farmyard muck and mire;—­and here was the clod-crusher advertised for sale!  The archdeacon did not want his son to leave Cosby Lodge.  He knew well enough that his son need not leave Cosby Lodge.  Why had the foolish fellow been in such a hurry with his hideous ill-conditioned advertisements?  Gentle!  How was he in such circumstances to be gentle?  He raised his umbrella and poked angrily at the disgusting notice.  The iron ferrule caught the paper at a chink in the post, and tore it from the top to the bottom.  But what was the use?  A horrid ugly bill lying torn in such a spot would attract only more attention than one fixed to a post.  He could not condescend, however, to give it further attention, but passed on to the parsonage.  Gentle indeed!

Nevertheless Archdeacon Grantly was a gentleman, and never yet had dealt more harshly with any woman than we have sometimes seen him to do with his wife—­when he would say to her an angry word or two with a good deal of marital authority.  His wife, who knew well what his angry words were worth, never even suggested to herself that she had the cause for complaint on that head.  Had she known that the archdeacon was about to undertake such a mission as this which he had now in hand, she would not have warned him to be gentle.  She, indeed, would have strongly advised him not to undertake the mission, cautioning him that the young lady would probably get the better of him.

‘Grace, my dear,’ said Mrs Robarts, coming up into the nursery in which Miss Crawley was sitting with the children, ’come out here a moment, will you?’ Then Grace left the children and went out into the passage.  ’My dear, there is a gentleman in the drawing-room who asks to see you.’

‘A gentleman, Mrs Robarts!  What gentleman?’ But Grace, though she asked the questions, conceived that the gentleman must be Henry Grantly.  Her mind did not suggest to her the possibility of any other gentleman coming to see her.

‘You must not be surprised, or allow yourself to be frightened.’

‘Oh, Mrs Robarts, who is it?’

‘It is Major Grantly’s father.’

‘The archdeacon?’

‘Yes, dear; Archdeacon Grantly.  He is in the drawing-room.’

‘Must I see him, Mrs Robarts?’

’Well, Grace—­I think you must.  I hardly know how you can refuse.  He is an intimate friend of everybody here at Framley.’

‘What will he say to me?’

‘Nay; that I cannot tell.  I suppose you know—­’

’He has come, no doubt, to bid me having nothing to say to his son.  He need not have troubled himself.  But he may say what he likes.  I am no coward, and I will go to him.’

’Stop a moment, Grace.  Come into my room for an instant.  The children have pulled your hair about.’  But Grace, though she followed Mrs Robarts into the bedroom, would have nothing done to her hair.  She was too proud for that—­and we may say, also, too little confident in any good which such resources might effect on her behalf.  ‘Never mind about that,’ she said.  ‘What am I to say to him?’ Mrs Robarts paused before she replied, feeling that the matter was one which required some deliberation.  ’Tell me what I must say to him?’ said Grace, repeating her question.