This was very generous, and so Mrs. Grantly felt it. She had expected that her news would be received with the coldest shade of civility, and she was quite prepared to do battle if there were occasion. But she had no wish for war, and was almost grateful to Lady Lufton for her cordiality. “Dear Lady Lufton,” she said, “it is so kind of you to say so. I have told no one else, and of course would tell no one till you knew it. No one has known her and understood her so well as you have done. And I can assure you of this: that there is no one to whose friendship she looks forward in her new sphere of life with half so much pleasure as she does to yours.” Lady Lufton did not say much further. She could not declare that she expected much gratification from an intimacy with the future Marchioness of Hartletop. The Hartletops and Luftons must, at any rate for her generation, live in a world apart, and she had now said all that her old friendship with Mrs. Grantly required. Mrs. Grantly understood all this quite as well as did Lady Lufton; but then Mrs. Grantly was much the better woman of the world. It was arranged that Griselda should come back to Bruton Street for that night, and that her visit should then be brought to a close. “The archdeacon thinks that for the present I had better remain up in town,” said Mrs. Grantly, “and under the very peculiar circumstances Griselda will be—perhaps more comfortable with me.” To this Lady Lufton entirely agreed; and so they parted, excellent friends, embracing each other in a most affectionate manner. That evening Griselda did return to Bruton Street, and Lady Lufton had to go through the further task of congratulating her. This was the more disagreeable of the two, especially so as it had to be thought over beforehand. But the young lady’s excellent good sense and sterling qualities made the task comparatively an easy one. She neither cried, nor was impassioned, nor went into hysterics, nor showed any emotion. She did not even talk of her noble Dumbello—her generous Dumbello. She took Lady Lufton’s kisses almost in silence, thanked her gently for her kindness, and made no allusion to her own future grandeur. “I think I should like to go to bed early,” she said, “as I must see to my packing up.” “Richards will do all that for you, my dear.” “Oh, yes, thank you, nothing can be kinder than Richards. But I’ll just see to my own dresses.” And so she went to bed early. Lady Lufton did not see her son for the next two days, but when she did, of course she said a word or two about Griselda. “You have heard the news, Ludovic?” she asked. “Oh, yes: it’s at all the clubs. I have been overwhelmed with presents of willow branches.” “You, at any rate, have got nothing to regret,” she said.