“I don’t expect it, mamma,” said Lily. “And I am sure that Grace does not. Indeed I am quite sure that Grace does not expect even to see him ever again. She never says so, but I know that she has made up her mind about it. Still I think he ought to come.”
“It can hardly be that a man is bound to do a thing, the doing of which, as you confess, would be almost more than noble,” said Mrs. Dale. And so the matter had been discussed between them. But now, as it seemed to Mrs. Dale, the man had come to do this noble thing. At any rate he was there in her drawing-room, and before either of them had sat down he had contrived to mention Grace.
“You may not probably have heard my name,” he said, “but I am acquainted with your friend, Miss Crawley.”
“I know your name very well, Major Grantly. My brother-in-law who lives over yonder, Mr. Dale, knows your father very well—or he did some years ago. And I have heard him say that he remembers you.”
“I recollect. He used to be staying at Ullathorne. But that is a long time ago. Is he at home now?”
“Mr. Dale is almost always at home. He very rarely goes away, and I am sure would be glad to see you.”
Then there was a little pause in the conversation. They had managed to seat themselves, and Mrs. Dale had said enough to put her visitor fairly at his ease. If he had anything special to say to her, he must say it—any request or proposition to make as to Grace Crawley, he must make it. And he did make it at once. “My object in coming to Allington,” he said, “was to see Miss Crawley.”
“She and my daughter have taken a long walk to call on a friend, and I am afraid they will stay for lunch; but they will certainly be home between three and four, if that is not too long for you to remain at Allington.”
“O dear, no,” said he. “It will not hurt me to wait.”
“It certainly will not hurt me, Major Grantly. Perhaps you will lunch with me?”
“I’ll tell you what, Mrs. Dale; if you’ll permit me, I’ll explain to you why I have come here. Indeed, I have intended to do so all through, and I can only ask you to keep my secret, if after all it should require to be kept.”
“I will certainly keep any secret that you may ask me to keep,” said Mrs. Dale, taking off her bonnet.
“I hope there may be no need of one,” said Major Grantly. “The truth is, Mrs. Dale, that I have known Miss Crawley for some time—nearly for two years now, and—I may as well speak it out at once—I have made up my mind to ask her to be my wife. That is why I am here.” Considering the nature of the statement, which must have been embarrassing, I think that it was made with fluency and simplicity.
“Of course, Major Grantly, you know that I have no authority with our young friend,” said Mrs. Dale. “I mean that she is not connected with us by family ties. She has a father and mother, living, as I believe, in the same county with yourself.”
“I know that, Mrs. Dale.”
“And you may, perhaps, understand that, as Miss Crawley is now staying with me, I owe it in a measure to her friends to ask you whether they are aware of your intention.”
“They are not aware of it.”
“I know that at the present moment they are in great trouble.”
Mrs. Dale was going on, but she was interrupted by Major Grantly. “That is just it,” he said. “There are circumstances at present which make it almost impossible that I should go to Mr. Crawley and ask his permission to address his daughter. I do not know whether you have heard the whole story?”
“As much, I believe, as Grace could tell me.”
“He is, I believe, in such a state of mental distress as to be hardly capable of giving me a considerate answer. And I should not know how to speak to him, or how not to speak to him, about this unfortunate affair. But, Mrs. Dale, you will, I think, perceive that the same circumstances make it imperative upon me to be explicit to Miss Crawley. I think I am the last man to boast of a woman’s regard, but I had learned to think that I was not indifferent to Grace. If that be so, what must she think of me if I stay away from her now?”
“She understands too well the weight of the misfortune which has fallen upon her father, to suppose that anyone not connected with her can be bound to share it.”
“That is just it. She will think that I am silent for that reason. I have determined that that shall not keep me silent, and, therefore, I have come here. I may, perhaps, be able to bring comfort to her in her trouble. As regards my worldly position—though, indeed, it will not be very good—as hers is not good either, you will not think yourself bound to forbid me to see her on that head.”
“Certainly not. I need hardly say that I fully understand that, as regards money, you are offering everything where you can get nothing.”
“And you understand my feeling?”
“Indeed, I do—and appreciate the great nobility of your love for Grace. You shall see her here, if you wish it—and today, if you choose to wait.” Major Grantly said that he would wait and would see Grace on that afternoon. Mrs. Dale again suggested that he should lunch with her, but this he declined. She then proposed that he should go across and call upon the squire, and thus consume his time. But to this he also objected. He was not exactly in
