Mrs. Crawley did get up, and told Lucy that she was glad to see her, and Mr. Crawley came forward, grammar in hand, looking humble and meek. Could we have looked into the innermost spirit of him and his life’s partner, we should have seen that mixed with the pride of his poverty there was some feeling of disgrace that he was poor, but that with her, regarding this matter, there was neither pride nor shame. The realities of life had become so stern to her that the outward aspects of them were as nothing. She would have liked a new gown because it would have been useful; but it would have been nothing to her if all the county knew that the one in which she went to church had been turned three times. It galled him, however, to think that he and his were so poorly dressed. “I am afraid you can hardly find a chair, Miss Robarts,” said Mr. Crawley. “Oh, yes; there is nothing here but this young gentleman’s library,” said Lucy, moving a pile of ragged, coverless books on to the table. “I hope he’ll forgive me for moving them.” “They are not Bob’s,—at least, not the most of them,—but mine,” said the girl. “But some of them are mine,” said the boy; “ain’t they, Grace?” “And are you a great scholar?” asked Lucy, drawing the child to her. “I don’t know,” said Grace, with a sheepish face. “I am in Greek Delectus and the irregular verbs.” “Greek Delectus and the irregular verbs!” And Lucy put up her hands with astonishment. “And she knows an ode of Horace all by heart,” said Bob. “An ode of Horace!” said Lucy, still holding the young shamefaced female prodigy close to her knees. “It is all that I can give them,” said Mr. Crawley, apologetically. “A little scholarship is the only fortune that has come in my way, and I endeavour to share that with my children.” “I believe men say that it is the best fortune any of us can have,” said Lucy, thinking, however, in her own mind, that Horace and the irregular Greek verbs savoured too much of precocious forcing in a young lady of nine years old. But, nevertheless, Grace was a pretty, simple-looking girl, and clung to her ally closely, and seemed to like being fondled. So that Lucy anxiously wished that Mr. Crawley could be got rid of and the presents produced. “I hope you have left Mr. Robarts quite well,” said Mr. Crawley, with a stiff, ceremonial voice, differing very much from that in which he had so energetically addressed his brother clergyman when they were alone together in the study at Framley. “He is quite well, thank you. I suppose you have heard of his good fortune?” “Yes; I have heard of it,” said Mr. Crawley, gravely. “I hope that his promotion may tend in every way to his advantage here and hereafter.” It seemed, however, to be manifest from the manner in which he expressed his kind wishes, that his hopes and expectations did not go hand-in-hand together. “By-the-by, he desired us to say that he will call here to-morrow; at about eleven, didn’t he say, Fanny?”