"From whom have you heard it?"
"What matter does that make if it is so? I heard it from Flurry."
"Flurry may have been mistaken," said Mrs. Grantly.
"It is not at all likely. Those people always know about such things. He heard it from the Framley keeper. I don't doubt but it's true, and I think that it's a great shame."
"A great shame that Henry should be at Framley! He has been there two or three times every year since he has lived in the county."
"It is a great shame that he should be had over there just at the time when that girl is there also. It is impossible to believe that such a thing is an accident."
"But, archdeacon, you do not mean to say that you think that Lady Lufton has arranged it?"
"I don't know who has arranged it. Somebody has arranged it. If it is Robarts, that is almost worse. One could forgive a woman in such a matter better than one could a man."
"Psha!" Mrs. Grantly's temper was never bitter, but at this moment it was not sweetened by her husband's very uncivil reference to her sex. "The whole idea is nonsense, and you should get it out of your head."
"Am I to get it out of my head that Henry wants to make this girl his wife, and that the two are at this moment at Framley together?" In this the archdeacon was wrong as to his facts. Major Grantly had left Framley on the previous day, having stayed there only one night. "It is coming to that that one can trust no one—no one—literally no one." Mrs. Grantly perfectly understood that the archdeacon, in the agony of the moment, intended to exclude even herself from his confidence by that "no one;" but to this she was indifferent, understanding accurately when his words should be accepted as expressing his thoughts, and when they should be supposed to express only his anger.