Volume Iii Part 26 (1/2)
Dorriman.
”There is something--some dread she has. I have no idea what it is, but the curious thing is that she so entirely forgets at times; then something brings it before her again. I love her dearly, and I wish she was perfectly happy.”
”I think she is a dear old thing,” answered Grace; ”but she always puts me in mind of some ivy or creeper that the wind has blown away from its support. She is one of the women who must have somebody to cling to, even if that somebody be tyranical and harsh like her brother.”
”Yet, in his own way, he has been kind to us.”
”Very much in his own way,” said Grace, resentfully.
”I have a fancy about Mr. Sandford,” Margaret said rather dreamily.
”You have generally nice fancies about most people, darling; tell your fancy to me.”
”You will only laugh?”
”I swear not to laugh.”
”You dislike him more than I do.”
”I suppose I do, but do you know, Margaret, that since I am happier, I mean since I have had so much affection from my husband and not felt like a boat without oars or rudder, or whatever the thing is that steers it, I feel ever so much kinder about every body--even about him. I am quite convinced that if somebody left me a large fortune I should become a striking instance of overpowering amiability.”
”It is a problem I never can solve. I often wonder whether trial or prosperity softens people best.”
”It depends upon the material; nothing would hurt you; but for me, I am a sort of acid, and more acid makes me into an explosive.”
”My fancy about Mr. Sandford is that at one time in his life, perhaps when he was quite young, he has suffered, and cruelly suffered, from some terrible injustice.”
”Another case of acids mixing and blowing up,” said Grace, laughing; ”he is in a perpetual state of effervescence.”
”No, but seriously, Grace, he has a great deal of good in him, and his devotion to his wife shows he has warm affections somewhere, and he has always been kind to me.”
”You win every one, even Paul. I know well that you were his first grand pa.s.sion, and curiously enough I am not jealous.”
”Who talks of jealousy?” said a voice from below, and Paul, his cigar nearly ended, came under the window.
”I am merely saying, dear,” said Grace in her most melting accents, ”that, though you once were madly in love with Margaret, I am _not_ jealous.”
And laughing, Grace escaped to her own room. Margaret remained at the window. She was moved by what Grace had repeated to her about her child; yes, better to have lost it here than to have seen it that....
And Grace was really very happy. Paul was most kind and good, and there was more manliness about him now than she had ever thought him capable of; and yet, she said to herself, that for her to give her whole heart, to have such an affection for any one, such as Grace had for her husband, there must be higher qualities.
She must look up more, she must have help, and some one in whom she could find a better and a n.o.bler self.
And in the softening influences of that hour and that scene a vivid blush rose to her face, and she told herself that already one was there; and that her heart, crushed as it had been, and cruelly as she had suffered, was not hopelessly embittered. She knew that she could love, and then she sighed. Large tears came into her eyes and rolled slowly down unchecked over her face, a sudden thrill of pa.s.sion and of hope went through her frame, and she knew she did love!
Next morning came parting with Grace, but it was a parting in which she allowed no sorrow to appear.
She utterly bewildered Mrs. Dorriman by saying to her, ”You will, I hope, soon have very good news to send me.”
”About what, my dear?” and poor Mrs. Dorriman's face was expressive of blankest bewilderment.