The major was aware when this was said to him that he had not come to Miss Prettyman for a character of the girl he loved; and yet he was not angry at receiving it.  He was neither angry, nor even indifferent.  He accepted the character most gratefully, though he felt that he was being led away from his purpose.  He consoled himself for this however, by remembering that the path which Miss Prettyman was now leading him, led to the magnificent, and to those pleasant castles in the air which he had been building as he walked into Silverbridge.  ’I am quite sure that she is all that you say,’ he replied.  ’Indeed I had made up my mind about that long ago.’

‘And what can I do for you, Major Grantly?’

‘You think that I ought not to see her?’

’I will ask her, if you please.  I have such trust in her judgment that I should leave her altogether to her own discretion.’

The magnificent thing must be done, and the major made up his mind accordingly.  Something of regret came over his spirit as he thought of a father-in-law disgraced and degraded, and of his own father broken-hearted.  But now there was hardly any alternative left to him.  And was it not the manly thing for him to do?  He had loved the girl before this trouble had come upon her, and was he not bound to accept the burden which his love had brought with it?  ‘I will see her,’ he said, ’at once, if you will let me, and ask her to be my wife.  But I must see her alone.’

Then Miss Prettyman paused.  Hitherto, she had undoubtedly been playing her fish cautiously, or rather her young friend’s fish—­perhaps I may say cunningly.  She had descended to artifice on behalf of the girl whom she loved, admired, and pitied.  She had seen some way into the man’s mind, and had been partly aware of his purpose—­of his infirmity of purpose, of his double purpose.  She had perceived that a word from her might help Grace’s chance, and had led the man on till he had committed himself, at any rate to her.  In doing this she had been actuated by friendship rather than by abstract principle.  But now, when the moment had come in which she must decide upon some action, she paused.  Was it right, for the sake of either of them, that an offer of marriage should be made at such a moment as this?  It might be very well, in regard to some future time, that the major should have so committed himself.  She saw something of the man’s spirit, and believed that, having gone so far—­having so far told his love, he would return to his love hereafter, let the result of the Crawley trial be what it might.  But—­but, this could be no proper time for love-making.  Though Grace loved the man, as Miss Prettyman knew well, though Grace loved the child, having allowed herself to long to call it her own, though such a marriage could be the making of Grace’s fortune as those who loved her could hardly have hoped that it should ever have been made, she would certainly refuse the man, if he were to propose to her now.