Then the major went, and Miss Prettyman herself actually
descended with him into the hall, and bade him farewell
most affectionately before her sister and two of the
maids who came out to open the door. Miss Anne
Prettyman, when she saw the great friendship with which
the major was dismissed, could not contain herself,
but asked most impudent questions, in a whisper indeed,
but in such a whisper that any sharp-eared maid-servant
could hear and understand them. ‘Is it settled,’
she asked when her sister had ascended only the first
flight of stairs;—’has he popped?’
The look with which her elder sister punished and dismayed
the younger, I would not have borne for twenty pounds.
She simply looked, and said nothing, but passed on.
When she had regained her room she rang the bell,
and desired to ask the servant to ask Miss Crawley
to be good enough to step to her. Poor Miss Anne
retired discomforted into the solitude of one of the
lower rooms, and sat for some minutes all alone, recovering
from the shock of her sister’s anger. ’At
any rate, he hasn’t popped,’ she said
to herself, as she made her way back to the school.
After that Miss Prettyman and Miss Crawley were closeted
together for about an hour. What passed between
them need not be repeated here word for word; but
it may be understood that Miss Prettyman said no more
than she ought to have said, and that Grace understood
all that she ought to have understood.
’No man ever behaved with more considerate friendship,
or more like a gentleman,’ said Miss Prettyman.
‘I am sure he is very good, and I am so glad
he did not ask to see me,’ said Grace.
Then Grace went away, and Miss Prettyman sat awhile
in thought, considering what she had done, not without
some stings of conscience.
Major Grantly as he walked home was not altogether
satisfied with himself, though he gave himself credit
for some diplomacy which I do not think he deserved.
He felt that Miss Prettyman and the world in general,
should the world in general ever hear anything about
it, would give him credit for having behaved well;
and that he had obtained this credit without committing
himself to the necessity of marrying the daughter of
a thief, should things turn out badly in regard to
the father. But—and this but robbed
him of all the pleasure which comes from real success—but
he had not treated Grace Crawley with the perfect
generosity which love owes, and he was in some degree
ashamed of himself. He felt, however, that he
might probably have Grace, should he choose to ask
for her when this trouble should have passed by.
’And I will,’ he said to himself, as he
entered the gate of his own paddock, and saw his child
in her perambulator before the nurse. ’And
I will ask her, sooner or later, let things go as
they may.’ Then he took the perambulator
under his own charge for half-an-hour, to the satisfaction
of the nurse, of the child, and of himself.
CHAPTER VIII
Copyrights
The Last Chronicle of Barset from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
