The letters had been brought into the breakfast-parlour at Plumstead Rectory one morning, and the archdeacon had inspected them all, and then thrown over to his wife her share of the spoil—­as was the custom of the house.  As to most of Mrs Grantly’s letters, he never made any further inquiry.  To letters from her sister, the dean’s wife, he was profoundly indifferent, and rarely made any inquiry as to those which were directed in writing with which he was not familiar.  But there were others as to which, as Mrs Grantly knew, he would be sure to ask her questions if she did not show them.  No note ever reached her from Lady Harteltop as to which he was not curious, and yet Lady Hartletop’s notes very seldom contained much that was of interest.  Now, on this morning, there came a letter which, as a matter of course, Mrs Grantly read at breakfast, and which, she knew, would not be allowed to disappear without inquiry.  Nor, indeed, did she wish to keep the letter from her husband.  It was too important to be so treated.  But she would have been glad to gain time to think in what spirit she would discuss the contents of the letter—­if only such time might be allowed to her.  But the archdeacon would allow her no time.  ‘What does Henry say, my dear?’ he asked, before the breakfast things had been taken away.

’What does he say?  Well, he says—­I’ll give you his letter to read by-and-by.’

‘And why not now?’

‘I thought I’d read it again myself, first.’

‘But if you have read it, I suppose you know what’s in it?’

‘Not very clearly, as yet.  However, there it is.’  She knew very well that when she had once been asked for it, no peace would be allowed her till he had seen it.  And, alas! there was not much probability of peace in the house for some time after he had seen it.

The archdeacon read the three or first lines in silence—­and then burst out.  ‘He has, has he?  Then, by heavens—­’

‘Stop, dearest; stop,’ said his wife, rising from her chair and coming over to him; ‘do not say words which you will surely repent.’

’I will say words which shall make him repent.  He shall never have from me a son’s portion.’

’Do not make threats in anger.  Do not!  You know that it is wrong.  If he has offended you, say nothing about it—­even to yourself—–­as to threatened punishments, till you can judge of the offence in cool blood.’

‘I am cool,’ said the archdeacon.

’No, my dear; no; you are angry.  And you have not even read his letter through.’

‘I will read his letter.’

’You will see that the marriage is not imminent.  It may be that even yet it will never take place.  The young lady has refused him.’

‘Psha!’

’You will see that she has done so.  He tells us so himself.  And she has behaved very properly.’

‘Why has she refused him?’

’There can be no doubt about the reason.  She feels that, with this charge hanging over her father, she is not in a position to become the wife of any gentleman.  You cannot but respect her for that.’