“Your father is slow,” she said to her girls; “and sometimes we’re all impatient, as we didn’t ought to be; but it’s wonderful how often he’s right, is papa.”
The girls scouted the idea in words, but in their hearts they too were somewhat impressed, and the little parlour was full of agitation all the morning. Nancy was out, as the day was so fine, with her lover. They had so nearly quarrelled on the previous night, that their morning meeting was more interesting than usual, and they had gone out to make it up. There was a common not far off, with stretches of gorse and little thickets of half-grown trees, which was the resort of all lovers in the neighbourhood; and there they had been spending the morning in the midst of the autumnal sunshine, declaring to each other that nothing should ever come between them again, neither enemies nor friends.
Durant went home to his inn, very well pleased with himself, though with a qualm of compunction which he had not expected to feel. On the whole, these people were not designing people. They were not the harpies of the social imagination, who pounce upon the hapless _fils de famille_, and crunch his bones. That did not make them in the smallest degree more suitable to be connected with Arthur, but it made his friend a little ashamed of the part he was playing. And at the same time he was satisfied; for he did not want Arthur to make this foolish marriage, and he wanted very much to please Lady Curtis, for reasons which will be disclosed hereafter. He felt he had done a good day’s work, though, perhaps, it was not work of a very noble kind. He did not believe in the least that the Curtis family would sentence their son to starvation, or to be dependent on the house of Bates, though he made use of that idea to subjugate the latter; but Nature revenged herself upon him for this lie by permitting him to believe another, which was that these proceedings of his could have some influence in retarding Arthur’s marriage. Though he ought to have known that the obstacles thus set up would, on the contrary, make Arthur doubly eager, and lead him to force on everything, a little mist of complacent delusion was over his eyes in respect to his own adroitness, and he really believed that it might be in his power to save Arthur. And then if he saved Arthur, what might not Lady Curtis be disposed to do? Not, poor Durant, the same thing over again, by bestowing her daughter, of whom she was much more proud than she had ever been of Arthur, upon a poor, if rising barrister. No, that was not likely, and he knew it was not likely; but yet he had a certain vague faith in it which impelled him to do anything to please her; and he thought what he had done would please her. He thought he had produced some effect. There was a glow of comfortable sensation in his mind. If, perhaps, he had been not quite kind, not quite just to the poor people he had just quitted, what claim had they upon his kindness? None whatever; and it was all perfectly legitimate, perfectly fair. Were they not coming out of their natural sphere, clutching at the Baronet’s son for their daughter, publicly boasting the time when Nancy should be my lady? And was not any way of putting an end to this fair and defensible? He had done nothing that it was not quite allowable to do.