雙城記 Book2 Chapter 12 The Fellow of Delicacy

XII   The Fellow of Delicacy 

Mr. Stryver having made up his mind to that magnanimous bestowal of good fortune on the Doctor’s daughter, resolved to make her happiness known to her before he left town for the Long Vacation. After some mental debating of the point, he came to the conclusion that it would be as well to get all the preliminaries done with, and they could then arrange at their leisure whether he should give her his hand a week or two before Michaelmas Term, or in the little Christmas vacation between it and Hilary.

As to the strength of his case, he had not a doubt about it, but clearly saw his way to the verdict. Argued with the jury on substantial worldly grounds—the only grounds ever worth taking into account—it was a plain case, and had not a weak spot in it. He called himself for the plaintiff, there was no getting over his evidence, the counsel for the defendant threw up his brief, and the jury did not even turn to consider. After trying it, Stryver, C. J., was satisfied that no plainer case could be.

Accordingly, Mr. Stryver inaugurated the Long Vacation with a formal proposal to take Miss Manette to Vauxhall Gardens; that failing, to Ranelagh; that unaccountably failing too, it behoved him to present himself in Soho, and there declare his noble mind.

Towards Soho, therefore, Mr. Stryver shouldered his way from the Temple, while the bloom of the Long Vacation’s infancy was still upon it. Anybody who had seen him projecting himself into Soho while he was yet on Saint Dunstan’s side of Temple Bar, bursting in his full-blown way along the pavement, to the jostlement of all weaker people, might have seen how safe and strong he was.

His way taking him past Tellson’s, and he both banking at Tellson’s and knowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of the Manettes, it entered Mr. Stryver’s mind to enter the bank, and reveal to Mr. Lorry the brightness of the Soho horizon. So, he pushed open the door with the weak rattle in its throat, stumbled down the two steps, got past the two ancient cashiers, and shouldered himself into the musty back closet where Mr. Lorry sat at great books ruled for figures, with perpendicular iron bars to his window as if that were ruled for figures too, and everything under the clouds were a sum.

‘Halloa!’said Mr. Stryver. ‘How do you do? I hope you are well!’

It was Stryver’s grand peculiarity that he always seemed too big for any place, or space. He was so much too big for Tellson’s, that old clerks in distant corners looked up with looks of remonstrance, as though he squeezed them against the wall. The House itself, magnificently reading the paper quite in the far-off perspective, lowered displeased, as if the Stryver head had been butted into its responsible waistcoat.

The discreet Mr. Lorry said, in a sample tone of the voice he would recommend under the circumstances, ‘How do you do, Mr. Stryver? How do you do, sir?’and shook hands. There was a peculiarity in his manner of shaking hands, always to be seen in any clerk at Tellson’s who shook hands with a customer when the House pervaded the air. He shook in a self-abnegating way, as one who shook for Tellson and Co.

‘Can I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver?’asked Mr. Lorry, in his business character.

‘Why, no, thank you; this is a private visit to yourself, Mr. Lorry; I have come for a private word.’

‘Oh indeed!’said Mr. Lorry, bending down his ear, while his eye strayed to the House afar off.

‘I am going,’said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confidentially on the desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one, there appeared to be not half desk enough for him: ‘I am going to make an offer of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr. Lorry.’

‘Oh dear me!’cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his visitor dubiously.

‘Oh dear me, sir?’repeated Stryver, drawing back. ‘Oh dear you, sir? What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?’

‘My meaning,’answered the man of business, ‘is, of course, friendly and appreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit, and—in short, my meaning is everything you could desire. But—really, you know, Mr. Stryver—’Mr. Lorry paused, and shook his head at him in the oddest manner, as if he were compelled against his will to add, internally, ‘you know there really is so much too much of you!’

‘Well!’said Stryver, slapping the desk with his contentious hand, opening his eyes wider, and taking a long breath, ‘if I understand you, Mr. Lorry, I’ll be hanged!’

Mr. Lorry adjusted his little wig at both ears as a means towards that end, and bit the feather of a pen.

‘D—n it all, sir!’said Stryver, staring at him, ‘am I not eligible?’

‘Oh dear yes! Yes. Oh yes, you’re eligible!’said Mr. Lorry. ‘If you say eligible, you are eligible.’

‘Am I not prosperous?’asked Stryver.

‘Oh! if you come to prosperous, you are prosperous,’said Mr. Lorry.

‘And advancing?’

‘If you come to advancing you know,’said Mr. Lorry, delighted to be able to make another admission, ‘nobody can doubt that.’

‘Then what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry?’demanded Stryver, perceptibly crestfallen.

‘Well! I—Were you going there now?’asked Mr. Lorry.

‘Straight!’said Stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk.

‘Then I think I wouldn’t, if I was you.’

‘Why?’said Stryver. ‘Now, I’ll put you in a corner,’forensically shaking a forefinger at him. ‘You are a man of business and bound to have a reason. State your reason. Why wouldn’t you go?’

‘Because,’said Mr. Lorry, ‘I wouldn’t go on such an object without having some cause to believe that I should succeed.’

‘D—n ME!’cried Stryver, ‘but this beats everything.’

Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and glanced at the angry Stryver.

‘Here’s a man of business—a man of years—a man of experience—IN a Bank,’said Stryver; ‘and having summed up three leading reasons for complete success, he says there’s no reason at all! Says it with his head on!’Mr. Stryver remarked upon the peculiarity as if it would have been infinitely less remarkable if he had said it with his head off.

‘When I speak of success, I speak of success with the young lady; and when I speak of causes and reasons to make success probable, I speak of causes and reasons that will tell as such with the young lady. The young lady, my good sir,’said Mr. Lorry, mildly tapping the Stryver arm, ‘the young lady. The young lady goes before all.’

‘Then you mean to tell me, Mr. Lorry,’said Stryver, squaring his elbows, ‘that it is your deliberate opinion that the young lady at present in question is a mincing Fool?’

‘Not exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver,’said Mr. Lorry, reddening, ‘that I will hear no disrespectful word of that young lady from any lips; and that if I knew any man—which I hope I do not—whose taste was so coarse, and whose temper was so overbearing, that he could not restrain himself from speaking disrespectfully of that young lady at this desk, not even Tellson’s should prevent my giving him a piece of my mind.’

The necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had put Mr. Stryver’s blood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his turn to be angry; Mr. Lorry’s veins, methodical as their courses could usually be, were in no better state now it was his turn.

‘That is what I mean to tell you, sir,’said Mr. Lorry. ‘Pray let there be no mistake about it.’