Mrs. Dorriman Volume Iii Part 22

"That does not alter things a bit. When I think of all his rudeness and violence ... and he always looks to me as though he had some great sin lying on his conscience."

Grace watched Mr. Stevens very narrowly, and she saw him give a little start.

He turned the subject at once.

"I came to pay something over to you, Miss Rivers--will you give me a receipt?"

It was a large cheque--the interest on the fifteen thousand pounds from the date of her sister's marriage.

"Mrs. Drayton refused this--the legacy duty is deducted and an account inclosed."

Grace examined it all quietly. Then she drew a blotting-book near her.

She signed a receipt and inclosed the cheque to her bankers--rang, and desired the letter to be sent by hand.

Mr. Stevens watched her narrowly; how curiously unlike Mrs. Drayton she was, and yet something--that indescribable and subtle resemblance which comes out in tricks of manner more than in feature--would have caused Grace to be known any where as Margaret's sister. He began to describe Inchbrae to her, but she stopped him hurriedly.

"Pray do not begin about it for I know it by heart--Margaret writes about nothing else, and, as for Mrs. Dorriman, I do not know whether she or Jean talk most about it. Clear crystal sea--soft shadows on the mountains, sometimes clouds (always clouds _I_ should say!)--sharp crags, fir-trees beautiful with red stems, beautiful without, waterfall, rowan-trees, scarlet geraniums, _and_ a grey house. There, do I know my lesson, or do I not? The idea of your beginning too!"

Mr. Stevens went off into a fit of laughter, and he was one of the men who laughed with merriment, so many are noisy and not merry. In the midst of this hilarity in walked a tall young man announcing himself, with an injured waiter in the background waving deprecating hands.

It was Paul Lyons.

"Come and laugh too, Mr. Lyons," said Grace, as she shook hands with him. "Should you be surprised to hear that Mr. Stevens (by the way, let me introduce you. Mr. Stevens, Mr. Lyons; the same to the same). Yes, Mr. Stevens is laughing at an excellent, undeniable joke made by me."

Paul Lyons seemed older and more careworn than when she had last seen him. He looked at her with so grave an expression that she was startled.

The laughter died away upon her lips, and she was silent.

"You have been ill?"

He spoke with very real feeling, and she, though she tried to answer him lightly, the effort was a failure. At length she said shortly--

"I have been ill, and your mother kind. My face speaks for itself, I suppose."

"Yes," answered Paul, "you are looking far from well. But you are better? You are going away?"

"Who told you this important fact?"

"My mother. I came home sooner. I wanted to see you before you went away."

Mr. Stevens had not very quick perceptions, but when Paul Lyons made this speech it dawned upon him that he was perhaps in the way.

He rose, and, renewing his offers of service, left the room, with an overpowering amount of thanks from Grace.

"Tell me about your illness, now that man has gone. Have you been seriously ill--as ill as my mother thinks?"

"How can I possibly tell what your mother thinks?"

"Oh, Grace! do not trifle just now! I have known for a very long time that my whole happiness is bound up in you!"

"Margaret is free, remember."

"What does that matter? Why remind me that I once liked her best? Is a man never to change? I know now--I have long known it--if I could but get you to believe it! that Margaret was a sort of dream of my youth. I shall always reverence her, but she is too far beyond me. She is like some pure cold saint, and I do love you, Grace!"

"But I have no wealth to endow you with," said Grace, looking at him earnestly, "only a very few hundreds a year."

She watched him a little anxiously, but his face showed it did not matter.

"I am poor enough," he said, "but you shall never want anything if you will only give me the right of taking care of you. I have succeeded in getting an appointment in Italy. I am sure that climate will suit you; the doctors said so."

"And you got the appointment without knowing that I would say yes,"

exclaimed Grace, a good deal in her old manner.

"If you say no, all places will be alike to me."

"Oh, Paul! shall I tell you something? I do love you, but I have a great deal to say to you before I say yes or no."

"Say anything now, and put me out of suspense."

"I believe I shall live; I am not very strong; but I am stronger than people think; and Paul, if I do say yes--if I am your wife--I am afraid you will have a very sorry bargain. I am not a very amiable girl, and I am capricious. Do you know what I am afraid of? I am always so afraid of getting tired of my husband."

"Grace, please don't talk like this. I also have many faults; you do not think I am perfect, do you? We must make allowances for each other."

"I certainly do not think you perfect," said Grace, laughing a little, "but I do think you should reflect. Just think, Paul: a delicate wife, full of whims, not very attractive."

"Grace, you will drive me crazy if you go on in this way. I love you, dear, with all your whims, and all else, and you will get strong and well in Italy. Say plainly, and at once, that you will marry me."

"Well then, plainly and at once, I will, Paul. I am not quite sure that the reason I care for you is not that you are the only man who has ever wished to marry me, but I will only marry you on one condition."

"On any condition, darling."

"I want to be married at once. I have heaps of new clothes; and I do not want to go to Scotland and confront old Sandford without some one to fight my battles."

Paul was surprised to find his mother pleased about his marriage.

"I was afraid you wanted me to marry a rich wife," he said, his satisfaction unbounded at the evident pleasure with which she received his news.

"I did, Paul, yes; but Grace has something."

"Not much I am afraid--but I have this appointment, mother, and we shall get on all right."

"I suppose it is not much; did she tell you what it was?"

"A few hundreds."

"A year. She has six or seven hundred a year."

"Oh!" said Paul, "I am glad, mother, of course. I am also glad I did not know anything about it."

"Would it have made a difference?"