When Mrs Arabin saw Johnny in the middle of the day, she could hardly give him much encouragement. And yet she felt by no means sure that he might not succeed even yet. Lily had been very positive in her answers, and yet there had been something either in her words or in the tone of her voice, which had made Mrs Arabin feel that even Lily was not quite sure of herself. There was still room for relenting. Nothing, however, had been said which could justify her in bidding John Eames simply to 'go and win'. 'I think he is light of heart,' Lily had said. Those were the words which, of all that had been spoken, most impressed themselves on Mrs Arabin's memory. She would not repeat them to her friend, but she would graft upon them such advice as she had to give him.
And this she did, telling him that she thought perhaps Lily doubted his actual earnestness. 'I would marry her this moment,' said Johnny. But that was not enough, as Mrs Arabin knew, to prove his earnestness. Many men, fickle as weathercocks, are ready to marry at the moment--are ready to marry at the moment, because they are fickle, and think so little about it. 'But she hears, perhaps, of your liking other people,' said Mrs Arabin. 'I don't care a straw for any other person,' said Johnny. 'Iwonder whether if I was to shut myself up in a cage for six months, it would do any good?' 'If she had the keeping of the cage, perhaps it might,' said Mrs Arabin. She had nothing more to say on that subject, but to tell him that Miss Dale would expect him that afternoon at half-past five. 'I told her that you would come to wish her good-bye, and she promised to see you.'
'I wish she'd say she wouldn't see me. Then there would be some chance.'
Between him and Mrs Arabin, the parting was very affectionate. She told him how thankful she was for the kindness in coming to her, and how grateful she would ever be--and the dean also--for his attention to her.
'Remember, Mr Eames, that you will always be most welcome at the Deanery of Barchester. And I do hope that before long you may be there with your wife.' And so they parted.
He left her at about two, and went to Mr Toogood's office in Bedford Row. He found his uncle, and the two went out to lunch together in Holborn. Between them there was no word said about Lily Dale, and John was glad to have some other subject in his mind for half an hour.
Toogood was full of his triumph about Mr Crawley and of his successes in Barsetshire. He gave John a long account of his visit to Plumstead, and expressed his opinion that if all clergymen were like the archdeacon there would not be much room for Dissenters. 'I've seen a good many parsons in my time,' said Toogood; 'but I don't think I ever saw such a one as him. You know he is a clergyman somehow, and he never lets you forget it; but that's about all. Most of 'em are never contented without choking you with their white cravats all the time you're with 'em. As for Crawley himself,' Mr Toogood continued, 'he's not like anybody that ever was born, saint or sinner, parson or layman. I never heard of such a man in all my experience. Though he knew where he got the cheque as well I know it now, he wouldn't say so, because the dean had said it wasn't so. Somebody ought to write a book about it--indeed they ought.'
Then he told the whole story of Dan Stringer, and how he had found Dan out, looking at the tope of Dan's hat through the little aperture in the wall of the inn parlour. 'When I saw the twitch in his hand, John, Iknew he had handled the cheque himself. I don't mean to say that I'm sharper than another man, and I don't think so; but I do mean to say that when you are in any difficulty of that sort, you ought to go to a lawyer. It's his business, and a man does what is his business with patience and perseverance. It's a pity, though, that the scoundrel should get off.' Then Eames gave his uncle an account of his Italian trip, to and fro, and was congratulated also upon his success. John's great triumph lay in the fact that he had been only two nights in bed, and that he would not have so far condescended on those occasions but for the feminine weakness of his fellow-traveller. 'We shan't forget it all in a hurry--shall we, John?' said Mr Toogood, in a pleasant voice, as they parted at the door of the luncheon-house in Holborn. Toogood was returning to his office, and John Eames was to prepare himself for his last attempt.
He went back to his lodgings, intending at first to change his dress to make himself smarter for the work before him--but after standing for a moment or two leaning on the chest of drawers in his bedroom, he gave up this idea. 'After all that's come and gone,' he said to himself, 'if Icannot win her as I am now, I cannot win her at all.' And then he swore to himself a solemn oath, resolving that he would repeat the purport of it to Lily herself--that this should be the last attempt. 'What's the use of it? Everybody ridicules me. And I am ridiculous. I am an ass.
It's all very well wanting to be the prime minister; but if you can't be prime minister, you must do without being prime minister.' Then he attempted to sing the old song--'Shall I, sighing in despair, die because a woman's fair? If she be not fair to me, what care I how fair she be?' But he did care, and he told himself that the song did him no good. As it was not time for him as yet to go to Lily, he threw himself on the sofa, and strove to read a book. Then all the weary nights of his journey prevailed over him, and he fell asleep.
When he woke it wanted quarter to six. He sprang up, and rushing out, jumped into a cab. 'Berkeley Square--as hard as you can go,' he said.
'Number --.' He thought of Rosalind, and her counsels to lovers as to the keeping of time, and reflected that in such an emergency as this, he might really have ruined himself by that unfortunate slumber. When he got to Mrs Thorne's door he knocked hurriedly, and bustled up to the drawing-room as though everything depended on his saving a minute. 'I'm afraid I'm ever so much behind my time,' he said.
