'Well, the long and the short of it is this, I shall tell Henry tonight
that if he makes a fool of himself with this girl, he must not look to
me any longer for an income. He has about six thousand a year of his
own, and if he chooses to throw himself away, he had better go and live
in the south of France, or in Canada, or where he pleases. He shan't
come here.'

'I hope he won't marry the girl, with all my heart,' said Mrs Grantly.

'He had better not. By heavens, he had better not!'

'But if he does, you'll be the first to forgive him.'

On hearing this the archdeacon slammed the door, and retired to his own
washing apparatus. At the present moment he was very angry with his
wife, but then he was so accustomed to such anger, and was so well aware
that it in truth meant nothing, that it did not make him unhappy. The
archdeacon and Mrs Grantly had now been man and wife for more than
quarter of a century and had never in truth quarrelled. He had the most
profound respect for her judgment, and the most implicit reliance on her
conduct. She had never yet offended him, or caused him to repent the
hour in which he had made her Mrs Grantly. But she had come to
understand that she might use a woman's privilege with her tongue; and
she used it--not altogether to his comfort. On the present occasion he
was the more annoyed because he felt that she might be right. 'It would
be a positive disgrace, and I never would see him again,' he said to
himself. And yet as he said it, he knew that he would not have the
strength of character to carry him through a prolonged quarrel with his
son. 'I never would see her--never, never!' he said to himself. 'And
then such an opening as he might have in his sister's house!'