'No, mamma; not at the Small House. But he came there--to see me. He asked me--to be his wife. Don't move, mamma.'
'My darling child! I won't move, dearest. Well; and what did you say to him? God bless him, at any rate. May God bless him, because he has seen with a true eye, and felt with a noble instinct. It is something, Grace, to have been wooed by such a man at such a time.'
'Mamma, it did make me feel proud; it did.'
'You had known him well before--of course? I knew that you and he were friends, Grace.'
'Yes, we were friends. I always liked him. I used not to know what to think about him. Miss Anne Prettyman told me that it would be so; and once before I had thought so myself.'
'And had you made up your mind what to say to him?'
'Yes, I did then. But I did not say it.'
'Did not say what you had made up your mind to say?'
'That was before all this happened to papa.'
'I understand you, dearest.'
'When Miss Anne Prettyman told me that I should be ready with my answer, and when I saw that Miss Prettyman herself used to let him come to the house and seemed to wish that I should see him when he came, and when he once was--so very gentle and kind, and when he said that he wanted me to love Edith--Oh, mamma!'
'Yes, darling, I know. Of course you loved him.'
'Yes, mamma. And I do love him. How could one not love him?'
'I love him--for loving you.'
'But, mamma, one is bound not to do a harm to anyone that one loves. So when he came to Allington I told him that I could not be his wife.'
'Did you, my dear?'
'Yes; I did. Was I not right? Ought I to go to him to bring a disgrace upon all the family, just because he is so good that he asks me? Shall Iinjure him because he wants to do me a service?'
'If he loves you, Grace, the service he will require will be your love in return.'
'That is all very well, mamma--in books; but I do not believe it in reality. Being in love is very nice, and in poetry they make it out to be everything. But I do not think I should make Major Grantly happy if when I became his wife his own father and mother would not see him. Iknow I should be so wretched, myself, that I could not live.'
'But would it be so?'
'Yes;--I think it would. And the archdeacon is very rich, and can leave all his money away from Major Grantly if he pleases. Think what I should feel if I were the cause of Edith losing her fortune!'
'But why do you suppose these terrible things?'
'I have a reason for supposing them. This must be a secret. Miss Anne Prettyman wrote to me.'
'I wish Miss Anne Prettyman's hand had been in the fire.'
'No, mamma; no, she was right. Would not I have wished, do you think, to have learned all the truth about the matter before I answered him?
Besides, it made no difference. I could have made no other answer while papa is under such a terrible ban. It is no time for us to think of being in love. We have got to love each other. Isn't it so, mamma?' The mother did not answer in words, but slipping down on her knees before her child threw her arms found her girl's body in a close embrace. 'Dear mamma; dearest mamma; this is what I wanted;--that you should love me.'
'Love you, my angel!'
'And trust me;--and that we should understand each other, and stand close by each other. We can do so much to comfort one another;--but we cannot comfort other people.'
'He must know that best himself, Grace;--but what did he say more to you?'
'I don't think he said anything more.'
'He just left you then?'
'He said one thing more.'
'And what was that?'
'He said--but he had no right to say it.'
'What was it, dear?'
'That he knew that I loved him, and that therefore--But, mamma, do not think of that. I will never be his wife--never, in opposition to his family.'
'But he did not take your answer?'
'He must take it, mamma. He shall take it. If he can be stubborn, so can I. If he knows how to think of me more than himself, I can think of him and Edith more than of myself. That is not quite all, mamma. Then he wrote to me. There is his letter.'
Mrs Crawley read the letter. 'I suppose you answered it?'
'Yes, I answered it. It was very bad, my letter. I should think after all that he will never want to have anything more to say to me. I tried for two days, but I could not write a nice letter.'
'But what did you say?'
'I don't in the least remember. It does not in the least signify now, but it was such a bad letter.'
'I daresay it was very nice.'
'It was terribly stiff, and all about a gentleman.'
'All about a gentleman! What do you mean, my dear?'
'Gentleman is such a frightful word to have to use to a gentleman; but Idid not know what else to say. Mamma, if you please, we won't talk about it;--not about the letter, I mean. As for him, I'll talk about him for ever if you like it. I don't mean to be a bit broken-hearted.'
'It seems to me that he is a gentleman.'
'Yes, mamma, that he is; and it is that which makes me so proud. When Ithink of it, I can hardly hold myself. But now I've told you everything, and I'll go away, and go to bed.'
