Griselda had done very well, and Mrs Grantly had rejoiced; but she had lost her child. Now the major, who had done well also, though in a much lesser degree, was still her child, moving in the same sphere of life with her, still dependent in a great degree upon his father's bounty, a neighbour in the county, a frequent visitor at the parsonage, and a visitor who could be received without any of that trouble that attended the unfrequent comings of Griselda, the Marchioness, to the home of her youth. And for this reason Mrs Grantly, terribly put out as she was at the idea of a marriage between her son and one standing so poorly in the world's esteem as Grace Crawley, would not have brought forward the matter before her daughter, had she been left to her own desires. Amarchioness in one's family is a tower of strength, no doubt; but there are counsellors so strong that we do not wish to trust them, lest in the trusting we ourselves be overwhelmed by their strength. Now Mrs Grantly was by no means willing to throw her influence into the hands of her titled daughter.
But the titled daughter was consulted and gave her advice. On the occasion of the present visit to Plumstead she had consented to lay her head for two nights on the parsonage pillows, and on the second evening her brother the major was to come over from Cosby Lodge to meet her.
Before his coming the affair of Grace Crawley was discussed.
'It would break my heart, Griselda,'said the archdeacon, piteously--'and your mother's.'
'There is nothing against the girl's character,' said Mrs Grantly, 'and the father and mother are gentlefolk by birth; but such a marriage for Henry would be unseemly.'
'To make it worse, there is a terrible story about him,' said the archdeacon.
'I don't suppose there is much in that,' said Mrs Grantly.
'I can't say. There is no knowing. They told me today in Barchester that Soames is pressing a case against him.'
'Who is Soames, papa?' asked the marchioness.
'He is Lord Lufton's man of business, my dear.'
'Oh, Lord Lufton's man of business!' There was something of a sneer in the tone of the lady's voice as she mentioned Lord Lufton's name.
'I am told,' continued the archdeacon, 'that Soames declares the cheque was taken from a pocket-book which he left by accident in Crawley's house.'
'You don't mean to say, archdeacon, that you think that Mr Crawley--a clergyman--stole it!' said Mrs Grantly.
'I don't say anything of the kind, my dear. But supposing Mr Crawley to be as honest as the sun, you wouldn't wish Henry to marry his daughter.'
'Certainly not,' said the mother. 'It would be an unfitting marriage.
The poor girl has no advantages.'
'He is not able to pay the baker's bill. I always though Arabin was very wrong to place such a man in such a parish as Hogglestock. Of course the family could not live there.' The Arabin here spoken of was Dr Arabin, dean of Barchester. The dean and archdeacon had married sisters, and there was much intimacy between the families.
'After all it is only rumour, as yet,' said Mrs Grantly.
'Fothergill told me only yesterday, that he sees her almost every day,' said the father. 'What are we to do, Griselda? You know how headstrong Henry is.' The marchioness sat quite still; looking at the fire, and made no immediate answer to this address.
'There is nothing for it but that you should tell him what you think,' said the mother.
'If his sister were to speak to him, it might do much,' said the archdeacon. To this Mrs Grantly said nothing; but Mrs Grantly's daughter understood very well that her mother's confidence in her was not equal to her father's. Lady Hartletop said nothing, but still sat, with impassive face, and eyes fixed upon the fire. 'I think that if you were to speak to him, Griselda, and tell him that he would disgrace his family, he would be ashamed to go on with such a marriage,' said the father. 'He would feel, connected as he is with Lord Hartletop--'
'I don't think he would feel anything about that,' said Mrs Grantly.
'I daresay not,' said Lady Hartletop.
'I am sure he ought to feel it,' said the father. They were all silent, and sat looking at the fire.
'I suppose, papa, you allow Henry an income,' said Lady Hartletop, after a while.
'Indeed I do--eight hundred a year.'
'Then I think I should tell him that that must depend upon his conduct.
Mamma, if you won't mind ringing the bell, I will send for Cecile, and go upstairs and dress.' Then the marchioness went upstairs to dress, and in about an hour the major arrived in his dogcart. He was also allowed to go upstairs to dress before anything was said to him about his great offence.
'Griselda is right,' said the archdeacon, speaking to his wife out of his dressing-room. 'She is always right. I never knew a young woman with more sense than Griselda.'
'But you do not mean to say that in any event you would stop Henry's income?' Mrs Grantly was also dressing and made reply out of her bedroom.
'Upon my word, I don't know. As a father I would do anything to prevent such a marriage as that.'
'But if he did marry her in spite of the threat? And he would if he had once said so.'
'Is a father's word, then, to go for nothing; and a father who allows his son eight hundred a year? If he told the girl that he would be ruined she couldn't hold him to it.'
'My dear, they'd know as well as I do, that you would give way after three months.'
'But why should I give way? Good heavens--'
'Of course you'd give way, and of course we should have the young woman here, and of course we should make the best of it.'