Framley Parsonage, Anthony Trollope [popular e readers txt] 📗

even seen my visitors myself as yet,” said Mrs. Robarts with a slight laugh.

“Dear me!” said Lady Lufton. “I declare you have been very prompt. And so Miss Robarts is over there! I should have thought Mr. Crawley would have made a difficulty about the children.”

“Well, he did; but they kidnapped them⁠—that is, Lucy and Mark did. The dean gave me such an account of it. Lucy brought them out by twos and packed them in the pony-carriage, and then Mark drove off at a gallop while Mr. Crawley stood calling to them in the road. The dean was there at the time and saw it all.”

“That Miss Lucy of yours seems to be a very determined young lady when she takes a thing into her head,” said Lady Lufton, now sitting down for the first time.

“Yes, she is,” said Mrs. Robarts, having laid aside all her pleasant animation, for the discussion which she dreaded was now at hand.

“A very determined young lady,” continued Lady Lufton. “Of course, my dear Fanny, you know all this about Ludovic and your sister-in-law?”

“Yes, she has told me about it.”

“It is very unfortunate⁠—very.”

“I do not think Lucy has been to blame,” said Mrs. Robarts; and as she spoke the blood was already mounting to her cheeks.

“Do not be too anxious to defend her, my dear, before anyone accuses her. Whenever a person does that it looks as though their cause were weak.”

“But my cause is not weak as far as Lucy is concerned; I feel quite sure that she has not been to blame.”

“I know how obstinate you can be, Fanny, when you think it necessary to dub yourself anyone’s champion. Don Quixote was not a better knight-errant than you are. But is it not a pity to take up your lance and shield before an enemy is within sight or hearing? But that was ever the way with your Don Quixotes.”

“Perhaps there may be an enemy in ambush.” That was Mrs. Robarts’ thought to herself, but she did not dare to express it, so she remained silent.

“My only hope is,” continued Lady Lufton, “that when my back is turned you fight as gallantly for me.”

“Ah, you are never under a cloud, like poor Lucy.”

“Am I not? But, Fanny, you do not see all the clouds. The sun does not always shine for any of us, and the down-pouring rain and the heavy wind scatter also my fairest flowers⁠—as they have done hers, poor girl. Dear Fanny, I hope it may be long before any cloud comes across the brightness of your heaven. Of all the creatures I know you are the one most fitted for quiet continued sunshine.”

And then Mrs. Robarts did get up and embrace her friend, thus hiding the tears which were running down her face. Continued sunshine indeed! A dark spot had already gathered on her horizon which was likely to fall in a very waterspout of rain. What was to come of that terrible notice which was now lying in the desk under Lady Lufton’s very arm?

“But I am not come here to croak like an old raven,” continued Lady Lufton, when she had brought this embrace to an end. “It is probable that we all may have our sorrows; but I am quite sure of this⁠—that if we endeavour to do our duties honestly, we shall all find our consolation and all have our joys also. And now, my dear, let you and I say a few words about this unfortunate affair. It would not be natural if we were to hold our tongues to each other; would it?”

“I suppose not,” said Mrs. Robarts.

“We should always be conceiving worse than the truth⁠—each as to the other’s thoughts. Now, some time ago, when I spoke to you about your sister-in-law and Ludovic⁠—I daresay you remember⁠—”

“Oh, yes, I remember.”

“We both thought then that there would really be no danger. To tell you the plain truth I fancied, and indeed hoped, that his affections were engaged elsewhere; but I was altogether wrong then; wrong in thinking it, and wrong in hoping it.”

Mrs. Robarts knew well that Lady Lufton was alluding to Griselda Grantly, but she conceived that it would be discreet to say nothing herself on that subject at present. She remembered, however, Lucy’s flashing eye when the possibility of Lord Lufton making such a marriage was spoken of in the pony-carriage, and could not but feel glad that Lady Lufton had been disappointed.

“I do not at all impute any blame to Miss Robarts for what has occurred since,” continued her ladyship. “I wish you distinctly to understand that.”

“I do not see how anyone could blame her. She has behaved so nobly.”

“It is of no use inquiring whether anyone can. It is sufficient that I do not.”

“But I think that is hardly sufficient,” said Mrs. Robarts, pertinaciously.

“Is it not?” asked her ladyship, raising her eyebrows.

“No. Only think what Lucy has done and is doing. If she had chosen to say that she would accept your son I really do not know how you could have justly blamed her. I do not by any means say that I would have advised such a thing.”

“I am glad of that, Fanny.”

“I have not given any advice; nor is it needed. I know no one more able than Lucy to see clearly, by her own judgment, what course she ought to pursue. I should be afraid to advise one whose mind is so strong, and who, of her own nature, is so self-denying as she is. She is sacrificing herself now, because she will not be the means of bringing trouble and dissension between you and your son. If you ask me, Lady Lufton, I think you owe her a deep debt of gratitude. I do, indeed. And as for blaming her⁠—what has she done that you possibly could blame?”

“Don Quixote on horseback!” said Lady Lufton. “Fanny, I shall always call you Don Quixote, and some day or other I will get somebody to write your adventures. But the truth is this, my dear: there