in his right."

"No, papa; he is not," said Jane, from her standing ground near the
upright desk.

"My dear," said her father, "you should be silent on such a subject.
It is a matter hard to be understood in all its bearings,--even by
those who are most conversant with them. But as to this we need not
trouble Major Grantly."

After that there was silence among them, and for a while it seemed
as though there could be no approach to the subject on which Grantly
had come hither to express himself. Mrs. Crawley, in her despair, said
something about the weather; and the major, trying to draw near the
special subject, became bold enough to remark "that he had had the
pleasure of seeing Miss Crawley at Framley." "Mrs. Robarts has been
very kind," said Mrs. Crawley, "very kind indeed. You can understand,
Major Grantly, that this must be a very sad house for any young
person." "I don't think it is at all sad," said Jane, still standing
in the corner by the upright desk.

Then Major Grantly rose from his seat and walked across to the girl
and took her hand. "You are so like your sister," said he. "Your
sister is a great friend of mine. She has often spoken to me of
you. I hope we shall be friends some day." But Jane could make no
answer to this, although she had been able to vindicate the general
character of the house while she was left in her corner by herself.
"I wonder whether you would be angry with me," continued the major,
"if I told you that I wanted to speak a word to your father and
mother alone?" To this Jane made no reply, but was out of the room
almost before the words had reached the ears of her father and
mother. Though she was only sixteen, and had as yet read nothing
but Latin and Greek,--unless we are to count the twelve books of
Euclid and Wood's Algebra, and sundry smaller exercises of the same
description,--she understood, as well as any one then present, the
reason why her absence was required.

As she closed the door the major paused for a moment, expecting, or
perhaps hoping, that the father or the mother would say a word. But
neither of them had a word to say. They sat silent, and as though
conscience-stricken. Here was a rich man come, of whom they had heard
that he might probably wish to wed their daughter. It was manifest
enough to both of them that no man could marry into their family
without subjecting himself to a heavy portion of that reproach and
disgrace which was attached to them. But ho