'But, my dear, if all that I hear is true, there is a most estimable young man whom everybody likes, and particularly all your own family, and whom you like very much yourself; and you will have nothing to say to him, though his constancy is like the constancy of an old Paladin--and all because of this wretch who just now came in your way.'
'Mrs Thorne, it is impossible to explain it all.'
'I do not want you to explain it all. Of course I would not ask any young woman to marry any man whom she did not love. Such marriages are abominable to me. But I think that a young woman ought to get married if the thing fairly comes in her way, and if her friends approve, and if she is fond of the man who is fond of her. It may be that some memory of what has gone before is allowed to stand in your way, and that it should not be so allowed. It sometimes happens that a horrid morbid sentiment will destroy a life. Excuse me, then, Lily, if I say too much to you in my hope that you may not suffer after this fashion.'
'I know how kind you are, Mrs Thorne.'
'Here we are at home, and perhaps you would like to go in. I have some calls which I must make.' Then the conversation was ended, and Lily was alone.
As if she had not thought of it all before! As if here was anything new in this counsel which Mrs Thorne had given her! She had received the same advice from her mother, from her sister, from her uncle, and from Lady Julia, till she was sick of it. How had it come to pass that matters which with others are so private, should with her have become the public property of so large a circle? Any other girl would receive advice on such a subject from her mother alone, and there the secret would rest. But her secret had been published, as it were, by the town-crier in the High Street! Everybody knew that she had been jilted by Adolphus Crosbie, and that it was intended that she should be consoled by John Eames. And people seemed to think that they had a right to rebuke her if she expressed an unwillingness to carry out this intention which the public had so kindly arranged for her.
Morbid sentiment! Why should she be accused of morbid sentiment because she was unable to transfer her affections to a man who had been fixed on as her future husband by the large circle of acquaintances who had interested themselves in her affairs? There was nothing morbid in either her desires or her regrets. So she assured herself, with something very like anger at the accusation made against her. She had been contented, and was contented, to live at home as her mother had lived, asking for no excitement beyond that given by the daily routine of her duties.
There could be nothing morbid in that. She would go back to Allington as soon as might be, and have done with this London life, which only made her wretched. This seeing of Crosbie had been terrible to her. She did not tell herself that his image had been shattered. Her idea was that all her misery had come from the untowardness of the meeting. But there was the fact that she had seen the man and heard his voice, and that the seeing him and hearing him had made her miserable. She certainly desired that it might never be her lot either to see him or to hear him again.
And as for John Eames--in those bitter moments of her reflection she almost wished the same in regard to him. If he would only cease to be her lover, he might be very well; but he was not very well to her as long as his pretensions were dinned into her ear by everybody who knew her. And then she told herself that John would have a better chance if he had been content to plead for himself. In this, I think, she was hard upon her lover. He had pleaded for himself as well as he knew how, and as often as the occasion had been given to him. It had hardly been his fault that his case had been taken in hand by other advocates. He had given no commission to Mrs Thorne to plead for him.
Poor Johnny. He had stood in much better favour before that lady had presented her compliments to Miss L D. It was that odious letter, and the thoughts which it had forced upon Lily's mind, which were now most inimical to his interests. Whether Lily loved him or not, she did not love him well enough to be jealous of him. Had nay such letter reached her respecting Crosbie in the happy days of her young love, she would have simply have laughed at it. It would have been nothing to her. But now she was sore and unhappy, and any trifle was powerful enough to irritate her. 'Is Miss L D engaged to marry Mr J E?' 'No,' said Lily, out loud. 'Lily Dale is not engaged to marry John Eames, and never will be so engaged.' She was almost tempted to sit down and write the required answer to Miss M D. Though the letter had been destroyed, she well remembered the number of the post-office in the Edgware Road. Poor John Eames.
That evening she told Emily Dunstable that she thought she would like to return to Allington before the day that had been appointed for her. 'But why,' said Emily, 'should you be worse than your word?'
'I daresay it will seem silly, but the fact is I am homesick. I'm not accustomed to be away from mama for so long.'
'I hope it is not what occurred today at the picture-gallery.'
'I won't deny that it is that in part.'
'That was a strange accident, you know, that might never occur again.'
'It has occurred twice already, Emily.'
'I don't call the affair in the park anything. Anybody may see anybody else in the Park, of course. He was not brought near you that he could annoy you there. You ought certainly to wait till Mr Eames has come back from Italy.'
Then Lily decided that she must and would go back to Allington on the next Monday, and she actually did write a letter to her mother that night to say that such was her intention. But on the morrow her heart was less sore, and the letter was not sent.