The Last Chronicle of Barset. Anthony Trollope

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СКАЧАТЬ be foolish, Grace. It all comes from your not knowing him, or understanding him. And how should you understand him? I give you my word that I would tell you if I did not know that he wishes you to go.”

      She had to go. “Of course I haven’t a dress fit. How should I?” she said to Lily. “How wrong it is of me to put myself up to such a thing as this.”

      “Your dress is beautiful, child. We are none of us going in evening dresses. Pray believe that I will not make you do wrong. If you won’t trust me, can’t you trust mamma?”

      Of course she went. When the three ladies entered the drawing-room of the Great House they found that Lady Julia had arrived just before them. Lady Julia immediately took hold of Lily, and led her apart, having a word or two to say about the clerk in the Income-tax Office. I am not sure but what the dear old woman sometimes said a few more words than were expedient, with a view to the object which she had so closely at heart. “John is to be with us the first week in February,” she said. “I suppose you’ll see him before that, as he’ll probably be with his mother a few days before he comes to me.”

      “I daresay we shall see him quite in time, Lady Julia,” said Lily.

      “Now, Lily, don’t be ill-natured.”

      “I’m the most good-natured young woman alive, Lady Julia, and as for Johnny, he is always made as welcome at the Small House as violets in March. Mamma purrs about him when he comes, asking all manner of flattering questions as though he were a cabinet minister at least, and I always admire some little knicknack that he has got, a new ring, or a stud, or a button. There isn’t another man in all the world whose buttons I’d look at.”

      “It isn’t his buttons, Lily.”

      “Ah, that’s just it. I can go as far as his buttons. But come, Lady Julia, this is Christmas-time, and Christmas should be a holiday.”

      In the meantime Mrs. Dale was occupied with her married daughter and her son-in-law, and the squire had attached himself to poor Grace. “You have never been in this part of the country before, Miss Crawley,” he said.

      “No, sir.”

      “It is rather pretty just about here, and Guestwick Manor is a fine place in its way, but we have not so much natural beauty as you have in Barsetshire. Chaldicote Chase is, I think, as pretty as anything in England.”

      “I never saw Chaldicote Chase, sir. It isn’t pretty at all at Hogglestock, where we live.”

      “Ah, I forgot. No; it is not very pretty at Hogglestock. That’s where the bricks come from.”

      “Papa is clergyman at Hogglestock.”

      “Yes, yes; I remember. Your father is a great scholar. I have often heard of him. I am so sorry he should be distressed by this charge they have made. But it will all come right at the assizes. They always get at the truth there. I used to be intimate with a clergyman in Barsetshire of the name of Grantly;”—Grace felt that her ears were tingling, and that her face was red;—“Archdeacon Grantly. His father was bishop of the diocese.”

      “Yes, sir. Archdeacon Grantly lives at Plumstead.”

      “I was staying once with an old friend of mine, Mr. Thorne of Ullathorne, who lives close to Plumstead, and saw a good deal of them. I remember thinking Henry Grantly was a very nice lad. He married afterwards.”

      “Yes, sir; but his wife is dead now, and he has got a little girl,—Edith Grantly.”

      “Is there no other child?”

      “No, sir; only Edith.”

      “You know him, then?”

      “Yes, sir; I know Major Grantly,—and Edith. I never saw Archdeacon Grantly.”

      “Then, my dear, you never saw a very famous pillar of the church. I remember when people used to talk a great deal about Archdeacon Grantly; but when his time came to be made a bishop, he was not sufficiently new-fangled; and so he got passed by. He is much better off as he is, I should say. Bishops have to work very hard, my dear.”

      “Do they, sir?”

      “So they tell me. And the archdeacon is a wealthy man. So Henry Grantly has got an only daughter? I hope she is a nice child, for I remember liking him well.”

      “She is a very nice child, indeed, Mr. Dale. She could not be nicer. And she is so lovely.” Then Mr. Dale looked into his young companion’s face, struck by the sudden animation of her words, and perceived for the first time that she was very pretty.

      After this Grace became accustomed to the strangeness of the faces round her, and managed to eat her dinner without much perturbation of spirit. When after dinner the squire proposed to her that they should drink the health of her papa and mamma, she was almost reduced to tears, and yet she liked him for doing it. It was terrible to her to have them mentioned, knowing as she did that every one who mentioned them must be aware of their misery,—for the misfortune of her father had become notorious in the country; but it was almost more terrible to her that no allusion should be made to them; for then she would be driven to think that her father was regarded as a man whom the world could not afford to mention. “Papa and mamma,” she just murmured, raising her glass to her lips. “Grace, dear,” said Lily from across the table, “here’s papa and mamma, and the young man at Marlborough who is carrying everything before him.” “Yes; we won’t forget the young man at Marlborough,” said the squire. Grace felt this to be good-natured, because her brother at Marlborough was the one bright spot in her family,—and she was comforted.

      “And we will drink the health of my friend, John Eames,” said Lady Julia.

      “John Eames’ health,” said the squire, in a low voice.

      “Johnny’s health,” said Mrs. Dale; but Mrs. Dale’s voice was not very brisk.

      “John’s health,” said Dr. Crofts and Mrs. Crofts in a breath.

      “Here’s the health of Johnny Eames,” said Lily; and her voice was the clearest and the boldest of them all. But she made up her mind that if Lady Julia could not be induced to spare her for the future, she and Lady Julia must quarrel. “No one can understand,” she said to her mother that evening, “how dreadful it is,—this being constantly told before one’s family and friends that one ought to marry a certain young man.”

      “She didn’t say that, my dear.”

      “I should much prefer that she should, for then I could get up on my legs and answer her off the reel.” Of course everybody there understood what she meant,—including old John Bates, who stood at the sideboard and coolly drank the toast himself.

      “He always does that to all the family toasts on Christmas Day. Your uncle likes it.”

      “That wasn’t a family toast, and John Bates had no right to drink it.”

      After dinner they all played cards,—a round game,—and the squire put in the stakes. “Now, Grace,” said Lily, “you are the visitor and you must win, or else uncle Christopher won’t be happy. He always likes a young lady visitor to win.”

      “But I never played a game of cards in my life.”

      “Go СКАЧАТЬ