‘There’s something in that, sir, certainly,’ said the major.

’More than you think for, perhaps.  Look at poor Sowerby, who went on there for years without a shilling.  How he was respected, because he lived as the people around him expected a gentleman to live.  Thorne will have a bad time of it, if he tries to change things.’

‘Only think,’ exclaimed Mrs Grantly, ’when Eleanor wrote she had not heard of that affair of poor Mr Crawley’s.’

‘Does she say anything about him?’ asked the major.

’I’ll read what it says.  “I see in Galignani that a clergyman in Barsetshire has been committed for theft.  Pray tell me who it is.  Not the bishop, I hope, for the credit of the diocese?"’

‘I wish it were,’ said the archdeacon

‘For shame, my dear,’ said his wife.

’No shame at all.  If we are to have a thief among us, I’d sooner find him in a bad man than a good one.  Besides, we should have a change at the palace, which would be a great thing.’

‘But is it not odd that Eleanor should have heard nothing of it?’ said Mrs Grantly.

‘It’s odd that you should not have mentioned it yourself.’

‘I did not, certainly; nor you, papa, I suppose?’

Mr Harding acknowledged that he had not spoken of it, and then they calculated that perhaps she might not have received any letter from her husband since the news had reached him.  ’Besides, why should he have mentioned it?’ said the major.  ’He only knows as yet of the inquiry about the cheque, and can have heard nothing of what was done by the magistrates.’

’Still it seems odd that Eleanor should not have known of it, seeing that we have been talking of nothing else for the last week.’

For two days the major said not a word of Grace Crawley to anyone.  Nothing could be more courteous and complaisant than was his father’s conduct to him.  Anything that he wanted for Edith was to be done.  For himself there was no trouble which would not be taken.  His hunting, and his shooting, and his fishing seemed to have become matters of paramount consideration to his father.  And then the archdeacon became very confidential about money matters—­not offering anything to his son, which, as he well knew, would be seen through as palpable bribery and corruption—­but telling him of this little scheme and of that, of one investment and of another;—­how he contemplated buying a small property here, and spending a few thousands on building there.  ’Of course it is all for you and your brother,’ said the archdeacon, with that benevolent sadness which is used habitually by fathers on such occasions; ’and I like you to know what it is I am doing.  I told Charles about the London property the last time I was up,’ said the archdeacon, ’and there shall be no difference between him and you, if all goes well.’  This was very good-natured on the archdeacon’s part, and was not strictly necessary, as Charles was