On the next morning Griselda came to her, and in an interview that was strictly private, her mother said more to her than she had ever yet spoken, as to the prospects of her future life. Hitherto, on this subject, Mrs. Grantly had said little or nothing. She would have been well pleased that her daughter should have received the incense of Lord Lufton’s vows—or, perhaps, as well pleased had it been the incense of Lord Dumbello’s vows—without any interference on her part. In such case her child, she knew, would have told her with quite sufficient eagerness, and the matter in either case would have been arranged as a very pretty love match. She had no fear of any impropriety or of any rashness on Griselda’s part. She had thoroughly known her daughter when she boasted that Griselda would never indulge in an unauthorized passion. But as matters now stood, with those two strings to her bow, and with that Lufton-Grantly alliance treaty in existence—of which she, Griselda herself, knew nothing—might it not be possible that the poor child should stumble through want of adequate direction? Guided by these thoughts, Mrs. Grantly had resolved to say a few words before she left London. So she wrote a line to her daughter, and Griselda reached Mount Street at two o’clock in Lady Lufton’s carriage, which, during the interview, waited for her at the beer-shop round the corner. “And papa won’t be Bishop of Westminster?” said the young lady, when the doings of the giants had been sufficiently explained to make her understand that all those hopes were over. “No, my dear; at any rate not now.” “What a shame! I thought it was all settled. What’s the good, mamma, of Lord De Terrier being prime minister, if he can’t make whom he likes a bishop?” “I don’t think that Lord De Terrier has behaved at all well to your father. However, that’s a long question, and we can’t go into it now.” “How glad those Proudies will be!” Griselda would have talked by the hour on this subject had her mother allowed her, but it was necessary that Mrs. Grantly should go to other matters. She began about Lady Lufton, saying what a dear woman her ladyship was; and then went on to say that Griselda was to remain in London as long as it suited her friend and hostess to stay there with her; but added, that this might probably not be very long, as it was notorious that Lady Lufton, when in London, was always in a hurry to get back to Framley. “But I don’t think she is in such a hurry this year, mamma,” said Griselda, who in the month of May preferred Bruton Street to Plumstead, and had no objection whatever to the coronet on the panels of Lady Lufton’s coach. And then Mrs. Grantly commenced her explanation—very cautiously. “No, my dear, I daresay she is not in such a hurry this year,—that is, as long as you remain with her.” “I am sure she is very kind.”