Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope (good books to read for young adults TXT) 📕

pleased to participate in the selection. Nor was Mrs. Grantly sorry for such a decision. She was not an imprudent woman, and would have dreaded the responsibility of trusting herself on such an occasion among the dangerous temptations of a jeweller’s shop. But as far as silks and satins went⁠—in the matter of French bonnets, muslins, velvets, hats, riding-habits, artificial flowers, head-gilding, curious nettings, enamelled buckles, golden tagged bobbins, and mechanical petticoats⁠—as regarded shoes, and gloves, and corsets, and stockings, and linen, and flannel, and calico⁠—money, I may conscientiously assert, was no object. And, under these circumstances, Griselda Grantly went to work with a solemn industry and a steady perseverance that was beyond all praise.

“I hope she will be happy,” Mrs. Arabin said to her sister, as the two were sitting together in the dean’s drawing-room.

“Oh, yes; I think she will. Why should she not?” said the mother.

“Oh, no; I know of no reason. But she is going up into a station so much above her own in the eyes of the world that one cannot but feel anxious for her.”

“I should feel much more anxious if she were going to marry a poor man,” said Mrs. Grantly. “It has always seemed to me that Griselda was fitted for a high position; that nature intended her for rank and state. You see that she is not a bit elated. She takes it all as if it were her own by right. I do not think that there is any danger that her head will be turned, if you mean that.”

“I was thinking rather of her heart,” said Mrs. Arabin.

“She never would have taken Lord Dumbello without loving him,” said Mrs. Grantly, speaking rather quickly.

“That is not quite what I mean either, Susan. I am sure she would not have accepted him had she not loved him. But it is so hard to keep the heart fresh among all the grandeurs of high rank; and it is harder for a girl to do so who has not been born to it, than for one who has enjoyed it as her birthright.”

“I don’t quite understand about fresh hearts,” said Mrs. Grantly, pettishly. “If she does her duty, and loves her husband, and fills the position in which God has placed her with propriety, I don’t know that we need look for anything more. I don’t at all approve of the plan of frightening a young girl when she is making her first outset into the world.”

“No; I would not frighten her. I think it would be almost difficult to frighten Griselda.”

“I hope it would. The great matter with a girl is whether she has been brought up with proper notions as to a woman’s duty. Of course it is not for me to boast on this subject. Such as she is, I, of course, am responsible. But I must own that I do not see occasion to wish for any change.” And then the subject was allowed to drop.

Among those of her relations who wondered much at the girl’s fortune, but allowed themselves to say but little, was her grandfather, Mr. Harding. He was an old clergyman, plain and simple in his manners, and not occupying a very prominent position, seeing that he was only precentor to the chapter. He was loved by his daughter, Mrs. Grantly, and was treated by the archdeacon, if not invariably with the highest respect, at least always with consideration and regard. But, old and plain as he was, the young people at Plumstead did not hold him in any great reverence. He was poorer than their other relatives, and made no attempt to hold his head high in Barsetshire circles. Moreover, in these latter days, the home of his heart had been at the deanery. He had, indeed, a lodging of his own in the city, but was gradually allowing himself to be weaned away from it. He had his own bedroom in the dean’s house, his own armchair in the dean’s library, and his own corner on a sofa in Mrs. Dean’s drawing-room. It was not, therefore, necessary that he should interfere greatly in this coming marriage; but still it became his duty to say a word of congratulation to his granddaughter⁠—and perhaps to say a word of advice.

“Grizzy, my dear,” he said to her⁠—he always called her Grizzy, but the endearment of the appellation had never been appreciated by the young lady⁠—“come and kiss me, and let me congratulate you on your great promotion. I do so very heartily.”

“Thank you, grandpapa,” she said, touching his forehead with her lips, thus being, as it were, very sparing with her kiss. But those lips now were august and reserved for nobler foreheads than that of an old cathedral hack. For Mr. Harding still chanted the Litany from Sunday to Sunday, unceasingly, standing at that well-known desk in the cathedral choir; and Griselda had a thought in her mind that when the Hartletop people should hear of the practice they would not be delighted. Dean and archdeacon might be very well, and if her grandfather had even been a prebendary, she might have put up with him; but he had, she thought, almost disgraced his family in being, at his age, one of the working menial clergy of the cathedral. She kissed him, therefore, sparingly, and resolved that her words with him should be few.

“You are going to be a great lady, Grizzy,” said he.

“Umph!” said she.

What was she to say when so addressed?

“And I hope you will be happy⁠—and make others happy.”

“I hope I shall,” said she.

“But always think most about the latter, my dear. Think about the happiness of those around you, and your own will come without thinking. You understand that; do you not?”

“Oh, yes, I understand,” she said.

As they were speaking Mr. Harding still held her hand, but Griselda left it with him unwillingly, and therefore ungraciously, looking as though she were dragging it from him.

“And Grizzy⁠—I believe it is quite as easy for a rich countess to be happy, as for a dairymaid⁠—”

Griselda