“Dear Lady Lufton,” said Grace, getting up suddenly from her chair; “will you do me a favour—a great favour?” She spoke with an energy which quite surprised the old lady, and caused her almost to start from her seat.
“I don’t like making promises,” said Lady Lufton; “but anything I can do with propriety I will.”
“You can do this. Pray let me stay here today. You don’t understand how I feel about going out while papa is in this way. I know how kind and how good you all are; and when dear Mrs. Robarts asked me here, and mamma said that I had better come, I could not refuse. But indeed, indeed, I had rather not go out to a dinner-party.”
“It is not a party, my dear girl,” said Lady Lufton, with the kindest voice which she knew how to assume. “And you must remember that my daughter-in-law regards you as so very old a friend! You remember, of course, when she was staying over at Hogglestock?”
“Indeed I do. I remember it well.”
“And therefore you should not regard it as going out. There will be nobody there but ourselves and the people from this house.”
“But it will be going out, Lady Lufton; and I do hope you will let me stay here. You cannot think how I feel it. Of course I cannot go without something like dressing, and—and—and—In poor papa’s state I feel that I ought not to do anything that looks like gaiety. I ought never to forget it;—not for a moment.”
There was a tear in Lady Lufton’s eye as she said—“My dear, you shan’t come. You and Fanny shall stop and dine here by yourselves. The gentlemen shall come.”
“Do let Mrs. Robarts go, please,” said Grace.
“I won’t do anything of the kind,” said Lady Lufton. Then, when Mrs. Robarts returned to the room, her ladyship explained it all in two words. “Whilst you have been away, my dear, Grace has begged off, and therefore we have decided that Mr. Oriel and Mr. Robarts shall come without you.”
“I am so sorry, Mrs. Robarts,” said Grace.
“Pooh, pooh,” said Lady Lufton. “Fanny and I have known each other quite long enough not to stand on any compliments—haven’t we, my dear? I must get home now, as all the morning has gone by. Fanny my dear, I want to speak to you.” Then she expressed her opinion of Grace Crawley as she walked across the parsonage garden with Mrs. Robarts. “She is a very nice girl, and a very good girl I am sure; and she shows excellent feeling. Whatever happens we must take care of her. And, Fanny, have you observed how handsome she is?”
“We think her very pretty.”
“She is more than pretty when she has a little fire in her eyes. She is downright handsome—or will be when she fills out a little. I tell you what, my dear; she’ll make havoc with somebody yet; you see if she doesn’t. By—by. Tell the two gentlemen to be up by seven punctually.” And then Lady Lufton went home.
Grace so contrived that Mr. Oriel came and went without seeing her. There was a separate nursery breakfast at the parsonage, and by special permission Grace was allowed to have her tea and bread-and-butter on the next morning with the children. “I thought you told me Miss Crawley was here,” said Mr. Oriel, as the two clergymen stood waiting for the gig that was to take the visitor away to Barchester.
“So she is,” said Robarts; “but she likes to hide herself, because of her father’s trouble. You can’t blame her.”
“No, indeed,” said Mr. Oriel.
“Poor girl. If you knew her you would not only pity her, but like her.”
“Is she—what you call—?”
“You mean, is she a lady?”
“Of course she is by birth, and all that,” said Mr. Oriel, apologizing for his inquiry.
“I don’t think there is another girl in the county so well educated,” said Mr. Robarts.
“Indeed! I had no idea of that.”
“And we think her a great beauty. As for manners, I never saw a girl with a prettier way of her own.”
“Dear me,” said Mr. Oriel. “I wish she had come down to breakfast.”
It will have been perceived that old Lady Lufton had heard nothing of Major Grantly’s offence; that she had no knowledge that Grace had already made havoc, as she had called it—had, in truth, made very sad havoc, at Plumstead. She did not, therefore, think much about it when her son told her upon her return home from the parsonage on that afternoon that Major Grantly had come over from Cosby Lodge, and that he was going to dine and sleep at Framley Court. Some slight idea of thankfulness came across her mind that she had not betrayed Grace Crawley into a meeting with a stranger. “I asked him to come some day before we went up to town,” said his lordship; “and I am glad he has come today, as two clergymen to one’s self are, at any rate, one too many.” So Major Grantly dined and slept at the Court.
But Mrs. Robarts was in a great flurry when she was told of this by her husband on his return from the dinner. Mrs. Crawley had found an opportunity of telling the story of Major Grantly’s love to Mrs. Robarts before she had sent her daughter
