ll that he
could not get the better of her, and was apt at such moments to think
that she took an unfair advantage of him by keeping her temper. But
he could not get out of his head the idea that perhaps on this very
day things were being arranged between his son and Grace Crawley at
Framley; and he resolved that he himself would go over and see what
might be done. He would, at any rate, tell all his trouble to Lady
Lufton, and beg his old friend to assist him. He could not think that
such a one as he had always known Lady Lufton to be would approve of
a marriage between Henry Grantly and Grace Crawley. At any rate, he
would learn the truth. He had once been told that Grace Crawley had
herself refused to marry his son, feeling that she would do wrong to
inflict so great an injury upon any gentleman. He had not believed in
so great a virtue. He could not believe it now,--now, when he heard
that Miss Crawley and his son were staying together in the same
parish. Somebody must be doing him an injury. It could hardly be
chance. But his presence at Framley might even yet have a good
effect, and he would at least learn the truth. So he had himself
driven to Barchester, and from Barchester he took post-horses to
Framley.

As he came near to the village, he grew to be somewhat ashamed of
himself, or, at least, nervous as to the mode in which he would
proceed. The driver, turning round to him, had suggested that he
supposed he was to drive to "My Lady's". This injustice to Lord
Lufton, to whom the house belonged, and with whom his mother lived as
a guest, was very common in the county; for old Lady Lufton had lived
at Framley Court through her son's long minority, and had kept the
house there till his marriage; and even since his marriage she had
been recognised as its presiding genius. It certainly was not the
fault of old Lady Lufton, as she always spoke of everything as
belonging either to her son or to her daughter-in-law. The archdeacon
had been in doubt whether he would go to the Court or to the
parsonage. Could he have done exactly as he wished, he would have
left the chaise and walked to the parsonage, so as to reach it
without the noise and fuss incidental to a postilion's arrival. But
that was impossible. He could not drop into Framley as though he had
come from the clouds, and, therefore, he told the man to do as he
had suggested. "To my lady's?" said the postilion. The archdeacon
assented, and the man, with loud cra