Robert Burrell, the other lover, had nothing romantic about him, not even poverty. He was unpoetically rich––he even trafficked in money. The rector was a very young man; Burrell was thirty-eight years old. The rector wrote poetry, and understood Browning, and recited from Arnold and Morris. Burrell’s tastes were for social science and statistics. He was thoughtful, intelligent, well-bred, and reticent; small in figure, with a large head and very fine eyes. The rector, on the contrary, was tall and fair, and so exceedingly handsome that women especially never perceived that the portal to all his senses was small and low and that he was incapable of receiving a great idea.
On that Saturday morning Robert Burrell resolved to test his fate, and he wrote to Miss Tresham. It was a letter full of that passionate adoration he was too timid to personally offer, and his protestations were honourably certified by the offer of his hand and fortune. It was a noble letter; a letter no woman could easily put aside. It meant to Elizabeth a sure love to guard and comfort her and an absolute release from the petty straits and anxieties of genteel poverty. It would make her the mistress of the finest domestic establishment in the neighbourhood––it would give her opportunities for helping Roland to the position in life he ought to occupy; and this thought––though an after one––had a great influence on Elizabeth’s mind.
After some consideration she took the letter to 24 her father. He was in one of his most querulous moods, ill-disposed to believe in any good thing coming to him. He read the letter under such influence, and yet he could not but be sensible of its importance.
“It is a piece of unexpected good fortune for you, Elizabeth,” he said with a sigh. “Of course it will leave me alone here, but I do not mind that now; all else has gone––why not you? I thought, however, the rector was your choice. I hope you have no entanglement there.”
“He has never asked me to be his wife, but he has constantly shown that he wished it. He is poor––I think he felt that.”
“He has made love to you, called you the fairest girl on earth, made you believe he lived only in your presence, and so on, and so on?”
“Yes, he has talked in that way for a long time.”
“He never intends to ask you to marry him. He asked Dr. Eyre if you had any fortune. Oh, I know his kind and their ways!”
“I think you are mistaken, father. If he knew Mr. Burrell wished to marry me he would venture to–––”
“You think he would? I am sure he would not––but here the gentleman comes. I will speak a few words to him and then he will speak to you, and after that you can answer Mr. Burrell’s letter. Stay a moment, Elizabeth. It is only fair to tell you that I have no money but my annuity. When I die you will be penniless.”