drank with a cold
magnificence, which I think had become a second nature with her,
but which was not on that account the less oppressive. Even the
archdeacon, who enjoyed something in that which was so disagreeable
to his wife, felt a relief when he was left alone after dinner with
his son. He felt relieved as his son got up to open the door for his
mother and sister, but was aware at the same time that he had before
him a most difficult and possibly a most disastrous task. His dear
son Henry was not a man to be talked smoothly out of, or into,
any propriety. He had a will of his own, and having hitherto
been a successful man, who in youth had fallen into few youthful
troubles,--who had never justified his father in using stern parental
authority,--was not now inclined to bend his neck. "Henry," said the
archdeacon, "what are you drinking? That's '34 port, but it's not
just what it should be. Shall I send for another bottle?"

"It will do for me, sir. I shall only take a glass."

"I shall drink two or three glasses of claret. But you young fellows
have become so desperately temperate."

"We take our wine at dinner, sir."

"By-the-bye, how well Griselda is looking."

"Yes, she is. It's always easy for women to look well when they're
rich." How would Grace Crawley look, then, who was poor as poverty
itself, and who should remain poor, if his son was fool enough to
marry her? That was the train of thought which ran through the
archdeacon's mind. "I do not think much of riches," said he, "but
it is always well that a gentleman's wife or a gentleman's daughter
should have a sufficiency to maintain her position in life."

"You may say the same, sir, of everybody's wife and everybody's
daughter."

"You know what I mean, Henry."

"I am not quite sure that I do, sir."

"Perhaps I had better speak out at once. A rumour has reached your
mother and me, which we don't believe for a moment, but which,
nevertheless, makes us unhappy even as a report. They say that there
is a young woman living in Silverbridge to whom you are becoming
attached."

"Is there any reason why I should not become attached to a young
woman in Silverbridge?--though I hope any young woman to whom I may
become attached will be worthy at any rate of being called a young
lady."

"I hope so, Henry; I hope so. I do hope so."

"So much I will promise, sir; but I will promise nothing more."

The archdeacon looked across at his son's face, and his he