Clergy -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
doubted her regard with a doubt which threw darkness over the whole
universe; but that she should be able for a moment to doubt his entire
devotion to her, seemed a blindness incredible. No; let who would
believe ill of him in this respect, to Lucy such an accusation must look
as monstrous as it was untrue. _She_, at least, knew otherwise; and,
taking this false comfort to his heart, Mr Wentworth took up his
letters, and presently was deep in the anxieties of his brother Gerald,
who wrote to him as to a man at leisure, and without any overwhelming
perplexities of his own. It requires a very high amount of unselfishness
in the person thus addressed to prevent a degree of irritation which is
much opposed to sympathy; and Mr Wentworth, though he was very impartial
and reasonable, was not, being still young and meaning to be happy,
unselfish to any inhuman degree. He put down Gerald's letter, after he
had read through half of it, with an exclamation of impatience which he
could not restrain, and then poured out his coffee, which had got cold
in the mean time, and gulped it down with a sense of half-comforting
disgust--for there are moments when the mortification of the flesh
is a relief to the spirit; and then it occurred to him to remember
Wodehouse's tray, which was a kind of love-offering to the shabby
vagabond, and the perfect good order in which _he_ had his breakfast;
and Mr Wentworth laughed at himself with a whimsical perception of all
that was absurd in his own position which did him good, and broke the
spell of his solitary musings. When he took up Gerald's letter again, he
read it through. A man more sympathetic, open-hearted, and unselfish
than Gerald Wentworth did not exist in the world, as his brother well
knew; but nevertheless, Gerald's mind was so entirely preoccupied that
he passed over the Curate's cares with the lightest reference
imaginable. "I hope you found all right when you got back, and nothing
seriously amiss with Jack," the elder brother wrote, and then went on to
his own affairs. All right! nothing seriously amiss! To a man who felt
himself standing on the edge of possible ruin, such expressions seemed
strange indeed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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