It was true that most ill-natured things had been said at Lessboro’ and at Nuncombe Putney about Mrs Stanbury and the visitors at the Clock House, and that these ill-natured things had spread themselves to Exeter. Mrs Ellison of Lessboro’, who was not the most good-natured woman in the world, had told Mrs Merton of Nuncombe that she had been told that the Colonel’s visit to the lady had been made by express arrangement between the Colonel and Mrs Stanbury. Mrs Merton, who was very good-natured, but not the wisest woman in the world, had declared that any such conduct on the part of Mrs Stanbury was quite impossible ‘What does it matter which it is Priscilla or her mother?’ Mrs Ellison had said. ‘These are the facts. Mrs Trevelyan has been sent there to be out of the way of this Colonel; and the Colonel immediately comes down and sees her at the Clock House. But when people are very poor they do get driven to do almost anything.’

Mrs Merton, not being very wise, had conceived it to be her duty to repeat this to Priscilla; and Mrs Ellison, not being very good-natured, had conceived it to be hers to repeat it to Mrs MacHugh at Exeter. And then Bozzle’s coming had become known.

‘Yes, Mrs MacHugh, a policeman in mufti down at Nuncombe! I wonder what our friend in the Close here will think about it! I have always said, you know, that if she wanted to keep things straight at Nuncombe, she should have opened her purse-strings.’

From all which it may be understood, that Priscilla Stanbury’s desire to go back to their old way of living had not been without reason.

It may be imagined that Miss Stanbury of the Close did not receive with equanimity the reports which reached her. And, of course, when she discussed the matter either with Martha or with Dorothy, she fell back upon her own early appreciation of the folly of the Clock House arrangement. Nevertheless, she had called Mrs Ellison very bad names, when she learned from her friend Mrs MacHugh what reports were being spread by the lady from Lessboro’.

‘Mrs Ellison! Yes; we all know Mrs Ellison. The bitterest tongue in Devonshire, and the falsest! There are some people at Lessboro’ who would be well pleased if she paid her way there as well as those poor women do at Nuncombe. I don’t think much of what Mrs Ellison says.’

‘But it is bad about the policeman,’ said Mrs MacHugh.

‘Of course it’s bad. It’s all bad. I’m not saying that it’s not bad. I’m glad I’ve got this other young woman out of it. It’s all that young man’s doing. If I had a son of my own, I’d sooner follow him to the grave than hear him call himself a Radical.’

Then, on a sudden, there came to the Close news that Mrs Trevelyan and her sister were gone. On the very Monday on which they went, Priscilla sent a note on to her sister, in which no special allusion was made to Aunt Stanbury, but which was no doubt written with the intention that the news should be communicated.

‘Gone; are they? As it is past wishing that they hadn’t come, it’s the best thing they could do now. And who is to pay the rent of the house, now they have gone?’ As this was a point on which Dorothy was not prepared to trouble herself at present, she made no answer to the question.

Dorothy at this time was in a state of very great perturbation on her own account. The reader may perhaps remember that she had been much startled by a proposition that had been made to her in reference to her future life. Her aunt had suggested to her that she should become Mrs Gibson. She had not as yet given any answer to that proposition, and had indeed found it to be quite impossible to speak about it at all. But there can be no doubt that the suggestion had opened out to her altogether new views of life. Up to the moment of her aunt’s speech to her, the idea of her becoming a married woman had never presented itself to her. In her humility it had not occurred to her that she should be counted as one among the candidates for matrimony. Priscilla had taught her to regard herself — indeed, they had both regarded themselves — as born to eat and drink, as little as might be, and then to die. Now, when she was told that she could, if she pleased, become Mrs Gibson, she was almost lost in a whirl of new and confused ideas. Since her aunt had spoken, Mr Gibson himself had dropped a hint or two which seemed to her to indicate that he also must be in the secret. There had been a party, with a supper, at Mrs Crumbie’s, at which both the Miss Frenches had been present. But Mr Gibson had taken her, Dorothy Stanbury, out to supper, leaving both Camilla and Arabella behind him in the drawing-room! During the quarter of an hour afterwards in which the ladies were alone while the gentlemen were eating and drinking, both Camilla and Arabella continued to wreak their vengeance. They asked questions about Mrs Trevelyan, and suggested that Mr Gibson might be sent over to put things right. But Miss Stanbury had heard them, and had fallen upon them with a heavy hand.

‘There’s a good deal expected of Mr Gibson, my dears,’ she said, ‘which it seems to me Mr Gibson is not inclined to perform.’

‘It is quite indifferent to us what Mr Gibson may be inclined to perform,’ said Arabella. ‘I’m sure we shan’t interfere with Miss Dorothy.’

As this was said quite out loud before all the other ladies, Dorothy was overcome with shame. But her aunt comforted her when they were again at home.

‘Laws, my dear; what does it matter? When you’re Mrs Gibson, you’ll be proud of it all.’

Was it then really written in the book of the Fates that she, Dorothy Stanbury, was to become Mrs Gibson? Poor Dorothy began to feel that she was called upon to exercise an amount of thought and personal decision to which she had not been accustomed. Hitherto, in the things which she had done, or left undone, she had received instructions which she could obey. Had her mother and Priscilla told her positively not to go to her aunt’s house, she would have remained at Nuncombe without complaint. Had her aunt since her coming given her orders as to her mode of life — enjoined, for instance, additional church attendances, or desired her to perform menial services in the house — she would have obeyed, from custom, without a word. But when she was told that she was to marry Mr Gibson, it did seem to her to be necessary to do something more than obey. Did she love Mr Gibson? She tried hard to teach herself to think that she might learn to love him. He was a nice-looking man enough, with sandy hair, and a head rather bald, with thin lips, and a narrow nose, who certainly did preach drawling sermons; but of whom everybody said that he was a very excellent clergyman. He had a house and an income, and all Exeter had long since decided that he was a man who would certainly marry. He was one of those men of whom it may be said that they have no possible claim to remain unmarried. He was fair game, and unless he surrendered himself to be bagged before long, would subject himself to just and loud complaint. The Miss Frenches had been aware of this, and had thought to make sure of him among them. It was a little hard upon them that the old maid of the Close, as they always called Miss Stanbury, should interfere with them when their booty was almost won. And they felt it to be the harder because Dorothy Stanbury was, as they thought, so poor a creature. That Dorothy herself should have any doubt as to accepting Mr Gibson, was an idea that never occurred to them. But Dorothy had her doubts. When she came to think of it, she remembered that she had never as yet spoken a word to Mr Gibson, beyond such little trifling remarks as are made over a tea-table. She might learn to love him, but she did not think that she loved him as yet.

‘I don’t suppose all this will make any difference to Mr Gibson,’ said Miss Stanbury to her niece, on the morning after the receipt of Priscilla’s note stating that the Trevelyans had left Nuncombe.

Dorothy always blushed when Mr Gibson’s name was mentioned, and she blushed now. But she did not at all understand her aunt’s allusion. ‘I don’t know what you mean, aunt,’ she said.

‘Well, you know, my dear, what they say about Mrs Trevelyan and the Clock House is not very nice. If Mr Gibson were to turn round and say that the connection wasn’t pleasant, no one would have a right to complain.’

The faint customary blush on Dorothy’s cheeks which Mr Gibson’s name had produced now covered her whole face even up to the roots of her hair. ‘If he believes bad of mamma, I’m sure, Aunt Stanbury, I don’t want to see him again.’

‘That’s all very fine, my dear, but a man has to think of himself, you know.’

‘Of course he thinks of himself. Why shouldn’t he? I dare say he thinks of himself more than I do.’

‘Dorothy, don’t be a fool. A good husband isn’t to be caught every day.’

‘Aunt Stanbury, I don’t want to catch any man.’

‘Dorothy, don’t be a fool.’

‘I must say it. I don’t suppose Mr Gibson thinks of me the least in the world.’

‘Psha! I tell you he does.’

‘But as for mamma and Priscilla, I never could like anybody for a moment who would be ashamed of them.’

She was most anxious to declare that, as far as she knew herself and her own wishes at present, she entertained no partiality for Mr Gibson, no feeling which could become partiality even if Mr Gibson was to declare himself willing to accept her mother and her sister with herself. But she did not dare to say so. There was an instinct within her which made it almost impossible to her to express an objection to a suitor before the suitor had declared himself to be one. She could speak out as touching her mother and her sister but as to her own feelings she could express neither assent or dissent.

‘I should like to have it settled soon,’ said Miss Stanbury, in a melancholy voice. Even to this Dorothy could make no reply. What did soon mean? Perhaps in the course of a year or two. ‘If it could be arranged by the end of this week, it would be a great comfort to me.’ Dorothy almost fell off her chair, and was stricken altogether dumb. ‘I told you, I think, that Brooke Burgess is coming here?’

‘You said he was to come some day.’

‘He is to be here on Monday. I haven’t seen him for more than twelve years; and now he’s to be here next week! Dear, dear! When I think sometimes of all the hard words that have been spoken, and the harder thoughts that have been in people’s minds, I often regret that the money ever came to me at all. I could have done without it very well, very well.’

‘But all the unpleasantness is over now, aunt.’

‘I don’t know about that. Unpleasantness of that kind is apt to rankle long. But I wasn’t going to give up my rights. Nobody but a coward does that. They talked of going to law and trying the will, but they wouldn’t have got much by that. And then they abused me for two years. When they had done and got sick of it, I told them they should have it all back again as soon as I am dead. It won’t be long now. This Burgess is the elder nephew, and he shall have it all.’

‘Is not he grateful?’

‘No. Why should he be grateful? I don’t do it for special love of him. I don’t want his gratitude; nor anybody’s gratitude. Look at Hugh. I did love him.’

‘I am grateful, Aunt Stanbury.’

‘Are you, my dear? Then show it by being a good wife to Mr Gibson, and a happy wife. I want to get everything settled while Burgess is here. If he is to have it, why should I keep him out of it whilst I live? I wonder whether Mr Gibson would mind coming and living here, Dolly?’

The thing was coming so near to her that Dorothy began to feel that she must, in truth, make up her mind, and let her aunt know also how it had been made up. She was sensible enough to perceive that if she did not prepare herself for the occasion she would find herself hampered by an engagement simply because her aunt had presumed that it was out of the question that she should not acqu............