good to him to throw those favouring eyes on poor Grace Crawley.  His wife had now been dead just two years, and he was still under thirty, no one could deny it would be right that he should marry again.  No one did deny it.  His father had hinted that he ought to do so, and had generously whispered that if some little increase to the major’s present income were needed, he might possibly be able to do something.  ‘What is the good of keeping it?’ the archdeacon had said in a liberal after-dinner warmth; ’I only want it for your brother and yourself.’  The brother was a clergyman.

And the major’s mother had strongly advised him to marry again without loss of time.  ‘My dear Henry,’ she had said, ’you’ll never be younger, and youth does go for something.  As for dear little Edith, being a girl, she is almost no impediment.  Do you know those two girls at Chaldicotes?’

‘What, Mrs Thorne’s nieces?’

’No; they are not her nieces but her cousins.  Emily Dunstable is very handsome;—­and as for money—!’

‘But what about birth, mother?’

‘One can’t have everything, my dear.’

‘As far as I am concerned, I should like to have everything or nothing,’ the major said, laughing.  Now for him to think of Grace Crawley after that—­of Grace Crawley who had no money, and no particular birth, and not even beauty herself—­so at least Mrs Grantly said—­who had not even enjoyed the ordinary education of a lady, was too bad.  Nothing had been wanting to Emily Dunstable’s education, and it was calculated that she would have at least twenty thousand pounds on the day of her marriage.

The disappointment of the mother would be the more sore because she had gone to work upon her little scheme with reference to Miss Emily Dunstable, and had at first, as she thought, seen her way to success—­to success in spite of the disparaging words her son had spoken to her.  Mrs Thorne’s house at Chaldicotes—­or Dr Thorne’s house as it should, perhaps, be more commonly called, for Dr Thorne was the husband of Mrs Thorne—­was in these days the pleasantest house in Barsetshire.  No one saw so much company as the Thornes, or spent so much money in so pleasant a way.  The great county families, the Pallisers and the De Courcys, the Luftons and the Greshams, were no doubt grander, and some of them were perhaps richer than the Chaldicote Thornes—­as they were called to distinguish them from the Thornes of Ullathorne; but none of these people were so pleasant in their ways, so free in their hospitality, or so easy in their modes of living, as the doctor and his wife.  When first Chaldicotes, a very old country seat, had by the chances of war fallen into their hands and been newly furnished, and newly decorated, and newly gardened, and newly greenhoused and hot-watered by them, many of the county people had turned up their noses at them.  Dear old Lady Lufton had done so, and had been greatly grieved—­saying nothing, however, of her grief, when her son and daughter-in-law