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

the world have done for her? And now she had thrown all that aside because she would not endure that Lady Lufton should call her a scheming, artful girl! Actuated by that fear she had repulsed him with a falsehood, though the matter was one on which it was so terribly expedient that she should tell the truth.

And yet she was cheerful with her brother and sister-in-law. It was when she was quite alone, at night in her own room, or in her solitary walks, that a single silent tear would gather in the corner of her eye and gradually moisten her eyelids. “She never told her love,” nor did she allow concealment to “feed on her damask cheek.” In all her employments, in her ways about the house, and her accustomed quiet mirth, she was the same as ever. In this she showed the peculiar strength which God had given her. But not the less did she in truth mourn for her lost love and spoiled ambition.

“We are going to drive over to Hogglestock this morning,” Fanny said one day at breakfast. “I suppose, Mark, you won’t go with us?”

“Well, no; I think not. The pony-carriage is wretched for three.”

“Oh, as for that, I should have thought the new horse might have been able to carry you as far as that. I heard you say you wanted to see Mr. Crawley.”

“So I do; and the new horse, as you call him, shall carry me there tomorrow. Will you say that I’ll be over about twelve o’clock?”

“You had better say earlier, as he is always out about the parish.”

“Very well, say eleven. It is parish business about which I am going, so it need not irk his conscience to stay in for me.”

“Well, Lucy, we must drive ourselves, that’s all. You shall be charioteer going, and then we’ll change coming back.” To all which Lucy agreed, and as soon as their work in the school was over they started.

Not a word had been spoken between them about Lord Lufton since that evening, now more than a month ago, on which they had been walking together in the garden. Lucy had so demeaned herself on that occasion as to make her sister-in-law quite sure that there had been no love passages up to that time; and nothing had since occurred which had created any suspicion in Mrs. Robarts’ mind. She had seen at once that all the close intimacy between them was over, and thought that everything was as it should be.

“Do you know, I have an idea,” she said in the pony-carriage that day, “that Lord Lufton will marry Griselda Grantly.” Lucy could not refrain from giving a little check at the reins which she was holding, and she felt that the blood rushed quickly to her heart. But she did not betray herself. “Perhaps he may,” she said, and then gave the pony a little touch with her whip.

“Oh, Lucy, I won’t have Puck beaten. He was going very nicely.”

“I beg Puck’s pardon. But you see when one is trusted with a whip one feels such a longing to use it.”

“Oh, but you should keep it still. I feel almost certain that Lady Lufton would like such a match.”

“I daresay she might. Miss Grantly will have a large fortune, I believe.”

“It is not that altogether: but she is the sort of young lady that Lady Lufton likes. She is ladylike and very beautiful⁠—”

“Come, Fanny!”

“I really think she is; not what I should call lovely, you know, but very beautiful. And then she is quiet and reserved; she does not require excitement, and I am sure is conscientious in the performance of her duties.”

“Very conscientious, I have no doubt,” said Lucy, with something like a sneer in her tone. “But the question, I suppose, is, whether Lord Lufton likes her.”

“I think he does⁠—in a sort of way. He did not talk to her so much as he did to you⁠—”

“Ah! that was all Lady Lufton’s fault, because she didn’t have him properly labelled.”

“There does not seem to have been much harm done?”

“Oh! by God’s mercy, very little. As for me, I shall get over it in three or four years I don’t doubt⁠—that’s if I can get ass’s milk and change of air.”

“We’ll take you to Barchester for that. But as I was saying, I really do think Lord Lufton likes Griselda Grantly.”

“Then I really do think that he has uncommon bad taste,” said Lucy, with a reality in her voice differing much from the tone of banter she had hitherto used.

“What, Lucy!” said her sister-in-law, looking at her. “Then I fear we shall really want the ass’s milk.”

“Perhaps, considering my position, I ought to know nothing of Lord Lufton, for you say that it is very dangerous for young ladies to know young gentlemen. But I do know enough of him to understand that he ought not to like such a girl as Griselda Grantly. He ought to know that she is a mere automaton, cold, lifeless, spiritless, and even vapid. There is, I believe, nothing in her mentally, whatever may be her moral excellences. To me she is more absolutely like a statue than any other human being I ever saw. To sit still and be admired is all that she desires; and if she cannot get that, to sit still and not be admired would almost suffice for her. I do not worship Lady Lufton as you do; but I think quite well enough of her to wonder that she should choose such a girl as that for her son’s wife. That she does wish it, I do not doubt. But I shall indeed be surprised if he wishes it also.” And then as she finished her speech, Lucy again flogged the pony. This she did in vexation, because she felt that the telltale blood had suffused her face.

“Why, Lucy, if he were your brother you could not be more eager about it.”

“No, I could not. He is the