CHAPTER VII.
MISS PRETTYMAN'S PRIVATE ROOM.
Major Grantly, when threatened by his father with pecuniarypunishment, should he demean himself by such a marriage as that hehad proposed to himself, had declared that he would offer his handto Miss Crawley on the next morning. This, however, he had not done.He had not done it, partly because he did not quite believe hisfather's threat, and partly because he felt that that threat wasalmost justified,--for the present moment,--by the circumstancesin which Grace Crawley's father had placed himself. Henry Grantlyacknowledged, as he drove himself home on the morning after hisdinner at the rectory, that in this matter of his marriage he did owemuch to his family. Should he marry at all, he owed it to them tomarry a lady. And Grace Crawley,--so he told himself,--was a lady.And he owed it to them to bring among them as his wife a woman whoshould not disgrace him or them by her education, manners, or even byher personal appearance. In all these respects Grace Crawley was, inhis judgment, quite as good as they had a right to expect her to be,and in some respects a great deal superior to that type of womanhoodwith which they had been most generally conversant. "If everybody hadher due, my sister isn't fit to hold a candle to her," he said tohimself. It must be acknowledged, therefore, that he was really inlove with Grace Crawley; and he declared to himself, over and overagain, that his family had no right to demand that he should marrya woman with money. The archdeacon's son by no means despised money.How could he, having come forth as a bird fledged from such a nestas the rectory at Plumstead Episcopi? Before he had been brought byhis better nature and true judgment to see that Grace Crawley wasthe greater woman of the two, he had nearly submitted himself to thetwenty thousand pounds of Miss Emily Dunstable,--to that, and hergood-humour and rosy freshness combined. But he regarded himself asthe well-to-do son of a very rich father. His only child was amplyprovided for; and he felt that, as regarded money, he had a rightto do as he pleased. He felt this with double strength after hisfather's threat.
But he had no right to make a marriage by which his family would bedisgraced. Whether he was right or wrong in supposing that he woulddisgrace his family were he to marry the daughter of a convictedthief, it is hardly necessary to discuss here. He told himself thatit would be so,--telling himself also that, by the stern laws ofthe world, the son and the daughter must pay for the offence of thefather and the mother. Even among the poor, who would willingly marrythe child of a man who had been hanged? But he carried the argumentbeyond this, thinking much of the matter, and endeavouring to thinkof it not only justly, but generously. If the accusation againstCrawley were false,--if the man were being injured by an unjustcharge,--even if he, Grantly, could make himself think that thegirl's father had not stolen the money, then he would dare everythingand go on. I do not know that his argument was good, or that hismind was logical in the matter. He ought to have felt that his ownjudgment as to the man's guilt was less likely to be correct thanthat of those whose duty it was and would be to form and to expressa judgment on the matter; and as to Grace herself, she was equallyinnocent whether her father were guilty or not guilty. If he wereto be debarred from asking her for her hand by his feelings for herfather and mother, he should hardly have trusted to his own skill inascertaining the real truth as to the alleged theft. But he was notlogical, and thus, meaning to be generous, he became unjust.
He found that among those in Silverbridge whom he presumed to bebest informed on such matters, there was a growing opinion that Mr.Crawley had stolen the money. He was intimate with all the Walkers,and was able to find out that Mrs. Walker knew that her husbandbelieved in the clergyman's guilt. He was by no means alone in hiswillingness to accept Mr. Walker's opinion as the true opinion.Silverbridge, generally, was endeavouring to dress itself in Mr.Walker's glass, and to believe as Mr. Walker believed. The ladiesof Silverbridge, including the Miss Prettymans, were aware that Mr.Walker had been very kind both to Mr. and Mrs. Crawley, and arguedfrom this that Mr. Walker must think the man to be innocent. ButHenry Grantly, who did not dare to ask a direct question of thesolicitor, went cunningly to work, and closeted himself with Mrs.Walker,--with Mrs. Walker, who knew well of the good fortune whichwas hovering over Grace's head and was so nearly settling itself uponher shoulders. She would have given a finger to be able to whitewashMr. Crawley in the major's estimation. Nor must it be supposed thatshe told the major in plain words that her husband had convincedhimself of the man's guilt. In plain words no question was askedbetween them, and in plain words no opinion was expressed. But therewas the look of sorrow in the woman's eye, there was the absence ofreference to her husband's assurance that the man was innocent, therewas the air of settled grief which told of her own conviction andthe major left her, convinced that Mrs. Walker believed Mr. Crawleyto be guilty.
Then he went to Barchester; not open-mouthed with inquiry, but ratherwith open ears, and it seemed to him that all men in Barchester wereof one mind. There was a county-club in Barchester, and at thiscounty-club nine men out of every ten were talking about Mr. Crawley.It was by no means necessary that a man should ask questions onthe subject. Opinion was expressed so freely that no such askingwas required; and opinion in Barchester,--at any rate in thecounty-club,--seemed now to be all of one mind. There had been everydisposition at first to believe Mr. Crawley to be innocent. He hadbeen believed to be innocent, even after he had said wrongly that thecheque had been paid to him by Mr. Soames; but he had since statedthat he had received it from Dean Arabin, and that statement was alsoshown to be false. A man who has a cheque changed on his own behalfis bound at least to show where he got the cheque. Mr. Crawley hadnot only failed to do this, but had given two false excuses. HenryGrantly, as he drove home to Silverbridge on the Sunday afternoon,summed up all the evidence in his own mind, and brought in a verdictof Guilty against the father of the girl whom he loved.
On the following morning he walked into Silverbridge and called atMiss Prettyman's house. As he went along his heart was warmer towardsGrace than it had ever been before. He had told himself that he wasnow bound to abstain, for his father's sake, from doing that whichhe had told his father that he would certainly do. But he knew also,that he had said that which, though it did not bind him to MissCrawley, gave her a right to expect that he would so bind himself.And Miss Prettyman could not but be aware of what his intention hadbeen, and could not but expect that he should now be explicit. Hadhe been a wise man altogether, he would probably have abstained fromsaying anything at the present moment,--a wise man, that is, in theways and feelings of the world in such matters. But, as there are menwho will allow themselves all imaginable latitude in their treatmentof women, believing that the world will condone any amount of faultof that nature, so are there other men, and a class of men which onthe whole is the more numerous of the two, who are tremblingly aliveto the danger of censure on this head,--and to the danger of censurenot only from others, but from themselves also. Major Grantly haddone that which made him think it imperative upon him to do somethingfurther, and to do that something at once.
Therefore he started off on the Monday morning after breakfast andwalked to Silverbridge, and as he walked he built various castles inthe air. Why should he not marry Grace,--if she would have him,--andtake her away beyond the reach of her father's calamity? Why shouldhe not throw over his own people altogether, money, position,society, and all, and give himself up to love? Were he to do so, menmight say that he was foolish, but no one could hint that he wasdishonourable. His spirit was high enough to teach him to think thatsuch conduct on his part would have in it something of magnificence;but, yet, such was not his purpose. In going to Miss Prettyman it washis intention to apologize for not doing this magnificent thing. Hismind was quite made up. Nevertheless he built those castles in theair.
It so happened that he encountered the younger Miss Prettyman inthe hall. It would not at all have suited him to reveal to her thepurport of his visit, or ask her either to assist his suit or toreceive his apologies. Miss Anne Prettyman was too
common a personagein the Silverbridge world to be fit for such employment. Miss AnnePrettyman was, indeed, herself submissive to him, and treated himwith the courtesy which is due to a superior being. He thereforesimply asked her whether he could be allowed to see her sister.
"Surely, Major Grantly;--that is, I think so. It is a little early,but I think she can receive you."
"It is early, I know; but as I want to say a word or two onbusiness--"
"Oh, on business. I am sure she will see you on business; she willonly be too proud. If you will be kind enough to step in here for twominutes." Then Miss Anne, having deposited the major in the littleparlour, ran upstairs with her message to her sister. "Of course it'sabout Grace Crawley," she said to herself as she went. "It can't beabout anything else. I wonder what it is he's going to say. If he'sgoing to pop, and the father in all this trouble, he's the finestfellow that ever trod." Such were her thoughts as she tapped at thedoor and announced in the presence of Grace that there was somebodyin the hall.
"It's Major Grantly," whispered Anne, as soon as Grace had shut thedoor behind her.
"So I supposed by your telling her not to go into the hall. What hashe come to say?"
"How on earth can I tell you that, Annabella? But I suppose he canhave only one thing to say after all that has come and gone. He canonly have come with one object."
"He wouldn't have come to me for that. He would have asked to seeherself."
"But she never goes out now, and he can't see her."
"Or he would have gone to them over at Hogglestock," said MissPrettyman. "But of course he must come up now he is here. Would youmind telling him? or shall I ring the bell?"
"I'll tell him. We need not make more fuss than necessary, with theservants, you know. I suppose I'd better not come back with him?"
There was a tone of supplication in the younger sister's voice as shemade the last suggestion, which ought to have melted the heart of theelder; but it was unavailing. "As he has asked to see me, I think youhad better not," said Annabella. Miss Anne Prettyman bore her crossmeekly, offered no argument on the subject, and returning to thelittle parlour where she had left the major, brought him upstairs andushered him into her sister's room without even entering it again,herself.
Major Grantly was as intimately acquainted with Miss Anne Prettymanas a man under thirty may well be with a lady nearer fifty thanforty, who is not specially connected with him by any family tie; butof Miss Prettyman he knew personally very much less. Miss Prettyman,as has before been said, did not go out, and was therefore not commonto the eyes of the Silverbridgians. She did occasionally see herfriends in her own house, and Grace Crawley's lover, as the major hadcome to be called, had been there on more than one occasion but ofreal personal intimacy between them there had hitherto existed none.He might have spoken, perhaps, a dozen words to her in his life. Hehad now more than a dozen to speak to her, but he hardly knew how tocommence them.
She had got up and curtseyed, and had then taken his hand and askedhim to sit down. "My sister tells me that you want to see me," shesaid, in her softest, mildest voice.
"I do, Miss Prettyman. I want to speak to you about a matter thattroubles me very much,--very much indeed."
"Anything that I can do, Major Grantly--"
"Thank you, yes. I know that you are very good, or I should not haveventured to come to you. Indeed I shouldn't trouble you now, ofcourse, if it was only about myself. I know very well what a greatfriend you are to Miss Crawley."
"Yes, I am. We love Grace dearly here."
"So do I," said the major, bluntly; "I love her dearly, too." Then hepaused, as though he thought that Miss Prettyman ought to take up thespeech. But Miss Prettyman seemed to think differently, and he wasobliged to go on. "I don't know whether you have ever heard about it,or noticed it, or--or--or--" He felt that he was very awkward, and heblushed. Major as he was, he blushed as he sat before the old woman,trying to tell his story, but not knowing how to tell it. "The truthis, Miss Prettyman, I have done all but ask her to be my wife, andnow has come this terrible affair about her father."
"It is a terrible affair, Major Grantly; very terrible."
"By Jove, you may say that!"
"Of course Mr. Crawley is as innocent in the matter as you or I are."
"You think so, Miss Prettyman?"
"Think so! I feel quite sure of it. What; a clergyman of the Churchof England, a pious, hard-working country clergyman, whom we haveknown among us by his good works for years, suddenly turn thief,and pilfer a few pounds! It is not possible, Major Grantly. And thefather of such a daughter, too! It is not possible. It may do formen of business to think so, lawyers and such like, who are obligedto think in accordance with the evidence, as they call it; but tomy mind the idea is monstrous. I don't know how he got it, and Idon't care; but I'm quite sure he did not steal it. Whoever heard ofanybody becoming so base as that all at once?"
The major was startled by her eloquence, and by the indignant tone ofvoice in which it was expressed. It seemed to tell him that she wouldgive him no sympathy in that which he had come to say to her, and toupbraid him already in that he was not prepared to do the magnificentthing of which he had thought when he had been building his castlesin the air. Why should he not do the magnificent thing? MissPrettyman's eloquence was so strong that it half convinced him thatthe Barchester Club and Mr. Walker had come to a wrong conclusionafter all.
"And how does Miss Crawley bear it?" he asked, desirous of postponingfor a while any declaration of his own purpose.
"She is very unhappy, of course. Not that she thinks evil of herfather."
"Of course she does not think him guilty."
"Nobody thinks him so in this house, Major Grantly," said the littlewoman, very imperiously. "But Grace is, naturally enough, verysad;--very sad indeed. I do not think I can ask you to see herto-day."
"I was not thinking of it," said the major.
"Poor, dear girl! it is a great trial for her. Do you wish me to giveher any message, Major Grantly?"
The moment had now come in which he must say that which he had cometo say. The little woman waited for an answer, and as he was there,within her power as it were, he must speak. I fear that what he saidwill not be approved by any strong-minded reader. I fear that ourlover will henceforth be considered by such a one as being but aweak, wishy-washy man, who had hardly any mind of his own to speakof;--that he was a man of no account, as the poor people say. "MissPrettyman, what message ought I to send to her?" he said.
"Nay, Major Grantly, how can I tell you that? How can I put wordsinto your mouth?"
"It isn't the words," he said; "but the feelings."
"And how can I tell the feelings of your heart?"
"Oh, as for that, I know what my feelings are. I do love her with allmy heart;--I do, indeed. A fortnight ago I was only thinking whethershe would accept me when I asked her,--wondering whether I was tooold for her, and whether she would mind having Edith to take careof."
"She is very fond of Edith,--very fond indeed."
"Is she?" said the major, more distracted than ever. Why should henot do the magnificent thing after all? "But it is a great charge fora young girl when she marries."
"It is a great charge;--a very great charge. It is for you to thinkwhether you should entrust so great a charge to one so young."
"I have no fear about that at all."
"Nor should I have any,--as you ask me. We have known Grace well,thoroughly, and are quite sure that she will do her duty in thatstate of life to which it may please God to call her."
The major was aware when this was said to him that he had not cometo Miss Prettyman for a character of the girl he loved; and yethe was not angry at receiving it. He was neither angry, nor evenindifferent. He accepted the character almost gratefully, thoughhe felt that he was being led away from his purpose. He consoledhimself for this, however, by remembering that the path by which MissPrettyman was now leading him, led to the magnificent, and to thosepleasant cast
les in the air which he had been building as he walkedinto Silverbridge. "I am quite sure that she is all that you say," hereplied. "Indeed I had made up my mind about that long ago."
"And what can I do for you, Major Grantly?"
"You think I ought not to see her?"
"I will ask herself, if you please. I have such trust in her judgmentthat I should leave her altogether to her own discretion."
The magnificent thing must be done, and the major made up his mindaccordingly. Something of regret came over his spirit as he thoughtof a father-in-law disgraced and degraded, and of his own fatherbroken-hearted. But now there was hardly an alternative left to him.And was it not the manly thing for him to do? He had loved the girlbefore this trouble had come upon her, and was he not bound to acceptthe burden which his love had brought with it? "I will see her," hesaid, "at once, if you will let me, and ask her to be my wife. But Imust see her alone."
Then Miss Prettyman paused. Hitherto she had undoubtedly been playingher fish cautiously, or rather her young friend's fish,--perhaps Imay say cunningly. She had descended to artifice on behalf of thegirl whom she loved, admired, and pitied. She had seen some way intothe man's mind, and had been partly aware of his purpose,--of hisinfirmity of purpose, of his double purpose. She had perceived that aword from her might help Grace's chance, and had led the man on tillhe had committed himself, at any rate to her. In doing this she hadbeen actuated by friendship rather than by abstract principle. Butnow, when the moment had come in which she must decide upon someaction, she paused. Was it right, for the sake of either of them,that an offer of marriage should be made at such a moment as this?It might be very well, in regard to some future time, that the majorshould have so committed himself. She saw something of the man'sspirit, and believed that, having gone so far,--having so far toldhis love, he would return to his love hereafter, let the result ofthe Crawley trial be what it might. But,--but, this could be noproper time for love-making. Though Grace loved the man, as MissPrettyman knew well,--though Grace loved the child, having allowedherself to long to call it her own, though such a marriage would bethe making of Grace's fortune as those who loved her could hardlyhave hoped that it should ever have been made, she would certainlyrefuse the man, if he were to propose to her now. She would refusehim, and then the man would be free;--free to change his mind if hethought fit. Considering all these things, craftily in the exerciseof her friendship, too cunningly, I fear, to satisfy the claims of ahigh morality, she resolved that the major had better not see MissCrawley at the present moment. Miss Prettyman paused before shereplied, and, when she did speak, Major Grantly had risen from hischair and was standing with his back to the fire. "Major Grantly,"she said, "you shall see her if you please, and if she pleases; but Idoubt whether her answer at such a moment as this would be that whichyou would wish to receive."
"You think she would refuse me?"
"I do not think that she would accept you now. She would feel,--I amsure she would feel, that these hours of her father's sorrow are nothours in which love should be either offered or accepted. You shall,however, see her if you please."
The major allowed himself a moment for thought; and as he thought hesighed. Grace Crawley became more beautiful in his eyes than ever,was endowed by these words from Miss Prettyman with new charms andbrighter virtues than he had seen before. Let come what might hewould ask her to be his wife on some future day, if he did not so askher now. For the present, perhaps, he had better be guided by MissPrettyman. "Then I will not see her," he said.
"I think that will be the wiser course."
"Of course you knew before this that I--loved her?"
"I thought so, Major Grantly."
"And that I intended to ask her to be my wife?"
"Well; since you put the question to me so plainly, I must confessthat as Grace's friend I should not quite have let things go on asthey have gone,--though I am not at all disposed to interfere withany girl whom I believe to be pure and good as I know her to be,--butstill I should hardly have been justified in letting things go asthey have gone, if I had not believed that such was your purpose."
"I wanted to set myself right with you, Miss Prettyman."
"You are right with me,--quite right;" and she got up and gave himher hand. "You are a fine, noble-hearted gentleman, and I hope thatour Grace may live to be your happy wife, and the mother of yourdarling child, and the mother of other children. I do not see how awoman could have a happier lot in life."
"And will you give Grace my love?"
"I will tell her at any rate that you have been here, and thatyou have inquired after her with the greatest kindness. She willunderstand what that means without any word of love."
"Can I do anything for her,--or for her father; I mean in the wayof--money? I don't mind mentioning it to you, Miss Prettyman."
"I will tell her that you are ready to do it, if anything can bedone. For myself I feel no doubt that the mystery will be cleared upat last; and then, if you will come here, we shall be so glad to seeyou.--I shall, at least."
Then the major went, and Miss Prettyman herself actually descendedwith him into the hall, and bade him farewell most affectionatelybefore her sister and two of the maids who came out to open the door.Miss Anne Prettyman, when she saw the great friendship with whichthe major was dismissed, could not contain herself, but asked mostimpudent questions, in a whisper indeed, but in such a whisper thatany sharp-eared maid-servant could hear and understand them. "Isit settled," she asked when her sister had ascended only the firstflight of stairs;--"has he popped?" The look with which the eldersister punished and dismayed the younger, I would not have borne fortwenty pounds. She simply looked, and said nothing, but passed on.When she had regained her room she rang the bell, and desired theservant to ask Miss Crawley to be good enough to step to her. PoorMiss Anne retired discomforted into the solitude of one of the lowerrooms, and sat for some minutes all alone, recovering from the shockof her sister's anger. "At any rate, he hasn't popped," she said toherself, as she made her way back to the school.
After that Miss Prettyman and Miss Crawley were closeted together forabout an hour. What passed between them need not be repeated hereword for word; but it may be understood that Miss Prettyman said nomore than she ought to have said, and that Grace understood all thatshe ought to have understood.
"No man ever behaved with more considerate friendship, or more like agentleman," said Miss Prettyman.
"I am sure he is very good, and I am so glad he did not ask to seeme," said Grace. Then Grace went away, and Miss Prettyman sat awhilein thought, considering what she had done, not without some stings ofconscience.
Major Grantly, as he walked home, was not altogether satisfied withhimself, though he gave himself credit for some diplomacy which Ido not think he deserved. He felt that Miss Prettyman and the worldin general, should the world in general ever hear anything aboutit, would give him credit for having behaved well; and that he hadobtained this credit without committing himself to the necessityof marrying the daughter of a thief, should things turn out badlyin regard to the father. But,--and this but robbed him of all thepleasure which comes from real success,--but he had not treated GraceCrawley with the perfect generosity which love owes, and he was insome degree ashamed of himself. He felt, however, that he mightprobably have Grace, should he choose to ask for her when thistrouble should have passed by. "And I will," he said to himself, ashe entered the gate of his own paddock, and saw his child in herperambulator before the nurse. "And I will ask her, sooner or later,let things go as they may." Then he took the perambulator under hisown charge for half-an-hour, to the satisfaction of the nurse, of thechild, and of himself.