"I am so sorry, Mrs. Robarts," said Grace.
"Pooh, pooh," said Lady Lufton. "Fanny and I have known each other quite long enough not to stand on any compliments,—haven't we, my dear? I must get home now, as all the morning has gone by. Fanny my dear, I want to speak to you." Then she expressed her opinion of Grace Crawley as she walked across the parsonage garden with Mrs. Robarts. "She is a very nice girl, and a very good girl I am sure; and she shows excellent feeling. Whatever happens we must take care of her. And, Fanny, have you observed how handsome she is?"
"We think her very pretty."
"She is more than pretty when she has a little fire in her eyes. She is downright handsome,—or will be when she fills out a little. I tell you what, my dear; she'll make havoc with somebody yet; you see if she doesn't. By—by. Tell the two gentlemen to be up by seven punctually." And then Lady Lufton went home.
Grace so contrived that Mr. Oriel came and went without seeing her. There was a separate nursery breakfast at the parsonage, and by special permission Grace was allowed to have her tea and bread-and-butter on the next morning with the children. "I thought you told me Miss Crawley was here," said Mr. Oriel, as the two clergymen stood waiting for the gig that was to take the visitor away to Barchester.
"So she is," said Robarts; "but she likes to hide herself, because of her father's trouble. You can't blame her."
"No, indeed," said Mr. Oriel.
"Poor girl. If you knew her you would not only pity her, but like her."
"Is she,—what you call—?"
"You mean, is she a lady?"