Lady Lufton, I have said, was a good Churchwoman, and the archdeacon was the very type of that branch of the Church which she venerated.

The Grantlys, too, were of a good family--not noble, indeed; but in such matters Lady Lufton did not want everything.

She was one of those persons who, in placing their hopes at a moderate pitch, may fairly trust to see them realized.

She would fain that her son's wife should be handsome; this she wished for his sake, that he might be proud of his wife, and because men love to look on beauty.
But she was afraid of vivacious beauty, of those soft, sparkling feminine charms which are spread out as lures for all the world, soft dimples, laughing eyes, luscious lips, conscious smiles, and easy whispers.

What if her son should bring her home a rattling, rapid-spoken, painted piece of Eve's flesh such as this?
Would not the glory and joy of her life be over, even though such child of their first mother should have come forth to the present day ennobled by the blood of two dozen successive British peers?
And then, too, Griselda's money would not be useless.