The Last Chronicle of Barset [302]
making me understand that I have no power of saving him from his own folly. Of course I have no power of saving him.'
'But is he engaged to her?'
'He says that she has refused him. But of course that means nothing.'
Again the archdeacon's position was very like Lady Lufton's position, as it had existed before her son's marriage. In that case also the young lady, who was now Lady Lufton's own daughter and dearest friend, had refused the lover who proposed to her, although the marriage was so much to her advantage--loving him too, the while, with her whole heart, as it was natural to suppose that Grace Crawley might so love her lover. The more she thought of the similarity of the stories, the stronger were her sympathies on the side of poor Grace. Nevertheless, she would comfort her old friend if she knew how; and of course she could not but admit to herself that the match was one which must be a cause of real sorrow to him. 'I don't know why her refusal should mean nothing,' said Lady Lufton.
'Of course a girl refuses at first--a girl, I mean, in such circumstances as hers. She can't but feel that more is offered to her than she ought to take, and that she is bound to go through the ceremony of declining. But my anger is not with her, Lady Lufton.'
'I do not see how it can be.'
'No; it is not with her. If she becomes his wife I trust that I may never see her.'
'Oh, Dr Grantly!'
'I do; I do. How can it be otherwise with me? But I shall have no quarrel with her. With him I must quarrel.'
'I do not see why,' said Lady Lufton.
'You do not? Does he not set me at defiance?'
'At his age surely a son has a right to marry as he pleases.'
'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, I have 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
'But is he engaged to her?'
'He says that she has refused him. But of course that means nothing.'
Again the archdeacon's position was very like Lady Lufton's position, as it had existed before her son's marriage. In that case also the young lady, who was now Lady Lufton's own daughter and dearest friend, had refused the lover who proposed to her, although the marriage was so much to her advantage--loving him too, the while, with her whole heart, as it was natural to suppose that Grace Crawley might so love her lover. The more she thought of the similarity of the stories, the stronger were her sympathies on the side of poor Grace. Nevertheless, she would comfort her old friend if she knew how; and of course she could not but admit to herself that the match was one which must be a cause of real sorrow to him. 'I don't know why her refusal should mean nothing,' said Lady Lufton.
'Of course a girl refuses at first--a girl, I mean, in such circumstances as hers. She can't but feel that more is offered to her than she ought to take, and that she is bound to go through the ceremony of declining. But my anger is not with her, Lady Lufton.'
'I do not see how it can be.'
'No; it is not with her. If she becomes his wife I trust that I may never see her.'
'Oh, Dr Grantly!'
'I do; I do. How can it be otherwise with me? But I shall have no quarrel with her. With him I must quarrel.'
'I do not see why,' said Lady Lufton.
'You do not? Does he not set me at defiance?'
'At his age surely a son has a right to marry as he pleases.'
'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, I have 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