Grace was with her mother. Indeed Jane had been there also when the message was brought in, but she fled into the back regions, overcome by shame as to her frock. Grace, I think, would have fled too, had she not been bound in honour to support her mother. Lady Lufton, as she entered, was very gracious, struggling with all the power of her womanhood so to carry herself that there should be no outwardly visible sign of her rank or her wealth--but not altogether succeeding. Mrs Robarts, on her first entrance, said only a word or two of greeting to Mrs Crawley, and kissed Grace, whom she had known intimately in early years. 'Lady Lufton,' said Mrs Crawley, 'I am afraid this is a very poor place for you to come to;but you have known that of old, and therefore I need hardly apologise.'
'Sometimes I like poor places best,' said Lady Lufton. Then there was a pause, after which Lady Lufton addressed herself to Grace, seeking some subject for immediate conversation. 'You have been down in Allington, my dear, have you not?' Grace, in a whisper, said that she had. 'Staying with the Dales, I believe? I know the Dales well by name, and I have always heard that they are charming people.'
'I like them very much,' said Grace. And then there was another pause.
'I hope your husband is pretty well, Mrs Crawley?' said Lady Lufton.
'He is pretty well--not quite strong. I daresay you know, Lady Lufton, that he has things to vex him?' Mrs Crawley felt that it was the need of the moment that the only possible subject of conversation in that house should be introduced; and therefore she brought it in at once, not loving the subject, but being strongly conscious of the necessity. Lady Lufton meant to be good-natured, and therefore Mrs Crawley would do all in her power to make Lady Lufton's mission easy to her.
'Indeed yes,' said her ladyship; 'we do know that.'
'We feel so much for you and Mr Crawley,' said Mrs Robarts; 'and are so sure that your sufferings are unmerited.' This was not discreet on the part of Mrs Robarts, as she was the wife of one of the clergymen who had been selected to form the commission of inquiry; and so Lady Lufton told her on the way home.
'You are very kind,' said Mrs Crawley. 'We must only bear it with such fortitude as God will give us. We are told that He tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.'
'And so He does my dear,' said her ladyship very solemnly. 'So He does.
Surely you have felt that it is so?'
'I struggle not to complain,' said Mrs Crawley.
'I know that you struggle bravely. I hear of you, and I admire you for it, and I love you.' It was still the old lady who was speaking and now she had at last been roused out of her difficulty as to words, and had risen from her chair, and was standing before Mrs Crawley. 'It is because you do not complain, because you are so great and so good, because your character is so high, and your spirit so firm, that I could not resist the temptation of coming to you. Mrs Crawley, if you will let me be your friend, I shall be proud of your friendship.'
'Your ladyship is too good,' said Mrs Crawley.
'Do not talk to me after that fashion,' said Lady Lufton. 'If you do Ishall be disappointed, and feel myself thrown back. You know what Imean.' She paused for an answer; but Mrs Crawley had no answer to make.
She simply shook her head, not knowing why she did so. But we may know.
We can understand that she had felt that the friendship offered to her by Lady Lufton was an impossibility. She had decided within her own breast that it was so, though she did not know that she had come to such decision. 'I wish you to take me at my word, Mrs Crawley,' continued Lady Lufton. 'What can we do for you? We know that you are distressed.'
'Yes--we are distressed.'
'And we know how cruel circumstances have been to you. Will you not forgive me for being plain?'
'I have nothing to forgive,' said Mrs Crawley.
'Lady Lufton means,' said Mrs Robarts, 'that in asking you to talk openly of your affairs, she wishes you to remember that--I think you know what I mean,' said Mrs Robarts, knowing very well herself what she did mean, but not knowing at all how to express herself.
'Lady Lufton is very kind,' said Mrs Crawley, 'and so are you, Mrs Robarts. I know how good you both are, and for how much it behoves me to be grateful.' These words were very cold, and the voice in which they were spoken were very cold. They made Lady Lufton feel that it was beyond her power to proceed with the work of her mission in its intended spirit. It is ever so much easier to proffer kindness graciously than to receive it with grace. Lady Lufton had intended to say, 'Let us be women together;--women bound by humanity, and not separated by rank, and let us open our hearts freely. Let us see how we may be of comfort to each other.' And could she have succeeded in this, she would have spread out her little plans of succour with so loving a hand that she would have conquered the woman before her. But the suffering spirit cannot descend from its dignity of reticence. It has a nobility of its own, made sacred by many tears, by the flowing of streams of blood from unseen wounds, which cannot descend from its dais to receive pity and kindness. Aconsciousness of undeserved woe produces a grandeur of its own, with which the high-souled sufferer will not easily part. Baskets full of eggs, pounds of eleemosynary butter, quarters of given pork, even second-hand clothing from the wardrobe of some richer sister--even money, unsophisticated money, she could accept. She had learned how that it was her portion of her allotted misery to take such things--for the sake of her children and her husband--and to be thankful for them. She did take them and was thankful; and in the taking she submitted herself to the rod of cruel circumstances; but she could not even yet bring herself to accept spoken pity from a stranger, and to kiss the speaker.
'Can we not do something to help you?' said Mrs Robarts. She would not have spoken but she perceived that Lady Lufton had completed her appeal, and that Mrs Crawley did not seem prepared to answer it.