The Last Chronicle of Barset [350]
the not unnatural requisition of the magistrates before whom I was called upon to appear in the early winter. I know not why anyone should have ventured into such jeopardy on my account.'
'There was no jeopardy, Mr Crawley. Anyone in the county would have done it.'
'I know not that; nor can I see that there was no jeopardy. I trust that I may assure you that there is no danger;--none, I mean, to you. The danger to myself and those belonging to me, is, alas, very urgent. The facts of my position are pressing close upon me. Methinks I suffer more from the visit of the gentleman who has just departed from me than anything that has yet happened to me. And yet he is right;--he is altogether right.'
'No, papa; he is not,' said Jane, from her standing ground near the upright desk.
'My dear,' said her father, 'you should be silent on such a subject. It is a matter hard to be understood in all its bearings --even by those who are most conversant with them. But as this we need not trouble Major Grantly.'
After that there was silence among them, and for a while it seemed as though there could be no approach to the subject on which Grantly had come hither to express himself. Mrs Crawley, in her despair, said something about the weather; and the major, trying to draw near the special subject, became bold enough to remark 'that he had the pleasure of seeing Miss Crawley at Framley.' 'Mrs Robarts has been very kind,' said Mrs Crawley, 'very kind indeed. You can understand, Major Grantly, that this must be a very sad house for a young person.' 'I don't think it is at all sad,' said Jane, still standing in the corner by the upright desk.
Then Major Grantly rose from his seat and walked across to the girl and shook her hand. 'You are so like your sister,' said he. 'Your sister is a great friend of mine. She has often spoken to me of you. I hope we shall be friends some day.' But Jane could make no answer to this, though she had been able to vindicate the general character of the house while she was left in the corner by herself. 'I wonder whether you would be angry with me,' continued the major, 'if I told you I wanted to speak a word to your father and mother alone?' To this Jane made no reply, but was out of the room almost before the words had reached the ears of her father and mother. Though she was only sixteen, and had as yet read nothing but Latin and Greek--unless we are to count the twelve books of Euclid and Wood's Algebra, and sundry smaller exercises of the same description--she understood, as well as anyone present, the reason why her absence was required.
As she closed the door the major paused for a moment, expecting, or perhaps hoping, that the father or the mother would say a word. But neither of them had a word to say. They sat silent, and as though conscience-stricken. Here was a rich man, of whom they had heard that he might probably wish to wed their daughter. It was manifest enough to both of them that no man could marry into their family without subjecting himself to a heavy portion of that reproach and disgrace which was attached to them. But how was it possible that they should not care more for their daughter--for their own flesh and blood, than for the incidental welfare of this rich man? As regarded the man himself they had heard everything that was good. Such a marriage was like the opening of a paradise to their child. 'Nil conscire sibi,' said the father to himself, as he buckled on his armour for the fight.
When he had waited for a moment or two, he began. 'Mrs Crawley,' he said, addressing himself to the mother, 'I do not quite know how far you may be aware that I--that I have for some time been --been acquainted with your eldest daughter.'
'I have heard from her that she is acquainted with you,' said Mrs Crawley, almost panting with anxiety.
'I may as well make a clean breast of it at once,' said the major, smiling, 'and say outright that I have come here to request your permission and her father's to ask her to be my wife.' Then he was silent, and for a few moments neither
'There was no jeopardy, Mr Crawley. Anyone in the county would have done it.'
'I know not that; nor can I see that there was no jeopardy. I trust that I may assure you that there is no danger;--none, I mean, to you. The danger to myself and those belonging to me, is, alas, very urgent. The facts of my position are pressing close upon me. Methinks I suffer more from the visit of the gentleman who has just departed from me than anything that has yet happened to me. And yet he is right;--he is altogether right.'
'No, papa; he is not,' said Jane, from her standing ground near the upright desk.
'My dear,' said her father, 'you should be silent on such a subject. It is a matter hard to be understood in all its bearings --even by those who are most conversant with them. But as this we need not trouble Major Grantly.'
After that there was silence among them, and for a while it seemed as though there could be no approach to the subject on which Grantly had come hither to express himself. Mrs Crawley, in her despair, said something about the weather; and the major, trying to draw near the special subject, became bold enough to remark 'that he had the pleasure of seeing Miss Crawley at Framley.' 'Mrs Robarts has been very kind,' said Mrs Crawley, 'very kind indeed. You can understand, Major Grantly, that this must be a very sad house for a young person.' 'I don't think it is at all sad,' said Jane, still standing in the corner by the upright desk.
Then Major Grantly rose from his seat and walked across to the girl and shook her hand. 'You are so like your sister,' said he. 'Your sister is a great friend of mine. She has often spoken to me of you. I hope we shall be friends some day.' But Jane could make no answer to this, though she had been able to vindicate the general character of the house while she was left in the corner by herself. 'I wonder whether you would be angry with me,' continued the major, 'if I told you I wanted to speak a word to your father and mother alone?' To this Jane made no reply, but was out of the room almost before the words had reached the ears of her father and mother. Though she was only sixteen, and had as yet read nothing but Latin and Greek--unless we are to count the twelve books of Euclid and Wood's Algebra, and sundry smaller exercises of the same description--she understood, as well as anyone present, the reason why her absence was required.
As she closed the door the major paused for a moment, expecting, or perhaps hoping, that the father or the mother would say a word. But neither of them had a word to say. They sat silent, and as though conscience-stricken. Here was a rich man, of whom they had heard that he might probably wish to wed their daughter. It was manifest enough to both of them that no man could marry into their family without subjecting himself to a heavy portion of that reproach and disgrace which was attached to them. But how was it possible that they should not care more for their daughter--for their own flesh and blood, than for the incidental welfare of this rich man? As regarded the man himself they had heard everything that was good. Such a marriage was like the opening of a paradise to their child. 'Nil conscire sibi,' said the father to himself, as he buckled on his armour for the fight.
When he had waited for a moment or two, he began. 'Mrs Crawley,' he said, addressing himself to the mother, 'I do not quite know how far you may be aware that I--that I have for some time been --been acquainted with your eldest daughter.'
'I have heard from her that she is acquainted with you,' said Mrs Crawley, almost panting with anxiety.
'I may as well make a clean breast of it at once,' said the major, smiling, 'and say outright that I have come here to request your permission and her father's to ask her to be my wife.' Then he was silent, and for a few moments neither