’And Edith—of course, Mrs Thorne,
I can’t be blind to the fact that in many ways
such a marriage would be injurious to her. No
man wishes to be connected with a convicted thief.’
’No, Major Grantly; but a man does wish to marry
the girl that he loves. At least, I suppose so.
And what man was ever able to give a more touching
proof of his affection than you can to now? If
I were you, I’d be at Allington before twelve
o’clock tomorrow—I would indeed.
What does it matter about the trumpery cheque?
Everybody knows it was a mistake if he did take it.
And surely you would not punish her for that?’
‘No—no; but I don’t suppose
she’d think it a punishment.’
’You go and ask her then. And I’ll
tell you what. If she hasn’t a house of
her own to be married from, she shall be married from
Chaldicotes. We’ll have such a breakfast!
And I’ll make as much of her as if she were
the daughter of my old friend, the bishop himself—I
will indeed.’
This was Mrs Thorne’s advice. Before it
was completed, Major Grantly had been carried half
way to Chaldicotes. When he left his impetuous
friend he was too prudent to make any promise, but
he declared that what she had said should have much
weight with him.
‘You won’t mention it to anybody,’
said the Major.
‘Certainly not, without your leave,’ said
Mrs Thorne. ’Don’t you know I’m
the soul of honour?’
UP IN LONDON
Some kind and attentive reader may perhaps remember
that Miss Grace Crawley, in a letter written by her
to her friend Miss Lily Dale, said a word or two of
a certain John. ‘If it can only be as John
wishes it!’ And the same reader, if there be
one so kind and attentive, may also remember that
Miss Lily Dale had declared, in reply, that ’about
that other subject she would rather say nothing,’—and
then she added, ’When one thinks of going beyond
friendship—even if one tries to do so—there
are so many barriers!’ From which words the kind
and attentive reader, if such a reader be in such
matters intelligent as well as kind and attentive,
may have learned a great deal in reference to Miss
Lily Dale.
We will now pay a visit to the John in question—a
certain Mr John Eames, living in London, a bachelor,
as the intelligent reader will certainly have discovered,
and cousin to Miss Grace Crawley. Mr John Eames
at the time of our story was a young man, some seven
or eight and twenty years of age, living in London,
where he was supposed by his friends in the country
to have made his mark, and to be something a little
out of the common way. But I do not know that
he was very much out of the common way, except in
the fact that he had some few thousand pounds left
him by an old nobleman with great affection, and who
had died some two years since. Before this, John
Eames had not been a very poor man, as he filled the
comfortable official position of the private secretary
