'Psha!' Mrs Grantly's temper was never bitter, but at this moment it was not sweetened by her husband's very uncivil reference to her sex.
'The whole idea is nonsense, and you should get it out of your head.'
'Am I to get it out of my head that Henry wants to make this girl his wife, and that the two are at this moment at Framley together?' In this the archdeacon was wrong as to his facts. Major Grantly had left Framley on the previous day, having stayed there only one night. 'It is coming to that that one can trust no one--no one--literally no one.' Mrs Grantly perfectly understood that the archdeacon, in the agony of the moment, intended to exclude even herself from his confidence by that 'no one'; but to this she was indifferent, understanding accurately when his words should be accepted as expressing his thoughts, and when they should be supposed to express only his anger.
'The probability is that no one at Lufton knew anything about Henry's partiality for Miss Crawley,' said Mrs Grantly.
'I tell you I think they are both at Framley together.'
'And I tell you that if they are, which I doubt, they are there simply by accident. Besides, what does it matter? If they choose to marry each other, you and I cannot prevent them. They don't want any assistance from Lady Lufton, or anybody else. They have simply got to make up their own minds, and then no one can hinder them.'
'And, therefore, you would wish to see them brought together?'
'I say nothing about it, archdeacon; but I do say that we must take these things as they come. What can we do? Henry may go and stay with Lady Lufton if he pleases. You and I cannot prevent him.'
After this the archdeacon walked away, and would not argue the matter any further with his wife at the moment. He knew very well that he could not get the better of her, and was apt at such moments to think that she took an unfair advantage of him by keeping her temper. But he could not get out of his head the idea that perhaps on this very day things were being arranged between his son and Grace Crawley at Framley; and he resolved that he himself would go over and see what might be done. He would, at any rate, tell all his trouble to Lady Lufton, and beg his old friend to assist him. He could not think that such a one as he had always known Lady Lufton to be would approve of a marriage between Henry Grantly and Grace Crawley. At any rate, he would learn the truth. He had once been told that Grace Crawley had herself refused to marry his son, feeling that she would do wrong to inflict so great an injury upon any gentleman. He had not believed in so great a virtue. He could not believe it now--now, when he heard that Miss Crawley and his son were staying together in the same parish. Somebody must be doing him an injury. It could hardly be chance. But his presence at Framley might even yet have a good effect, and he would at least learn the truth. So he had himself driven to Barchester, and from Barchester he took post-horses to Framley.
As he came near to the village, he grew to be somewhat ashamed of himself, or, at least, nervous as to the mode in which he would proceed.
The driver, turning round to him, had suggested that he supposed he was to drive to 'My Lady's'. This injustice to Lord Lufton, to whom the house belonged, and with whom his mother lived as a guest, was very common in the county; for old Lady Lufton had lived at Framley Court through her son's long minority, and had kept the house there till his marriage; and even since his marriage she had been recognised as its presiding genius. It certainly was not the fault of old Lady Lufton, as she always spoke of everything as belonging either to her son or daughter-in-law. The archdeacon had been in doubt whether he would go to the Court or the parsonage. Could he have done exactly as he wished, he would have left the chaise and walked to the parsonage, so as to reach it without the noise and fuss incidental to a postillion's arrival. But that was impossible. He could not drop into Framley as though he had come from the clouds, and, therefore, he told the man to do as he had suggested. 'To my lady's?' said the postillion. The archdeacon assented, and the man, with loud cracks of his whip, and with a spasmodic gallop along the short avenue, took the archdeacon up to the door of Lord Lufton's house. He asked for Lord Lufton first, putting on his pleasantest smile, so that the servant should not suspect the purpose, of which he was somewhat ashamed. Was Lord Lufton at home? Lord Lufton was not at home. Lord Lufton had gone up to London that morning, intending to return the day after tomorrow; but both my ladies were at home. So the archdeacon was shown into the room where both my ladies were sitting--and with them he found Mrs Robarts. Anyone who had become acquainted with the habits of the Framley ladies would have known that this might very probably be the case. The archdeacon himself was as well aware as anyone of the modes of life at Framley. The lord's wife was the parson's sister, and the parson's wife had from her infancy been the petted friend of the old lady. Of course they all lived very much together. Of course Mrs Robarts was as much at home in the drawing-room of Framley Court as she was in her own drawing-room at the parsonage.
Nevertheless, the archdeacon thought himself to be hardly used when he found Mrs Robarts was at the house.
