'If he took her out of the streets, then it would be the same?' said the archdeacon with bitter anger.
'No;--for such a one would herself be bad.'
'Or if she were the daughter of a huckster out of the city?'
'No again;--or in that case her want of education would probably unfit her for your society.'
'Her father's disgrace, then, should be a matter of indifference to me, Lady Lufton?'
'I did not say so. In the first place, her father is not disgraced--not as yet; and we do not know whether he may ever be disgraced. You will hardly be disposed to say that persecution from the palace disgraces a clergyman in Barsetshire.'
'All the same, I believe that the man was guilty,' said the archdeacon.
'Wait and see, my friend, before you condemn him altogether. But, be that as it may, I acknowledge that the marriage is one which must naturally be distasteful to you.'
'Oh, Lady Lufton! If you only knew! If you only knew!'
'I do know; and I feel for you. But I think that your son has a right to expect that you should not show the same repugnance to such a marriage as this as you would have had a right to show had he suggested to himself a wife as those at which you had just now hinted. Of course you can advise him, and make him understand your feelings; but I cannot think you will be justified in quarrelling with him, or in changing your views towards him with regards money, seeing that Miss Crawley is an educated lady, who has done nothing to forfeit your respect.' A heavy cloud came upon the archdeacons's brow as he heard these words, but he did not make any immediate answer. 'Of course, my friend,' continued Lady Lufton, 'I should not have ventured to say so much to you, had you not come to me, as it were, for my opinion.'
'I came here because I thought Henry was here,' said the archdeacon.
'If I have said too much, I beg your pardon.'
'No; you have not said too much. It is not that. You and I are such old friends that either may say almost anything to the other.'
'Yes;--just so. And therefore I have ventured to speak my mind,' said Lady Lufton.
'Of course;--and I am obliged to you. But, Lady Lufton, you do not understand yet how this hits me. Everything in life that I have done, Ihave done for my children. I am wealthy, but I have not used my wealth for myself, because I have desired that they should be able to hold their heads high in the world. All my ambition has been for them, and all the pleasure which I have anticipated for myself in my old age is that which I have hoped to receive from their credit. As for Henry, he might have had anything he wanted from me in the way of money. He expressed a wish, a few months since, to go into Parliament, and Ipromised to help him as far as ever I could go. I have kept up the game altogether for him. He, the younger son of a working parish parson, has had everything that could be given to the eldest son of a country gentleman--more than is given to the eldest son of many a peer. I have hoped that he would marry again, but I have never cared that he should marry for money. I have been willing to do anything for him myself. But, Lady Lufton, a father does feel that he should have some return for all this. No one can imagine that Henry ever supposed that a bride from that wretched place at Hogglestock could be welcomed among us. He knew that he would break our hearts, and he did not care for it. That is what Ifeel. Of course he has the power to do as he likes;--and of course Ihave the power to do as I like also with what is my own.'