'I will ask her, if you please. I have such trust in her judgment that I should leave her altogether to her own discretion.'
The magnificent thing must be done, and the major made up his mind accordingly. Something of regret came over his spirit as he thought of a father-in-law disgraced and degraded, and of his own father broken-hearted. But now there was hardly any alternative left to him.
And was it not the manly thing for him to do? He had loved the girl before this trouble had come upon her, and was he not bound to accept the burden which his love had brought with it? 'I will see her,' he said, 'at once, if you will let me, and ask her to be my wife. But Imust see her alone.'
Then Miss Prettyman paused. Hitherto, she had undoubtedly been playing her fish cautiously, or rather her young friend's fish--perhaps I may say cunningly. She had descended to artifice on behalf of the girl whom she loved, admired, and pitied. She had seen some way into the man's mind, and had been partly aware of his purpose--of his infirmity of purpose, of his double purpose. She had perceived that a word from her might help Grace's chance, and had led the man on till he had committed himself, at any rate to her. In doing this she had been actuated by friendship rather than by abstract principle. But now, when the moment had come in which she must decide upon some action, she paused. Was it right, for the sake of either of them, that an offer of marriage should be made at such a moment as this? It might be very well, in regard to some future time, that the major should have so committed himself. She saw something of the man's spirit, and believed that, having gone so far--having so far told his love, he would return to his love hereafter, let the result of the Crawley trial be what it might. But--but, this could be no proper time for love-******. Though Grace loved the man, as Miss Prettyman knew well, though Grace loved the child, having allowed herself to long to call it her own, though such a marriage could be the ****** of Grace's fortune as those who loved her could hardly have hoped that it should ever have been made, she would certainly refuse the man, if he were to propose to her now. She would refuse him, and then the man would be free;--free to change his mind if he saw fit. Considering all these things, craftily in the exercise of her friendship, too cunningly, I fear, to satisfy the claims of a high morality, she resolved that the major had better not see Miss Crawley at the present moment. Miss Prettyman paused before she replied, and, when she did speak, Major Grantly had risen from his chair and was standing with his back to the fire. 'Major Grantly,' she said, 'you shall see if you please, and if she pleases; but I doubt whether her answer at such a moment as this would be that which you would wish to receive.'
'You think she would refuse me?'
'I do not think she would accept you now. She would feel--I am sure she would feel, that these hours of her father's sorrow are not hours in which love should be either offered or accepted. You shall, however, see her if you please.'
The major allowed himself a moment for thought; and as he thought he sighed. Grace Crawley had become more beautiful in his eyes than ever, was endowed by these words from Miss Prettyman with new charms and brighter virtues than he had seen before. Let come what might he would ask her to be his wife on some future day; if he did not ask her now.
For the present, perhaps, he had better be guided by Miss Prettyman.
'Then I will not see her,' he said.
'I think that would be the wiser course.'
'Of course you knew before this that I--loved her?'
'I thought so, Major Grantly.'
'And that I intended to ask her to be my wife?'