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

a speech as this. Any allusion to Mr. Slope acted on Mrs. Proudie as a red cloth is supposed to act on a bull; but when that allusion connected the name of Mr. Slope in a friendly bracket with that of Mrs. Proudie’s future son-in-law it might be certain that the effect would be terrific. And there was more than this: for that very Mr. Slope had once entertained audacious hopes⁠—hopes not thought to be audacious by the young lady herself⁠—with reference to Miss Olivia Proudie. All this Mrs. Grantly knew, and, knowing it, still dared to mention his name.

The countenance of Mrs. Proudie became darkened with black anger, and the polished smile of her company manners gave place before the outraged feelings of her nature.

“The man you speak of, Mrs. Grantly,” said she, “was never known as a friend by Mr. Tickler.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Mrs. Grantly. “Perhaps I have made a mistake. I am sure I have heard Mr. Slope mention him.”

“When Mr. Slope was running after your sister, Mrs. Grantly, and was encouraged by her as he was, you perhaps saw more of him than I did.”

“Mrs. Proudie, that was never the case.”

“I have reason to know that the archdeacon conceived it to be so, and that he was very unhappy about it.” Now this, unfortunately, was a fact which Mrs. Grantly could not deny.

“The archdeacon may have been mistaken about Mr. Slope,” she said, “as were some other people at Barchester. But it was you, I think, Mrs. Proudie, who were responsible for bringing him here.”

Mrs. Grantly, at this period of the engagement, might have inflicted a fatal wound by referring to poor Olivia’s former love affairs, but she was not destitute of generosity. Even in the extremest heat of the battle she knew how to spare the young and tender.

“When I came here, Mrs. Grantly, I little dreamed what a depth of wickedness might be found in the very close of a cathedral city,” said Mrs. Proudie.

“Then, for dear Olivia’s sake, pray do not bring poor Mr. Tickler to Barchester.”

“Mr. Tickler, Mrs. Grantly, is a man of assured morals and of a highly religious tone of thinking. I wish everyone could be so safe as regards their daughters’ future prospects as I am.”

“Yes, I know he has the advantage of being a family man,” said Mrs. Grantly, getting up. “Good morning, Mrs. Proudie; good day, Olivia.”

“A great deal better that than⁠—” But the blow fell upon the empty air; for Mrs. Grantly had already escaped on to the staircase while Olivia was ringing the bell for the servant to attend the front-door.

Mrs. Grantly, as she got into her carriage, smiled slightly, thinking of the battle, and as she sat down she gently pressed her daughter’s hand. But Mrs. Proudie’s face was still dark as Acheron when her enemy withdrew, and with angry tone she sent her daughter to her work. “Mr. Tickler will have great reason to complain if, in your position, you indulge such habits of idleness,” she said. Therefore I conceive that I am justified in saying that in that encounter Mrs. Grantly was the conqueror.

XLI Don Quixote

On the day on which Lucy had her interview with Lady Lufton the dean dined at Framley Parsonage. He and Robarts had known each other since the latter had been in the diocese, and now, owing to Mark’s preferment in the chapter, had become almost intimate. The dean was greatly pleased with the manner in which poor Mr. Crawley’s children had been conveyed away from Hogglestock, and was inclined to open his heart to the whole Framley household. As he still had to ride home he could only allow himself to remain half an hour after dinner, but in that half-hour he said a great deal about Crawley, complimented Robarts on the manner in which he was playing the part of the Good Samaritan, and then by degrees informed him that it had come to his, the dean’s, ears, before he left Barchester, that a writ was in the hands of certain persons in the city, enabling them to seize⁠—he did not know whether it was the person or the property of the vicar of Framley.

The fact was that these tidings had been conveyed to the dean with the express intent that he might put Robarts on his guard; but the task of speaking on such a subject to a brother clergyman had been so unpleasant to him that he had been unable to introduce it till the last five minutes before his departure.

“I hope you will not put it down as an impertinent interference,” said the dean, apologizing.

“No,” said Mark; “no, I do not think that.” He was so sad at heart that he hardly knew how to speak of it.

“I do not understand much about such matters,” said the dean; “but I think, if I were you, I should go to a lawyer. I should imagine that anything so terribly disagreeable as an arrest might be avoided.”

“It is a hard case,” said Mark, pleading his own cause. “Though these men have this claim against me I have never received a shilling either in money or money’s worth.”

“And yet your name is to the bills!” said the dean.

“Yes, my name is to the bills, certainly, but it was to oblige a friend.”

And then the dean, having given his advice, rode away. He could not understand how a clergyman, situated as was Mr. Robarts, could find himself called upon by friendship to attach his name to accommodation bills which he had not the power of liquidating when due!

On that evening they were both wretched enough at the parsonage. Hitherto Mark had hoped that perhaps, after all, no absolutely hostile steps would be taken against him with reference to these bills. Some unforeseen chance might occur in his favour, or the persons holding them might consent to take small instalments of payment from time to time; but now it seemed that the evil day was actually coming upon him at a blow. He had no longer any secrets from his wife. Should he go to a lawyer? and if so, to what lawyer? And