3 books to know Horatian Satire. Anthony Trollope

you didn’t mean it yourself.’

      ‘By George, I did. I was quite in earnest. There never was a fellow more in earnest than I was. I’ve come down here on purpose to say it again.’

      ‘To say what?’

      ‘Whether you’ll accept me?’

      ‘I don’t know whether you love me well enough.’ She longed to be told by him that he loved her. He had no objection to tell her so, but, without thinking much about it, felt it to be a bore. All that kind of thing was trash and twaddle. He desired her to accept him; and he would have wished, were it possible, that she should have gone to her father for his consent. There was something in the big eyes and heavy jaws of Mr Melmotte which he almost feared. ‘Do you really love me well enough?’ she whispered.

      ‘Of course I do. I’m bad at making pretty speeches, and all that, but you know I love you.’

      ‘Do you?’

      ‘By George, yes. I always liked you from the first moment I saw you. I did indeed.’

      It was a poor declaration of love, but it sufficed. ‘Then I will love you,’ she said. ‘I will with all my heart.’

      ‘There’s a darling!’

      ‘Shall I be your darling? Indeed I will. I may call you Felix now mayn’t I?’

      ‘Rather.’

      ‘Oh, Felix, I hope you will love me. I will so dote upon you. You know a great many men have asked me to love them.’

      ‘I suppose so.’

      ‘But I have never, never cared for one of them in the least — not in the least.’

      ‘You do care for me?’

      ‘Oh yes.’ She looked up into his beautiful face as she spoke, and he saw that her eyes were swimming with tears. He thought at the moment that she was very common to look at. As regarded appearance only he would have preferred even Sophia Longestaffe. There was indeed a certain brightness of truth which another man might have read in Marie’s mingled smiles and tears, but it was thrown away altogether upon him. They were walking in some shrubbery quite apart from the house, where they were unseen; so, as in duty bound, he put his arm round her waist and kissed her. ‘Oh, Felix,’ she said, giving her face up to him; ‘no one ever did it before.’ He did not in the least believe her, nor was the matter one of the slightest importance to him. ‘Say that you will be good to me, Felix. I will be so good to you.’

      ‘Of course I will be good to you.’

      ‘Men are not always good to their wives. Papa is often very cross to mamma.’

      ‘I suppose he can be cross?’

      ‘Yes, he can. He does not often scold me. I don’t know what he’ll say when we tell him about this.’

      ‘But I suppose he intends that you shall be married?’

      ‘He wanted me to marry Lord Nidderdale and Lord Grasslough, but I hated them both. I think he wants me to marry Lord Nidderdale again now. He hasn’t said so, but mamma tells me. But I never will — never!’

      ‘I hope not, Marie.’

      ‘You needn’t be a bit afraid. I would not do it if they were to kill me. I hate him — and I do so love you.’ Then she leaned with all her weight upon his arm and looked up again into his beautiful face. ‘You will speak to papa; won’t you?’

      ‘Will that be the best way?’

      ‘I suppose so. How else?’

      ‘I don’t know whether Madame Melmotte ought not —’

      ‘Oh dear no. Nothing would induce her. She is more afraid of him than anybody; — more afraid of him than I am. I thought the gentleman always did that.’

      ‘Of course I’ll do it,’ said Sir Felix. ‘I’m not afraid of him. Why should I? He and I are very good friends, you know.’

      ‘I’m glad of that.’

      ‘He made me a Director of one of his companies the other day.’

      ‘Did he? Perhaps he’ll like you for a son-in-law.’

      ‘There’s no knowing; — is there?’

      ‘I hope he will. I shall like you for papa’s son-in-law. I hope it isn’t wrong to say that. Oh, Felix, say that you love me.’ Then she put her face up towards his again.

      ‘Of course I love you,’ he said, not thinking it worth his while to kiss her. ‘It’s no good speaking to him here. I suppose I had better go and see him in the city.’

      ‘He is in a good humour now,’ said Marie.

      ‘But I couldn’t get him alone. It wouldn’t be the thing to do down here.’

      ‘Wouldn’t it?’

      ‘Not in the country — in another person’s house. Shall you tell Madame Melmotte?’

      ‘Yes, I shall tell mamma; but she won’t say anything to him. Mamma does not care much about me. But I’ll tell you all that another time. Of course I shall tell you everything now. I never yet had anybody to tell anything to, but I shall never be tired of telling you.’ Then he left her as soon as he could, and escaped to the other ladies. Mr Melmotte was still sitting in the summerhouse, and Lord Alfred was still with him, smoking and drinking brandy and seltzer. As Sir Felix passed in front of the great man he told himself that it was much better that the interview should be postponed till they were all in London. Mr Melmotte did not look as though he were in a good humour. Sir Felix said a few words to Lady Pomona and Madame Melmotte. Yes; he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing them with his mother and sister on the following day. He was aware that his cousin was not coming. He believed that his cousin Roger never did go anywhere like any one else. No; he had not seen Mr Longestaffe. He hoped to have the pleasure of seeing him to-morrow. Then he escaped, and got on his horse, and rode away.

      ‘That’s going to be the lucky man,’ said Georgiana to her mother, that evening.

      ‘In what way lucky?’

      ‘He is going to get the heiress and all the money. What a fool Dolly has been!’

      ‘I don’t think it would have suited Dolly,’ said Lady Pomona. ‘After all, why should not Dolly marry a lady?’

      Chapter XVIII

      Ruby Ruggles Hears a Love Tale

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      Ruby Ruggles, the granddaughter of old Daniel Ruggles, of Sheep’s Acre, in the parish of Sheepstone, close to Bungay, received the following letter from the hands of the rural post letter-carrier on that Sunday morning; —‘A friend will be somewhere near Sheepstone Birches between four and five o’clock on Sunday afternoon.’ There was not another word in the letter, but Miss Ruby Ruggles knew well from whom it came.

      Daniel Ruggles was a farmer, who had the reputation of considerable wealth, but who was not very well looked on in the neighbourhood as being somewhat of a curmudgeon and a miser. His wife was dead; — he had quarrelled with his only son, whose wife was also dead, and had banished him from his home; — his daughters were married and away; and the only member of his family who lived with him was his granddaughter Ruby. And this granddaughter was a great trouble to the old man. She was twenty-three years old, and had been engaged to a prosperous young man at Bungay in the meal and pollard line, to whom old Ruggles had promised to give £500 on their marriage. But Ruby had taken it into her foolish young head that she did not like meal and pollard, and now she had received the above very dangerous letter. Though the