The archdeacon was striving to teach a great lesson to his son when he thus spoke of the pleasure which a man feels when he stands upon his own ground. He was bidding his son to understand how great was the position of an heir to a landed property, and how small the position of a man depending on what Dr Grantly himself would have called a scratch income--an income made up of a few odds and ends, a share or two in this company and a share or two in that, a slight venture in foreign stocks, a small mortgage and such-like convenient but uninfluential driblets. Aman, no doubt, may live at Pau and enjoy life after a fashion while reading Galignani and looking at the mountains. But--as it seemed to the archdeacon--when there was a choice between this kind of thing, and fox-covers at Plumstead, and a seat among the magistrates of Barsetshire, and an establishment full of horses, beeves, swine, carriages, and hayricks, a man brought up as his son had been brought up ought not to be very long in choosing. It never entered into the archdeacon's mind that he was tempting his son; but Henry Grantly felt that he was having the good things of the world shown to him, and that he was being told that they should be his--for a consideration.
The major, in his present mood, looked at the matter from his own point of view, and determined that the consideration was too high. He was pledged not to give up Grace Crawley, and he would not yield on that point, though he might be tempted by all the fox-covers in Barsetshire.
At this moment he did not know how far his father was prepared to yield, or how far it was expected that he should yield himself. He was told that he had to speak to his mother. He would speak to his mother, but, in the meantime, he could not bring himself to make a comfortable answer to his father's eloquent praise of landed property. He could not allow himself to be enthusiastic on the matter till he knew what was expected of him if he chose to submit to be made a British squire. At present Galignani and the mountains had their charms for him. There was, therefore, but little conversation between the father and the son as the walked back to the rectory.
Late that night the major heard the whole story from his mother.
Gradually, and as though unintentionally, Mrs Grantly told him all she knew of the archdeacon's visit to Framley. Mrs Grantly was quite as anxious as was her husband to keep her son at home, and therefore she omitted in her story those little sneers against Grace which she herself had been tempted to make by the archdeacon's fervour in the girl's favour. The major said as little as was possible while he was being told of his father's adventure, and expressed neither anger nor satisfaction till he had been made thoroughly to understand that Grace had pledged herself not to marry him as long as any suspicion should rest upon her father's name.
'Your father is quite satisfied with her,' said Mrs Grantly. 'He thinks that she is behaving very well.'
'My father had no right to exact such a pledge.'
'But she made it of her own accord. She was the first to speak about Mr Crawley's supposed guilt. Your father never mentioned it.'
'He must have led to it; and I think that he had no right to do so. He had no right to go to her at all.'
'Now don't be foolish, Henry.'
'I don't see that I am foolish.'
'Yes, you are. A man is foolish if he won't take what he wants without asking exactly how he is to come by it. That your father should be anxious is the most natural thing in the world. You know how high he has always held his own head, and how much he thinks about the characters and the position of clergymen. It is not surprising that he should dislike the idea of such a marriage.'
'Grace Crawley would disgrace no family,' said the lover.
'That's all very well for you to say, and I'll take your word that it is so;--that is as far as the young lady goes herself. And there's your father almost as much in love with her as you are. I don't know what you would have?'
'I would be left alone.'
'But what harm has been done you? From what you yourself have told me, I know that Miss Crawley has said the same thing to you that she has said to your father. You can't but admire her for the feeling.'
'I admire her for everything.'
'Very well. We don't say anything against that.'
'And I don't mean to give her up.'
'Very well again. Let us hope that Mr Crawley will be acquitted, and then all will be right. Your father never goes back on his promise. He is always better than his word. You'll find that if Mr Crawley is acquitted, or if he escapes in any way, your father will only be happy for an excuse to make much of the young lady. You should not be hard on him, Henry. Don't you see that it is his one great desire to keep you near him. The sight of those odious bills nearly broke his heart.'
'Then why did he threaten me?'
'Henry, you are obstinate.'
'I am not obstinate, mother.'
'Yes, you are. You remember nothing, and you forget nothing. You expect everything to be made smooth for you, and will do nothing towards making things smooth for anybody else. You ought to promise to give up the sale. If the worst came to the worst, your father would not let you suffer in pocket for yielding to him so much.'
'If the worst comes to the worst, I wish to take nothing from my father.'
'You won't put off the sale, then?'
The son paused a moment before he answered his mother, thinking over all the circumstances of his position. 'I cannot do so as long as I am subject to my father's threat,' he said at last. 'What took place between my father and Miss Crawley can go for nothing with me. He has told me that his allowance to me is to be withdrawn. Let him tell me that he has reconsidered the matter.'
'But he has not withdrawn it. The last quarter was paid to your account only the other day. He does not mean to withdraw it.'
