Page:The Last Chronicle of Barset Vol 2.djvu/34

22 "He wrote me word to say that he would never marry till I was married,—but that on the day that he should hear of my wedding, he would go to the first single woman near him and propose. It was a droll thing to say; was it not?"

"The single woman ought to feel herself flattered."

"He would find plenty to accept him. Besides being so well off he was a very handsome fellow, and is connected with people of title. He had everything to recommend him."

"And yet you refused him so often?"

"Yes. You think I was foolish;—do you not?"

"I don't think you were at all foolish if you didn't care for him."

"It was my destiny, I suppose; I daresay I was wrong. Other girls marry without violent love, and do very well afterwards. Look at Maria Clutterbuck."

The name of Maria Clutterbuck had become odious to John Eames. As long as Miss Demolines would continue to talk about herself he could listen with some amount of gratification. Conversation on that subject was the natural progress of the Bayswater romance. And if Madalina would only call her friend by her present name, he had no strong objection to an occasional mention of the lady; but the combined names of Maria Clutterbuck had come to be absolutely distasteful to him. He did not believe in the Maria Clutterbuck friendship,—either in its past or present existence, as described by Madalina. Indeed, he did not put strong faith in anything that Madalina said to him. In the handsome gentleman with two thousand a year, he did not believe at all. But the handsome gentleman had only been mentioned once in the course of his acquaintance with Miss Demolines, whereas Maria Clutterbuck had come up so often! "Upon my word I must wish you good-by," he said. "It is going on for eleven o'clock, and I have to start to-morrow at seven."

"What difference does that make?"

"A fellow wants to get a little sleep, you know."

"Go then;—go and get your sleep. What a sleepy-headed generation it is." Johnny longed to ask her whether the last generation was less sleepy-headed, and whether the gentleman with two thousand a year had sat up talking all night before he pressed his foot for the last time on his native soil; but he did not dare. As he said to himself afterwards, "It would not do to bring the Bayswater romance too suddenly to its termination!" "But before you go," she continued, "I must say the word to you about that picture. Did you speak to Mr. Dalrymple?"