had broken away from her, and submitted themselves to the blandishments of the doctor’s wife.  And the Grantlys had stood aloof, partly influenced, no doubt, by their dear and intimate old friend Miss Monica Thorne of Ullathorne, a lady of the very old school, who, though good as gold and kind as charity, could not endure that an interloping Mrs Thorne, who never had a grandfather, should come to honour and glory in the county, simply because of her riches.  Miss Monica Thorne stood out, but Mrs Grantly gave way, and having once found that Dr Thorne, and Mrs Thorne, and Emily Dunstable, and Chaldicote House together, were very charming.  And the major had been once there with her, and had made himself very pleasant, and there certainly had been some little passage of incipient love between him and Miss Dunstable, as to which Mrs Thorne, who managed everything, seemed to be well pleased.  This had been after the first mention made by Mrs Grantly to her son of Emily Dunstable’s name, but before she had heard any faintest whispers of his fancy for Grace Crawley; and she had therefore been justified in hoping—­almost in expecting, that Emily Dunstable would be her daughter-in-law, and was therefore the more aggrieved when this terrible Crawley peril first opened itself before her eyes.

CHAPTER III

THE ARCHDEACON’S THREAT

The dinner-party at the rectory comprised none but the Grantly family.  The marchioness had written to say that she preferred to have it so.  The father had suggested that the Thornes of Ullathorne, very old friends, might be asked, and the Greshams of Boxall Hill, and had even promised to endeavour to get old Lady Lufton over to the rectory, Lady Lufton having in former years been Griselda’s warm friend.  But Lady Hartletop had preferred to see her dear mother and father in privacy.  Her brother Henry she would be glad to meet, and hoped to make some arrangement with him for a short visit to Hartlebury, her husband’s place in Shropshire—­as to which latter hint, it may, however, be at once said that nothing further was spoken after the Crawley alliance had been suggested.  And there had been a very sore point mooted by the daughter in a request made to her father that she might not be called upon to meet her grandfather, her mother’s father.  Mr Harding, a clergyman of Barchester, who was now stricken in years.—­’Papa would not have come,’ said Mrs Grantly, ‘but I think, I do think—­’ Then she stopped herself.

’Your father has odd ways sometimes, my dear.  You know how fond I am of having him here myself.’