"I hardly like to own it," Horace answered, "but I am afraid she has

some motive for deferring our marriage which she cannot confide either

to you or to me."

Lady Janet started.

"What makes you think that?" she asked.

"I have once or twice caught her in tears. Every now and then--sometimes

when she is talking quite gayly--she suddenly changes color and becomes

silent and depressed. Just now, when she left the table (didn't you

notice it?), she looked at me in the strangest way--almost as if she was

sorry for me. What do these things mean?"

Horace's reply, instead of increasing Lady Janet's anxiety, seemed to

relieve it. He had observed nothing which she had not noticed herself.

"You foolish boy!" she said, "the meaning is plain enough. Grace has

been out of health for some time past. The doctor recommends change of

air. I shall take her away with me."

"It would be more to the purpose," Horace rejoined, "if I took her away

with me. She might consent, if you would only use your influence. Is

it asking too much to ask you to persuade her? My mother and my sisters

have written to her, and have produced no effect. Do me the greatest of

all kindnesses--speak to her to-day!" He paused, and possessing himself

of Lady Janet's hand, pressed it entreatingly. "You have always been so

good to me," he said, softly, and pressed it again.

The old lady looked at him. It was impossible to dispute that there were

attractions in Horace Holmcroft's face which made it well worth looking

at. Many a woman might have envied him his clear complexion, his

bright blue eyes, and the warm amber tint in his light Saxon hair.

Men--especially men skilled in observing physiognomy--might have noticed

in the shape of his forehead and in the line of his upper lip the signs

indicative of a moral nature deficient in largeness and breadth--of

a mind easily accessible to strong prejudices, and obstinate in

maintaining those prejudices in the face of conviction itself.

To the observation of women these remote defects were too far below

the surface to be visible. He charmed the sex in general by his rare

personal advantages, and by the graceful deference of his manner. To

Lady Janet he was endeared, not by his own merits only, but by old

associations that were connected with him. His father had been one of

her many admirers in her young days. Circumstances had parted them. Her

marriage to another man had been a childless marriage. In past times,

when the boy Horace had come to her from school, she had cherished a

secret fancy (too absurd to be communicated to any living creature) that

he ought to have been _her_ son, and might have been her son, if she had

married his father! She smiled charmingly, old as she was--she yielded

as his mother might have yielded--when the young man took her hand and

entreated her to interest herself in his marriage. "Must I really speak

to Grace?" she asked, with a gentleness of tone and manner far from

characteristic, on ordinary occasions, of the lady of Mablethorpe House.

Horace saw that he had gained his point. He sprang to his feet; his eyes

turned eagerly in the direction of the conservatory; his handsome face

was radiant with hope. Lady Janet (with her mind full of his father)

stole a last look at him, sighed as she thought of the vanished days,

and recovered herself.




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