It seemed to Lady Lufton, who was as innocent as an unborn babe in the matter of the projected marriage, that her old friend was in a mind to persecute the Crawleys.  He had on a former occasion taken upon himself to advise that Grace Crawley should not be entertained at Framley, and now it seemed that he had come all the way from Plumstead to say something further in the same strain.  Lady Lufton, if had anything further to say of that kind, would listen to him as a matter of course.  She would listen to him and reply to him without temper.  But she did not approve of it.  She told herself silently that she did not approve of persecution or of interference.  She therefore drew herself up, and pursed her mouth, and put on something of that look of severity which she could assume very visibly, if it so pleased her.

’Yes; she is still there, and I think her visit will do her a great deal of good,’ said Lady Lufton.

‘When we talk of doing good to people,’ said the archdeacon, ’we often make terrible mistakes.  It so often happens that we don’t know when we are doing good and when we are doing harm.’

’That is true, of course, Dr Grantly, and must be so necessarily, as our wisdom here below is so very limited.  But I should think—­as far as I can see, that is,—­that the kindness which my friend Mrs Robarts is showing to this young lady must be beneficial.  You know, archdeacon, I explained to you before that I could not quite agree with you in what you said as to leaving these people alone till after the trial.  I thought that help was necessary to them at once.’

The archdeacon sighed deeply.  He ought to have been somewhat renovated in spirit by the tone in which Lady Lufton spoke to him, as it conveyed to him almost an absolute conviction that his first suspicion was incorrect.  But any comfort which might have come to him from this source was marred by the feeling that he must announce his own disgrace.  At any rate, he must do so, unless he were contented to go back to Plumstead without having learned anything by his journey.  He changed the tone of his voice, however, and asked a question—­as it might be altogether on a different subject.  ‘I heard yesterday,’ he said, ’that Henry was over here.’

’He was here yesterday.  He came the evening before, and dined and slept here, and went home yesterday morning.’

‘Was Miss Crawley with you that evening?’

’Miss Crawley?  No; she would not come.  She thinks it best not to go out while her father is in his present unfortunate position; and she is right.’

‘She is quite right in that,’ said the archdeacon; and then he paused again.  He thought that it would be best for him to make a clean breast of it, and to trust Lady Lufton’s sympathy.  ’Did Henry go up to the parsonage?’ he asked.

But still Lady Lufton did not suspect the truth.  ‘I think he did,’ she replied, with an air of surprise.  ’I think I heard that he went up there to call on Mrs Robarts after breakfast.’