The Last Chronicle of Barset [306]
ferrule caught the paper at a chink in the post, and tore it from the top to the bottom. But what was the use? A horrid ugly bill lying torn in such a spot would attract only more attention than one fixed to a post. He could not condescend, however, to give it further attention, but passed on to the parsonage. Gentle indeed!
Nevertheless Archdeacon Grantly was a gentleman, and never yet had dealt more harshly with any woman than we have sometimes seen him to do with his wife--when he would say to her an angry word or two with a good deal of marital authority. His wife, who knew well what his angry words were worth, never even suggested to herself that she had the cause for complaint on that head. Had she known that the archdeacon was about to undertake such a mission as this which he had now in hand, she would not have warned him to be gentle. She, indeed, would have strongly advised him not to undertake the mission, cautioning him that the young lady would probably get the better of him.
'Grace, my dear,' said Mrs Robarts, coming up into the nursery in which Miss Crawley was sitting with the children, 'come out here a moment, will you?' Then Grace left the children and went out into the passage. 'My dear, there is a gentleman in the drawing-room who asks to see you.'
'A gentleman, Mrs Robarts! What gentleman?' But Grace, though she asked the questions, conceived that the gentleman must be Henry Grantly. Her mind did not suggest to her the possibility of any other gentleman coming to see her.
'You must not be surprised, or allow yourself to be frightened.'
'Oh, Mrs Robarts, who is it?'
'It is Major Grantly's father.'
'The archdeacon?'
'Yes, dear; Archdeacon Grantly. He is in the drawing-room.'
'Must I see him, Mrs Robarts?'
'Well, Grace--I think you must. I hardly know how you can refuse. He is an intimate friend of everybody here at Framley.'
'What will he say to me?'
'Nay; that I cannot tell. I suppose you know--'
'He has come, no doubt, to bid me having nothing to say to his son. He need not have troubled himself. But he may say what he likes. I am no coward, and I will go to him.'
'Stop a moment, Grace. Come into my room for an instant. The children have pulled your hair about.' But Grace, though she followed Mrs Robarts into the bedroom, would have nothing done to her hair. She was too proud for that--and we may say, also, too little confident in any good which such resources might effect on her behalf. 'Never mind about that,' she said. 'What am I to say to him?' Mrs Robarts paused before she replied, feeling that the matter was one which required some deliberation. 'Tell me what I must say to him?' said Grace, repeating her question.
'I hardly know what your own feelings are, my dear.'
'Yes, you do. You do know. If I had all the world to give, I would give it all to Major Grantly.'
'Tell him that, then.'
'No, I will not tell him that. Never mind about my frock, Mrs Robarts. I do not care for that. I will tell him that I love his son and his granddaughter too well to injure them. I will tell him nothing else. I might as well go now.' Mrs Robarts, as she looked at Grace, was astonished at the serenity of her face. And yet when her hand was in the drawing-room door Grace hesitated, looked back, and trembled. Mrs Robarts blew a kiss to her from the stairs; and then the door was opened, and the girl found herself in the presence of the archdeacon. He was standing on the rug, with his back to the fire, and his heavy ecclesiastical hat was placed on the middle of the round table. The hat caught Grace's eyes at the moment of her entrance, and she felt that all the thunders of the Church were contained within it. And then the archdeacon himself was so big and so clerical, and so imposing. Her father's aspect was severe, but the severity of her father's face was essentially different from that expressed by the archdeacon. Whatever impression came from her father came from the man himself. There was no outward adornment there; there was, so to say, no wig about
Nevertheless Archdeacon Grantly was a gentleman, and never yet had dealt more harshly with any woman than we have sometimes seen him to do with his wife--when he would say to her an angry word or two with a good deal of marital authority. His wife, who knew well what his angry words were worth, never even suggested to herself that she had the cause for complaint on that head. Had she known that the archdeacon was about to undertake such a mission as this which he had now in hand, she would not have warned him to be gentle. She, indeed, would have strongly advised him not to undertake the mission, cautioning him that the young lady would probably get the better of him.
'Grace, my dear,' said Mrs Robarts, coming up into the nursery in which Miss Crawley was sitting with the children, 'come out here a moment, will you?' Then Grace left the children and went out into the passage. 'My dear, there is a gentleman in the drawing-room who asks to see you.'
'A gentleman, Mrs Robarts! What gentleman?' But Grace, though she asked the questions, conceived that the gentleman must be Henry Grantly. Her mind did not suggest to her the possibility of any other gentleman coming to see her.
'You must not be surprised, or allow yourself to be frightened.'
'Oh, Mrs Robarts, who is it?'
'It is Major Grantly's father.'
'The archdeacon?'
'Yes, dear; Archdeacon Grantly. He is in the drawing-room.'
'Must I see him, Mrs Robarts?'
'Well, Grace--I think you must. I hardly know how you can refuse. He is an intimate friend of everybody here at Framley.'
'What will he say to me?'
'Nay; that I cannot tell. I suppose you know--'
'He has come, no doubt, to bid me having nothing to say to his son. He need not have troubled himself. But he may say what he likes. I am no coward, and I will go to him.'
'Stop a moment, Grace. Come into my room for an instant. The children have pulled your hair about.' But Grace, though she followed Mrs Robarts into the bedroom, would have nothing done to her hair. She was too proud for that--and we may say, also, too little confident in any good which such resources might effect on her behalf. 'Never mind about that,' she said. 'What am I to say to him?' Mrs Robarts paused before she replied, feeling that the matter was one which required some deliberation. 'Tell me what I must say to him?' said Grace, repeating her question.
'I hardly know what your own feelings are, my dear.'
'Yes, you do. You do know. If I had all the world to give, I would give it all to Major Grantly.'
'Tell him that, then.'
'No, I will not tell him that. Never mind about my frock, Mrs Robarts. I do not care for that. I will tell him that I love his son and his granddaughter too well to injure them. I will tell him nothing else. I might as well go now.' Mrs Robarts, as she looked at Grace, was astonished at the serenity of her face. And yet when her hand was in the drawing-room door Grace hesitated, looked back, and trembled. Mrs Robarts blew a kiss to her from the stairs; and then the door was opened, and the girl found herself in the presence of the archdeacon. He was standing on the rug, with his back to the fire, and his heavy ecclesiastical hat was placed on the middle of the round table. The hat caught Grace's eyes at the moment of her entrance, and she felt that all the thunders of the Church were contained within it. And then the archdeacon himself was so big and so clerical, and so imposing. Her father's aspect was severe, but the severity of her father's face was essentially different from that expressed by the archdeacon. Whatever impression came from her father came from the man himself. There was no outward adornment there; there was, so to say, no wig about