The Last Chronicle of Barset [45]
it will be better that you should be away, dearest,' said her mother, who now, for the first time, heard plainly what poor Grace had to tell about Major Grantly;--Grace having, heretofore, barely spoken, in most ambiguous words, of Major Grantly as a gentleman whom she had met at Framley, and whom she had described as being 'very nice'.
In old days, long ago, Lucy Robarts, the present Lady Lufton, sister of the Rev Mark Robarts, the parson of Framley, had sojourned for a while under Mrs Crawley's roof at Hogglestock. Peculiar circumstances, which need not, perhaps, be told here, had given occasion for the visit. She had then resolved--for her future destiny been known to her before she had left Mrs Crawley's house--that she would in coming days do much to befriend the family of her friend; but the doing of much had been very difficult. And the doing of anything had come to be very difficult through a certain indiscretion on Lord Lufton's part. Lord Lufton had offered assistance, pecuniary assistance to Mr Crawley, which Mr Crawley had rejected with outspoken anger. What was Lord Lufton to him that his lordship should dare to come to him with his paltry money in his hand? But after a while, Lady Lufton, exercising some cunning in the operation of her friendship, had persuaded her sister-in-law at the Framley parsonage to have Grace Crawley over there as a visitor--and there she had been during the summer holidays previous to the commencement of our story. And there, at Framley, she had become acquainted with Major Grantly, who was staying with Lord Lufton at Framley Court. She had then said something to her mother about Major Grantly, something ambiguous, something about his being 'very nice', and the mother had thought how great was the pity that her daughter, who was 'nice' too in her estimation, should have had so few of those adjuncts to assist her which come from full pockets. She had thought no more about it then; but now she felt herself constrained to think more. 'I don't quite understand why he should have come to Miss Prettyman on Monday,' said Grace, 'because he hardly knows her at all.'
'I suppose it was on business,' said Mrs Crawley.
'No, mamma, it was not on business.'
'How can you tell, dear?'
'Because Miss Prettyman said it was--to ask after me. Oh, mamma, I must tell you. I know he did like me.'
'Did he ever say so to you, dearest?'
'Yes, mamma.'
'And what did you tell him?'
'I told him nothing, mamma.'
'And did he ask to see you on Monday?'
'No, mamma; I don't think he did. I think he understood it all too well, for I could not have spoken to him then.'
Mrs Crawley pursued her cross-examination no further, but made up her mind that it would be better that her girl should be away from her wretched home during this period of her life. If it were written in the book of fate that one of her children should be exempted from the series of misfortunes which seemed to fall, on after another, almost as a matter of course, upon her husband, upon her, and upon her family; if so great a good fortune were in store for her Grace as such a marriage as this which seemed to be so nearly offered to her, it might probably be well that Grace should be as little at home as possible. Mrs Crawley had heard nothing but good of Major Grantly; but she knew that the Grantlys were proud rich people--who lived with their heads high up in the county--and it could hardly be that a son of the archdeacon would like to take his bride direct from Hogglestock parsonage.
It was settled that Grace should go to Allington as soon as a letter could be received from Miss Dale in return to Grace's note, and on the third morning after her arrival at home she started. None but they who have themselves been poor gentry--gentry so poor as not to know how to raise a shilling--can understand the peculiar bitterness of the trials which such poverty produces. The poverty of the normal poor does not approach it; or, rather, the pangs arising from such poverty are altogether of a different sort. To be hungry and have
In old days, long ago, Lucy Robarts, the present Lady Lufton, sister of the Rev Mark Robarts, the parson of Framley, had sojourned for a while under Mrs Crawley's roof at Hogglestock. Peculiar circumstances, which need not, perhaps, be told here, had given occasion for the visit. She had then resolved--for her future destiny been known to her before she had left Mrs Crawley's house--that she would in coming days do much to befriend the family of her friend; but the doing of much had been very difficult. And the doing of anything had come to be very difficult through a certain indiscretion on Lord Lufton's part. Lord Lufton had offered assistance, pecuniary assistance to Mr Crawley, which Mr Crawley had rejected with outspoken anger. What was Lord Lufton to him that his lordship should dare to come to him with his paltry money in his hand? But after a while, Lady Lufton, exercising some cunning in the operation of her friendship, had persuaded her sister-in-law at the Framley parsonage to have Grace Crawley over there as a visitor--and there she had been during the summer holidays previous to the commencement of our story. And there, at Framley, she had become acquainted with Major Grantly, who was staying with Lord Lufton at Framley Court. She had then said something to her mother about Major Grantly, something ambiguous, something about his being 'very nice', and the mother had thought how great was the pity that her daughter, who was 'nice' too in her estimation, should have had so few of those adjuncts to assist her which come from full pockets. She had thought no more about it then; but now she felt herself constrained to think more. 'I don't quite understand why he should have come to Miss Prettyman on Monday,' said Grace, 'because he hardly knows her at all.'
'I suppose it was on business,' said Mrs Crawley.
'No, mamma, it was not on business.'
'How can you tell, dear?'
'Because Miss Prettyman said it was--to ask after me. Oh, mamma, I must tell you. I know he did like me.'
'Did he ever say so to you, dearest?'
'Yes, mamma.'
'And what did you tell him?'
'I told him nothing, mamma.'
'And did he ask to see you on Monday?'
'No, mamma; I don't think he did. I think he understood it all too well, for I could not have spoken to him then.'
Mrs Crawley pursued her cross-examination no further, but made up her mind that it would be better that her girl should be away from her wretched home during this period of her life. If it were written in the book of fate that one of her children should be exempted from the series of misfortunes which seemed to fall, on after another, almost as a matter of course, upon her husband, upon her, and upon her family; if so great a good fortune were in store for her Grace as such a marriage as this which seemed to be so nearly offered to her, it might probably be well that Grace should be as little at home as possible. Mrs Crawley had heard nothing but good of Major Grantly; but she knew that the Grantlys were proud rich people--who lived with their heads high up in the county--and it could hardly be that a son of the archdeacon would like to take his bride direct from Hogglestock parsonage.
It was settled that Grace should go to Allington as soon as a letter could be received from Miss Dale in return to Grace's note, and on the third morning after her arrival at home she started. None but they who have themselves been poor gentry--gentry so poor as not to know how to raise a shilling--can understand the peculiar bitterness of the trials which such poverty produces. The poverty of the normal poor does not approach it; or, rather, the pangs arising from such poverty are altogether of a different sort. To be hungry and have