate, and that fineness of thought which, he flattered himself, he might be able to achieve while living with the daughter of a gentleman,--these were the treasures which Mr. Barry hoped to gain by his marriage with Dorothy Grey. And there had been something in her personal appearance which, to his eyes, had not been distasteful. He did not think her face the sweetest thing in the world to look at, as her father had done, but he saw in it the index of that intellect which he had desired to obtain for himself. As for her dress, that, of course, should all be altered.

He imagined that he could easily become so far master of his wife as to make her wear fine clothes without difficulty. But then he did not know Dolly Grey.

He had studied deeply his manner of attacking her. He would be very humble at first, but after a while his humility should be discontinued, whether she accepted or rejected him. He knew well that it did not become a husband to be humble; and as regarded a lover, he thought that humility was merely the outside gloss of love-making. He had been humble enough on the former occasion, and would begin now in the same strain. But after a while he would stir himself, and a.s.sume the manner of a man. "Miss Grey," he said, as soon as they were alone, "you see that I have been as good as my word, and have come again." He had already observed her old frock and her mode of dressing up her hair, and had guessed the truth.

"I knew that you were to come, Mr. Barry."

"Your father has told you so."

"Yes."

"And he has spoken a good word in my favor?"

"Yes, he has."

"Which I trust will be effective."

"Not at all. He knows that it is the only subject on which I cannot take his advice. I would burn my hand off for my father, but I cannot afford to give it to any one at his instance. It must be exclusively my own,--unless some one should come very different from those who are likely to ask for it."

There was something, Mr. Barry thought, of offence in this, but he could not altogether throw off his humility as yet. "I quite admit the value of the treasure," he said.

"There need not be any nonsense between us, Mr. Barry. It has no special value to any one,--except to myself; but to myself I mean to keep it. At my father's instance I had thought over the proposition you have made me much more seriously than I had thought it possible that I should do."

"That is not flattering," he said.

"There is no need for flattery, either on the one side or on the other.

You had better take that as established. You have done me the honor of wis.h.i.+ng, for certain reasons, that I should be your wife."

"The common reason:--that I love you."

"But I am not able to return the feeling, and do not therefore wish that you should be my husband. That sounds to be uncivil."

"Rather."

"But I say it in order to make you understand the exact truth. A woman cannot love a man because she feels for him even the most profound respect. She will often do so when there is neither respect nor esteem.

My father has so spoken of you to me that I do esteem you; but that has no effect in touching my heart, therefore I cannot become your wife."

Now, as Mr. Barry thought, had come the time in which he must a.s.sert himself. "Miss Grey," he said, "you have probably a long life before you."

"Long or short, it can make no difference."

"If I understood you aright, you are one who lives very much to yourself."

"To myself and my father."

"He is growing in years."

"So am I, for the matter of that. We are all growing in years."

"Have you looked out for yourself, and thought what manner of home yours will be when he shall have been dead and buried?" He paused, but she remained silent, and a.s.sumed a special cast of countenance, as though she might say a word, if he pressed her, which it would be disagreeable for him to hear. "When he has gone will you not be very solitary without a husband?"

"No doubt I shall."

"Had you not better accept one when one comes your way who is not, as he tells you, quite unworthy of you?"

"In spite of such worth solitude would be preferable."