Sir John
Grebe, if the truth must be told, loved his daughter's happiness far
more, poor man, than he loved his name and lineage; he recalled to
his mind all her little ways, gave vent to a sigh; and, by this time
acclimatized to the idea of the marriage, said that what was done
could not be undone, and that he supposed they must not be too harsh
with her. Perhaps Barbara and her husband were in actual need; and
how could they let their only child starve?
A slight consolation had come to them in an unexpected manner. They
had been credibly informed that an ancestor of plebeian Willowes was
once honoured with intermarriage with a scion of the aristocracy who
had gone to the dogs. In short, such is the foolishness of
distinguished parents, and sometimes of others also, that they wrote
that very day to the address Barbara had given them, informing her
that she might return home and bring her husband with her; they
would not object to see him, would not reproach her, and would
endeavour to welcome both, and to discuss with them what could best
be arranged for their future.
In three or four days a rather shabby post-chaise drew up at the
door of Chene Manor-house, at sound of which the tender-hearted
baronet and his wife ran out as if to welcome a prince and princess
of the blood. They were overjoyed to see their spoilt child return
safe and sound--though she was only Mrs. Willowes, wife of Edmond
Willowes of nowhere.
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