though there was an air of badinage, almost of tomfoolery, about dolly when she spoke of her matrimonial prospects to her father,—as when she said that she would "stick a knife" into mr. barry,—still there was a seriousness in all she said which was more than grave. she was pathetic and melancholy. she knew that there was nothing before her but to stay with her father, and then to devote herself to her cousins, from whom she was aware that she recoiled almost with hatred. and she knew that it would be a good thing to be married,—if only the right man would come. the right man would have to bear with her father, and live in the same house with him to the end. the right man must be a preux chevalier sans peur et sans reproche. the right man must be strong-minded and masterful, and must have a will of his own; but he must be strong-minded always for good. and where was she to find such a man as this? she who was only an attorney's daughter,—plain, too, and with many eccentricities. she was not intended to marry, and consequently the only man who came in her way was her father's partner, for whom, in regard to a share in the business, she might be desirable.
devotion to the carroll cousins was manifestly her duty. the two eldest girls she absolutely did hate, and their father. to hate the father, because he was vicious beyond cure, might be very well; but she could not hate the girls without being aware that she was guilty of a grievous sin. every taste possessed by them was antagonistic to her. their amusements, their literature, their clothes, their manners,—especially in regard to men,—their gestures and color, were distasteful to her. "they hide their dirt with a thin veneer of cheap finery," said dolly to her father. he had replied by telling her that she was nasty. "no; but, unfortunately, i cannot but see nastiness." dolly herself was clean to fastidiousness. take off her coarse frock, and there the well-dressed lady began. "look at the heels of sophie's boots! give her a push, and she'd fall off her pins as though they were stilts. they're always asking to have a shoemaker's bill paid, and yet they won't wear stout boots." "i'll pay the man," she said to amelia one day, "if you'll promise to wear what i'll buy you for the next six months." but amelia had only turned up her nose. these were the relatives to whom it would become her duty to devote her life!
the next morning she started off to call in bolsover terrace with an intention, not to begin her duty, but to make a struggle at the adequate performance of it. she took with her some article of clothing intended for one of the younger children, but which the child herself was to complete. but when she entered the parlor she was astounded at finding that mr. carroll was there. it was nearly twelve o'clock, and at that time mr. carroll never was there. he was either in bed, or at tattersall's, or—dolly did not care where. she had long since made up her mind that there must be a permanent quarrel between herself and her uncle, and her desire was generally respected. now, unfortunately, he was present, and with him were his wife and two elder daughters. to be devoted, thought dolly to herself, to such a family as this,—and without anybody else in the world to care for! she gave her aunt a kiss, and touched the girls' hands, and made a very distant bow to mr. carroll. then she began about the parcel in her hands, and, having given her instructions, was preparing to depart.
but her aunt stopped her. "i think you ought to know, dorothea."
"certainly," said mr. carroll. "it is quite right that your cousin should know."
"if you think it proper, i'm sure i can't object," said amelia.
"she won't approve, i'm sure," said sophie.
"her young man has come forward and spoken," said mr. carroll.
"and quite in a proper spirit," said amelia.
"of course," said mrs. carroll, "we are not to expect too much. though we are respectable in birth, and all that, we are poor. mr. carroll has got nothing to give her."
"i've been the most unfortunate man in the world," said mr. carroll.
"we won't talk about that now," continued mrs. carroll. "here we are without anything."
"you have decent blood," said dolly; "at any rate on one side,"—for she did not believe in the carrolls.
"on both,—on both," said mr. carroll, rising up, and putting his hand upon his heart. "i can boast of royal blood among my ancestors."
"but here we are without anything," said mrs. carroll again. "mr. juniper is a most respectable man."
"he has been attached to some of the leading racing establishments in the kingdom," said mr. carroll. dolly had heard of mr. juniper as a trainer, though she did not accurately know what a trainer meant.
"he is almost as great a man as the owner, for the matter of that," said amelia, standing up for her lover.
"he is not to say young,—perhaps forty," said mrs. carroll, "and he has a very decent house of his own at newmarket." dolly immediately began to think whether this might be for the better or for the worse. newmarket was a long way off, and the girl would be taken away; and it might be a good thing to dispose of one of such a string of daughters, even to mr. juniper. of course there would be the disagreeable nature of the connection. but, as dolly had once said to her father, their share of the world's burdens had to be borne, and this was one of them. her first cousin must marry the trainer. she, who had spoken so enthusiastically about gentlemen, must put up with it. she knew that mr. juniper was but a small man in his own line, but she would never disown him by word of mouth. he should be her cousin juniper. but she did hope that she might not be called upon to see him frequently. after all, he might be much more respectable than mr. carroll.
"i am glad he has a house of his own," said dolly.
"it is a much better house than fulham manor," said amelia.
dolly was angered, not at the comparison between the houses, but at the ingratitude and insolence of the girl. "very well," said she, addressing herself to her aunt; "if her parents are contented, of course it is not for me or for papa to be discontented. the thing to think of is the honesty of the man and his industry,—not the excellence of the house."
"but you seemed to think that we were to live in a pigsty," said amelia.
"mr. juniper stands very high on the turf," said mr. carroll. "mr. leadabit's horses have always run straight, and mousetrap won the two-year-old trial stakes last spring, giving two pounds to box-and-cox. a good-looking, tall fellow. you remember seeing him here once last summer." this was addressed to miss grey; but miss grey had made up her mind never to exchange a word with mr. carroll.
"when is it to be, my dear?" said miss grey, turning to the ladies, but intending to address herself to amelia. she had already made up her mind to forgive the girl for her insolence about the house. if the girl was to be taken away, there was so much the more reason for forgiving her that and other things.
"oh! i thought that you did not mean to speak to me at all," said amelia. "i supposed the cut was to be extended from papa to me."
"amelia, how can you be so silly?" said the mother.
"if you think i'm going to put up with that kind of thing, you're mistaken," said amelia. she had got not only a lover but a husband in prospect, and was much superior to her cousin,—who had neither one or the other, as far as she was aware. "mr. juniper, with an excellent house and a plentiful income, is quite good enough for me, though he hasn't got any regal ancestors." she did not intend to laugh at her father, but was aware that something had been said about ancestors by her cousin. "a gentleman who has the management of horses is almost the same as owning them."
"but when is it to be?" again asked dolly.
"that depends a little upon my brother," said mrs. carroll, in a voice hardly above a whisper. "mr. juniper has spoken about a day."
"then it will depend chiefly on himself and the young lady, i suppose?"
"well, dorothea, there are money difficulties. there's no denying it."
"i wish i could shower gold into her lap," said mr. carroll, "only for the accursed conventionalities of the world."
"bother, papa!" said sophia.
"it will be the last of it, as far as i am concerned," said amelia.
"mr. juniper has said something about a few hundred pounds," said mrs. carroll. "it isn't much that he wants."
then miss grey spoke in a severe tone. "you must speak to my father about that."
"i am not to have your good word, i suppose," said amelia. human flesh and blood could not but remember all that had been done, and always with her consent. "five hundred pounds is not a great deal for portioning off a girl when that is to be the last that she is ever to have." one of six nieces whose father and mother were maintained, and that without the slightest claim! it was so that dorothy argued; but her arguments were kept to her own bosom. "but i must trust to my dear uncle. i see that i am not to have a word from you."
the matter was now becoming serious. here was the eldest girl, one of six daughters, putting in her claim for five hundred pounds portion. this would amount to three thousand pounds for the lot, and, as the process of marrying them went on, they would all have to be maintained as at present. what with their school expenses and their clothes, the necessary funds for the carroll family amounted to six hundred pounds a year. that was the regular allowance, and there were others whenever mr. carroll wanted a pair of trousers. and dolly's acerbation was aroused by a belief on her part that the money asked for trousers took him generally to race-courses. and now five hundred pounds was boldly demanded so as to induce a groom to make one of the girls his wife! she almost regretted that in former years she had promised to assist her father in befriending the carroll relations. "perhaps, dorothea, you won't mind stepping into my bedroom with me, just for a moment." this was said by mrs. carroll, and dolly most unwillingly followed her aunt up-stairs.
"of course i know all that you've got to say," began mrs. carroll.
"then, aunt, why bring me in here?"
"because i wish to explain things a little. don't be ill-natured, dorothea."
"i won't if i can help it."
"i know your nature, how good it is." here dorothy shook her head. "only think of me and of my sufferings! i haven't come to this without suffering." then the poor woman began to cry.
"i feel for you through it all,—i do," said dolly.
"that poor man! to have to be always with him, and always doing my best to keep him out of mischief!"
"a man who will do nothing else must do harm."
"of course he must. but what can he do now? and the children! i can see—of course i know that they are not all that they ought to be. but with six of them, and nobody but myself, how can i do it all? and they are his children as well as mine." dolly's heart was filled with pity as she heard this, which she knew to be so true! "in answering you they have uppish, bad ways. they don't like to submit to one so near their own age."
"not a word that has come from the mouth of one of them addressed to myself has ever done them any harm with my father. that is what you mean?"
"no,—but with yourself."
"i do not take anger—against them—out of the room with me."
"now, about mr. juniper."
"the question is one much too big for me. am i to tell my father?"
"i was thinking that—if you would do so!"
"i cannot tell him that he ought to find five hundred pounds for mr. juniper."
"perhaps four would do."
"nor can i ask him to drive a bargain."
"how much would he give her—to be married?"
"why should he give her anything? he feeds her and gives her clothes. it is only fit that the truth should be explained to you. girls so circumstanced, when they are clothed and fed by their own fathers, must be married without fortunes or must remain unmarried. as sophie, and georgina, and minna, and brenda come up, the same requests will be made."
"poor potsey!" said the mother. for potsey was a plain girl.
"if this be done for amelia, must it not be done for all of them? papa is not a rich man, but he has been very generous. is it fair to ask him for five hundred pounds to give to—mr. juniper?"
"a gentleman nowadays does not like not to get something."
"then a gentleman must go where something is to be got. the truth has to be told, aunt carroll. my father is willing enough to do what he can for you and the girls, but i do not think that he will give five hundred pounds to mr. juniper."
"it is once for all. four hundred pounds, perhaps, would do."
"i do not think that he can make a bargain, nor that he will pay any sum to mr. juniper."
"to get one of them off would be so much! what is to become of them? to have one married would be the way for others. oh, dorothy, if you would only think of my condition! i know your papa will do what you tell him."
dolly felt that her father would be more likely to do it if she were not to interfere at all; but she could not say that. she did feel the request to be altogether unreasonable. she struggled to avert from her own mind all feeling of dislike for the girl, and to look at it as she might have done if amelia had been her special friend.
"aunt carroll," she said, "you had better go up to london and see my father there—in his chambers. you will catch him if you go at once."
"alone?"
"yes, alone. tell him about the girl's marriage, and let him judge what he ought to do."
"could not you come with me?"
"no. you don't understand. i have to think of his money. he can say what he will do with his own."
"he will never give it without coming to you."
"he never will if he does come to me. you may prevail with him. a man may throw away his own money as he pleases. i cannot tell him that he ought to do it. you may say that you have told me, and that i have sent you to him. and tell him, let him do what he will, that i shall find no fault with him. if you can understand me and him you will know that i can do nothing for you beyond that." then dolly took her leave and went home.
the mother, turning it all over in her mind, did understand something of her niece, and went off to london as quick as the omnibus could take her. there she did see her brother, and he came back, in consequence, to dinner a little earlier than usual.
"why did you send my sister to me?" were the first words which he said to dolly.
"because it was your business, and not mine."
"how dare you separate my business and yours? what do you think i have done?"
"given the young lady five hundred pounds down on the nail."
"worse than that."
"worse?"
"much worse. but why did you send my sister to my chambers?"
"but what have you done, papa? you don't mean that you have given the shark more than he demands?"
"i don't know that he's a shark. why shouldn't the man want five hundred pounds with his wife? mr. barry would want much more with you, and would be entitled to ask for much more."
"you are my father."
"yes; but those poor girls have been taught to look upon me almost as their father."
"but what have you done?"
"i have promised them each three hundred and fifty pounds on their wedding day,—three hundred pounds to go to their husbands, and fifty pounds for wedding expenses,—on condition that they marry with my approval. i shall not be so hard to please for them as for you."
"and you have approved of mr. juniper?"
"i have already set on foot inquiries down at newmarket; and i have made an exception in favor of mr. juniper. he is to have four hundred and fifty pounds. jane only asked four hundred pounds to begin with. you are not to find fault with me."
"no; that is part of the bargain. i wonder whether my aunt knew what a thoroughly good-natured thing i did. we must have no more puddings now, and you must come down by the omnibus."
"it is not quite so bad as that, dolly."
"when one has given away one's money extravagantly one ought to be made to feel the pinch one's self. but dear, dear, darling old man! why shouldn't you give away your money as you please? i don't want it. i am not in the least afraid but what there will be plenty for me. but when the girl talks about her five hundred pounds so glibly, as though she had a right to expect it, and spoke of this jockey with such inward pride of heart—"
"a girl ought to be proud of her husband."
"your niece ought not to be proud of marrying a groom. but she angered me, and so did my aunt,—though i pitied her. then i reflected that they could get nothing from me in my anger,—not even a promise of a good word. so i sent her to you. it was, at any rate, the best thing i could do for them." mr. grey thought that it was.
