'My dear archdeacon, who ever expected to see you?' said old Lady Lufton. Then the two younger women greeted him. And they all smiled on him pleasantly, and seemed overjoyed to see him. He was, in truth, a great favourite at Framley, and each of the three was glad to welcome him. They believed in the archdeacon at Framley, and felt for him that sort of love which ladies in the country do feel for their elderly male friends. There was not one of the three who would not have taken much trouble to get anything for the archdeacon which they had thought the archdeacon would like. Even old Lady Lufton remembered what was his favourite soup, and always took care that he should have it when he dined at the Court. Young Lady Lufton would bring his tea to him as he sat in his chair. He was petted in the house, was allowed to poke the fire if he pleased, and called the servants by their names as though he were at home. He was compelled, therefore, to smile and to seem pleased;and it was not till after he had eaten his lunch, and had declared that he must return home to dinner, that the dowager gave him an opportunity of having the private conversation which he desired.
'Can I have a few minutes' talk with you?' he said to her, whispering into her ear as they left the drawing-room together. So she led the way into her own sitting-room, telling him, as she asked him to be seated, that she supposed that something special must have brought him over to Framley. 'I should have asked you to come up here, even if you had not spoken.'
'Then perhaps you know what has brought me over?' said the archdeacon.
'Not in the least,' said Lady Lufton. 'I have not an idea. But I did not flatter myself that you would come so far on a morning call to see us three ladies. I hope you did not want to see Ludovic, because he will not be back till tomorrow.'
'I wanted to see you, Lady Lufton.'
'That is lucky, as here I am. You may be pretty sure to find me here any day in the year.'
After this there was a little pause. The archdeacon hardly knew how to begin his story. In the first place he was in doubt whether Lady Lufton had ever heard of the preposterous match which his son had proposed to himself to make. In his anger at Plumstead he had felt sure that she knew all about it, and that she was assisting his son. But this belief had dwindled as his anger had dwindled; and as the chaise had entered the parish of Framley he had told himself that it was quite impossible that she should know anything about it. Her manner had certainly been altogether in her favour since he had been in her house. There had been nothing of the consciousness of guilt in her demeanour. But, nevertheless, there was the coincidence! How had it come to pass that Grace Crawley and his son should be at Framley together? It might, indeed, be just possible that Flurry might have been wrong, and that his son had not been there at all.
'I suppose Miss Crawley is at the parsonage?' he said at last.
'Oh, yes; she is still there, and will remain there I should think for the next ten days.'
'Oh; I did not know,' said the archdeacon very coldly.
It seemed to Lady Lufton, who was as innocent as an unborn babe in the matter of the projected marriage, that her old friend was in a mind to persecute the Crawleys. He had on a former occasion taken upon himself to advise that Grace Crawley should not be entertained at Framley, and now it seemed that he had come all the way from Plumstead to say something further in the same strain. Lady Lufton, if had anything further to say of that kind, would listen to him as a matter of course.
She would listen to him and reply to him without temper. But she did not approve of it. She told herself silently that she did not approve of persecution or of interference. She therefore drew herself up, and pursed her mouth, and put on something of that look of severity which she could assume very visibly, if it so pleased her.
'Yes; she is still there, and I think her visit will do her a great deal of good,' said Lady Lufton.
'When we talk of doing good to people,' said the archdeacon, 'we often make terrible mistakes. It so often happens that we don't know when we are doing good and when we are doing harm.'
'That is true, of course, Dr Grantly, and must be so necessarily, as our wisdom here below is so very limited. But I should think --as far as Ican see, that is,--that the kindness which my friend Mrs Robarts is showing to this young lady must be beneficial. You know, archdeacon, Iexplained to you before that I could not quite agree with you in what you said as to leaving these people alone till after the trial. Ithought that help was necessary to them at once.'
The archdeacon sighed deeply. He ought to have been somewhat renovated in spirit by the tone in which Lady Lufton spoke to him, as it conveyed to him almost an absolute conviction that his first suspicion was incorrect. But any comfort which might have come to him from this source was marred by the feeling that he must announce his own disgrace. At any rate, he must do so, unless he were contented to go back to Plumstead without having learned anything by his journey. He changed the tone of his voice, however, and asked a question--as it might be altogether on a different subject. 'I heard yesterday,' he said, 'that Henry was over here.'
'He was here yesterday. He came the evening before, and dined and slept here, and went home yesterday morning.'
'Was Miss Crawley with you that evening?'
'Miss Crawley? No; she would not come. She thinks it best not to go out while her father is in his present unfortunate position; and she is right.'
'She is quite right in that,' said the archdeacon; and then he paused again. He thought that it would be best for him to make a clean breast of it, and to trust Lady Lufton's sympathy. 'Did Henry go up to the parsonage?' he asked.
But still Lady Lufton did not suspect the truth. 'I think he did,' she replied, with an air of surprise. 'I think I heard that he went up there to call on Mrs Robarts after breakfast.'
