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Updated: June 5, 2025
It was but a ghastly attempt. "You know how happy that will make me," continued Beatrice. "Of course mamma won't expect me to be led by her then: if he likes it, there can be no objection; and he will like it, you may be sure of that." "You are very kind, Trichy," said Mary; but she spoke in a tone very different from that she would have used eighteen months ago. "Why, what is the matter, Mary?
"I am sure I hope you will, some day." "No, Trichy; no, you hope the other way. I love your brother; I love Frank Gresham; I love him quite as well, quite as warmly, as you love Caleb Oriel." "Do you?" said Beatrice, staring with all her eyes, and giving one long sigh, as this new subject for sorrow was so distinctly put before her. "It that so odd?" said Mary.
No, Trichy, dearest; my visits to dear old Greshamsbury are done, done, done: perhaps in some twenty years' time I may be walking down the lawn with your brother, and discussing our childish days that is, always, if the then Mrs Gresham shall have invited me." "How can Frank have been so wrong, so unkind, so cruel?" said Beatrice.
"Nonsense, Trichy; I should have suited him in no possible way at all; nor he me." "Oh, but you would exactly. Papa loves you so well." "And mamma; that would have been so nice." "Yes; and mamma, too that is, had you had a fortune," said the daughter, naively. "She always liked you personally, always." "Did she?" "Always. And we all love you so." "Especially Lady Alexandrina."
Then, by degrees, the conversation changed from the loves of Mr Oriel and Beatrice to the troubles of Frank Gresham and herself. "She says, that let what will happen you shall be one of her bridesmaids." "Ah, yes, dear Trichy! that was settled between us in auld lang syne; but those settlements are all unsettled now, must all be broken.
I won't allude to the noble blood of your noble relatives either in joke or in earnest. What is it you want to arrange, Trichy?" "I want you to be one of Augusta's bridesmaids." "Good heavens, Beatrice! Are you mad? What! Put me, even for a morning, into the same category of finery as the noble blood from Courcy Castle!" "Patience is to be one."
And Mary was again allowing herself to be absorbed by that feeling of indomitable pride, of antagonism to the pride of others, which she herself in her cooler moments was the first to blame. "You often say, Mary, that that sort of arrogance should be despised and passed over without notice." "So it should, Trichy. I tell you that as a clergyman tells you to hate riches.
But he had given himself to women it was Cissy this, Trichy that, and the wiles of a Florence, the spites of an Agatha, duperies, innocent-seemings, witcheries, reptile-tricks of the fairest of women, all through his conversation.
Shan't you be glad to come to see us?" "I do not know, dearest; that must depend on circumstances. To see you, you yourself, your own dear, sweet, loving face must always be pleasant to me." "And shan't you be glad to see him?" "Yes, certainly, if he loves you." "Of course he loves me." "All that alone would be pleasant enough, Trichy.
With a sharp knife he divided the outside cover, revealing a stout cardboard box wrapped in a number of advertisement sheets. The box, when the lid was raised, was seen to contain a single cigar a large cheroot packed in cotton wool. "A 'Trichy, by Jove!" I exclaimed. "Your own special fancy, Thorndyke."
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