Ralph the Heir. Anthony Trollope

thousand pounds."

      "You don't mean to run away with the breeches-maker's daughter?" ejaculated Sir Thomas.

      "Certainly not. I shouldn't get the twenty thousand pounds if I did." Then he explained it all;—how Neefit had asked him to the house, and offered him the girl; how the girl herself was as pretty and nice as a girl could be; and how he thought—though as to that he expressed himself with some humility—that, were he to propose to her, the girl might perhaps take him.

      "I dare say she would," said Sir Thomas.

      "Well;—now you know it all. In her way, she has been educated. Neefit père is utterly illiterate and ignorant. He is an honest man, as vulgar as he can be—or rather as unlike you and me, which is what men mean when they talk of vulgarity—and he makes the best of breeches. Neefit mère is worse than the father—being cross and ill-conditioned, as far as I can see. Polly is as good as gold; and if I put a house over my head with her money, of course her father and her mother will be made welcome there. Your daughters would not like to meet them, but I think they could put up with Polly. Now you know about all that I can tell you."

      Ralph had been so rapid, so energetic, and withal so reasonable, that Sir Thomas, at this period of the interview, was unable to refer to any of his prophecies. What advice was he to give? Should he adjure this young man not to marry the breeches-maker's daughter because of the blood of the Newtons and the expected estate, or were he to do so even on the score of education and general unfitness, he must suggest some other mode or means of living. But how could he advise the future Newton of Newton Priory to marry Polly Neefit? The Newtons had been at Newton Priory for centuries, and the men Newtons had always married ladies, as the women Newtons had always either married gentlemen or remained unmarried. Sir Thomas, too, was of his nature, and by all his convictions, opposed to such matches. "You have hardly realised," said he, "what it would be to have such a father-in-law and such a mother-in-law;—or probably such a wife."

      "Yes, I have. I have realised all that."

      "Of course, if you have made up your mind—"

      "But I have not made up my mind, Sir Thomas. I must make it up before eleven o'clock to-morrow morning, because I must then be with Neefit—by appointment. At this moment I am so much in doubt that I am almost inclined to toss up."

      "I would sooner cut my throat!" said Sir Thomas, forgetting his wisdom amidst the perplexities of his position.

      "Not quite that, Sir Thomas. I suppose you mean to say that anything would be better than such a marriage?"

      "I don't suppose you care for the girl," said Sir Thomas, crossly.

      "I do not feel uneasy on that score. If I did not like her, and think that I could love her, I would have nothing to do with it. She herself is charming—though I should lie if I were to say that she were a lady."

      "And the father offered her to you?"

      "Most distinctly—and named the fortune."

      "Knowing your own condition as to money?"

      "Almost exactly;—so much so that I do not doubt he will go on with it when he knows everything. He had heard about my uncle's property, and complimented me by saying that I am a—gentleman."

      "He does not deserve to have a daughter," said Sir Thomas.

      "I don't know about that. According to his lights, he means to do the best he can for her. And, indeed, I think myself that he might do worse. She will probably become Mrs. Newton of Newton Priory if she marries me; and the investment of Neefit's twenty thousand pounds won't be so bad."

      "Nothing on earth can make her a lady."

      "I'm not so sure of that," said Ralph. "Nothing on earth can make her mother a lady; but of Polly I should have hopes. You, however, are against it?"

      "Certainly."

      "Then what ought I to do?" Sir Thomas rubbed the calf of his leg and was silent. "The only advice you have given me hitherto was to cut my throat," said Ralph.

      "No, I didn't. I don't know what you're to do. You've ruined yourself;—that's all."

      "But there is a way out of the ruin. In all emergencies there is a better and a worse course. What, now, is the better course?"

      "You don't know how to earn a shilling," said Sir Thomas.

      "No; I don't," said Ralph Newton.

      Sir Thomas rubbed his face and scratched his head; but did not know how to give advice. "You have made your bed, and you must lie upon it," he said.

      "Exactly;—but which way am I to get into it, and which way shall I get out?" Sir Thomas could only rub his face and scratch his head. "I thought it best to come and tell you everything," said Ralph. That was all very well, but Sir Thomas would not advise him to marry the breeches-maker's daughter.

      "It is a matter," Sir Thomas said at last, "in which you must be guided by your own feelings. I wish it were otherwise. I can say no more." Then Ralph took his leave, and wandered all round St. James's Park and the purlieus of Westminster till midnight, endeavouring to make up his mind, and building castles in the air, as to what he would do with himself, and how he would act, if he had not brought himself into so hopeless a mess of troubles.

CHAPTER IX.

       Table of Contents

      ONTARIO MOGGS.

      On the following morning Ralph Newton was in Conduit Street exactly at the hour named. He had not even then made up his mind;—but he thought that he might get an extension of the time allowed him for decision. After all, it was hardly a month yet since the proposition was made to him. He found Mr. Neefit in the back shop, measuring a customer. "I'll be with you in two minutes," said Mr. Neefit, just putting his head through the open door, and then going back to his work; "3—1—⅛, Waddle; Sir George isn't quite as stout as he was last year. Oh, no, Sir George; we won't tie you in too tight. Leave it to us, Sir George. The last pair too tight? Oh, no; I think not, Sir George. Perhaps your man isn't as careful in cleaning as he ought to be. Gentlemen's servants do get so careless, it quite sickens one!" So Mr. Neefit went on, and as Sir George was very copious in the instructions which he had to give—all of which, by-the-bye, were absolutely thrown away—Ralph Newton became tired of waiting. He remembered too that he was not there as a customer, but almost as a member of the family, and the idea sickened him. He bethought himself that on his first visit to Conduit Street he had seen his Polly in the shop, cutting up strips wherewith her father would measure gentlemen's legs. She must then have been nearly fifteen, and the occupation, as he felt, was not one fitting for the girl who was to be his wife. "Now, Mr. Newton," said Mr. Neefit, as Sir George at last left the little room. The day was hot, and Mr. Neefit had been at work in his shirt sleeves. Nor did he now put on his coat. He wiped his brow, put his cotton handkerchief inside his braces, and shook hands with our hero. "Well, Mr. Newton," he said, "what do you think of it? I couldn't learn much about it, but it seemed to me that you and Polly got on famous that night. I thought we'd have seen you out there again before this."

      "I couldn't come, Mr. Neefit, as long as there was a doubt."

      "Oh, as to doubts—doubts be bothered. Of course you must run your chance with Polly like any other man."

      "Just so."

      "But the way to get a girl like that isn't not to come and see her for a month. There are others after our Polly, I can tell you;—and men who would take her with nothing but her smock on."

      "I'm quite sure of that. No one can see her without admiring her."

      "Then what's the good of talking of doubts? I like you because you are a gentleman;—and I can put you on your legs, which, from all I hear, is a kind of putting you want bad enough just at present. Say the word, and come down to tea this evening."