'Not unless a certain gentleman were to die first,' said Conway Dalrymple, as he deposited the last of his painting paraphernalia in the recess which had been prepared for them by Mrs Broughton.
'Conway, how can you speak in that wicked, wicked way?'
'I can assure that I do not wish the gentleman in question the slightest harm in the world. If his welfare depended on me, he should be safe as the Bank of England.'
'And you will not take my advice?'
'What advice?'
'About Clara?'
'Mrs Broughton, matrimony is a very important thing.'
'Indeed, it is;--oh, who can say how important! There was a time, Conway, when I thought that you had given your heart to Madelina Demolines.'
'Heaven forbid!'
'And I grieved, because I thought that she was not worthy of you.'
'There was never anything in that, Mrs Broughton.'
'She thought that there was. At any rate, she said so. I know that for certain. She told me so herself. But let that pass. Clara Van Siever is in every respect very different from Madalina. Clara, I think, is worthy of you. And Conway--of course it is not for me to dictate to you; but this I must tell you--'
'What must you tell me?'
'I will tell you nothing more. If you cannot understand what I have said, you must be more dull of comprehension than I believe you to be.
Now go. Why are you not gone this half-hour?'
'How could I go while you were giving me all this good advice?'
'I have not asked you to stay. Go now, at any rate. And, remember, Conway, if this picture is to go on, I will not have you remaining here after the work is done. Will you remember that?' And she held him by the hand while he declared that he would remember it.
Mrs Dobbs Broughton was no more in love with Conway Dalrymple than she was in love with King Charles on horseback at Charing Cross. And, over and beyond the protection which came to her in the course of nature from impassioned feelings in this special phase of her life--and indeed, if Imay say, in every phase of her life--it must be acknowledged on her behalf that she did enjoy that protection which comes from what we call principle--though the principle was not perhaps very high of its kind.
Madalina Demolines had been right when she talked of her friend Maria's principles. Dobbs Broughton had been so far lucky in that jump in the dark which had made in taking a wife to himself, that he had not fallen upon a really vicious woman, or upon a woman of strong feeling. It had come to be the lot of Mrs Dobbs Broughton to have six hours' work every day of her life, I think that the work would have been done badly, but that it would have kept her fires from all danger. As it was she had nothing to do. She had no child. She was not given to much reading. She could not sit with a needle in her hand all day. She had no aptitude for May meetings, or the excitement of charitable good works. Life with her was very dull, and she found no amusement within her reach so easy and so pleasant as the amusement of pretending to be in love. If all that she did and all that she said could only have been taken for its worth and for nothing more, by the different persons concerned, there was very little in it to flatter Mr Dalrymple or to give cause for tribulation to Mr Broughton. She probably cared but little for either of them. She was one of those women to whom it is not given by nature to care very much for anybody. But, of the two, she certainly cared the most for Mr Dobbs Broughton--because Mr Dobbs Broughton belonged to her. As to leaving Mr Dobbs Broughton's house, and putting herself into the hands of another man--no Imogen of a wife was ever less likely to take step so wicked, so dangerous, and so generally disagreeable to all the parties concerned.
But Conway Dalrymple--though now and again he had got a side glance at her true character with a clear-seeing eye--did allow himself to be flattered and deceived. He knew that she was foolish and ignorant, and that she often talked wonderful nonsense. He knew also that she was continually contradicting herself--as when she would strenuously beg him to leave her, while she would continue to talk to him in a strain that prevented the possibility of his going. But, nevertheless, he was flattered, and he did believe that she loved him. As to his love for her--he knew very well that it amounted to nothing. Now and again, perhaps, twice a week, if he saw her as often, he would say something which would imply a declaration of affection. He felt that as much as that was expected from him, and that he ought not to hope to get off cheaper. And now that this little play was going on about Miss Van Siever, he did think that Mrs Dobbs Broughton was doing her very best to overcome an unfortunate attachment. It is so gratifying to a young man's feelings to suppose that another man's wife has conceived an unfortunate attachment for him! Conway Dalrymple ought not to have been fooled by such a woman; but I fear that he was fooled by her.
As he returned home today from Mrs Broughton's house to his own lodgings he rambled out for a while into Kensington Gardens, and thought of his position seriously. 'I don't see why I should not marry her,' he said to himself, thinking of course of Miss Van Siever. 'If Maria is not in earnest it is not my fault. And it would be my wish that she should be in earnest. If I suppose her to be so, and take her at her word, she can have no right to quarrel with me. Poor Maria! At any rate it will be better for her, for no good can come of this kind of thing. And, by heavens, with a woman like that, of strong feelings, one never knows what may happen.' And then he thought of the condition he would be in, if he were to find her some fine day in his own rooms, and if she were to tell him that she could not go home again, and that she meant to remain with him!
In the meantime Mrs Dobbs Broughton has gone down into her own drawing-room, had tucked herself up on the sofa, and had fallen fast asleep.