She would not pursue the subject of Mr. Dalrymple's health, but said with her pretty girlish dignity, "Harvey has behaved very wrongly. I do not wonder that my grandfather is unhappy."
"Has he told you any particulars about the lady of his choice?" asked Mr. Fitzalan, rather anxious to ward off an exciting duet of condemnation between the two girls. Marjory looked worn enough already. He knew that a very little more would incapacitate her for the afternoon's work.
"Not much. I have not cared to ask," Hermione answered. "He does not deserve that we should show interest. Her name is Julia— Julia Pilchard it was-and she is two years older than I am."
"Ah, a mere chicken," murmured the disrespectful Rector.
Hermione would not notice the interruption. She held herself a little straighter, and proceeded, "Two years older than I am, and Harvey does not seem to know whether she is pretty. That means of course that she is plain. She has only one sister, a widow with one little child. They lost all their money lately. Harvey says I shall like the sister; but I do not know; I do not much care. All this is beside the mark. Harvey has forfeited all right to our sympathy. My grandfather is most kind and forgiving—far more than Harvey deserves. But for me it is different. I have to show what I think for my grandfather's sake, not for my own."
"Take care, Hermione. Self is very subtle."
Mr. Fitzalan hardly spoke the words, he breathed them rather. Hermione's colour deepened a little.
"You do not understand me," she said in a voice as low as his, with a touch of reproach.
"It may be so. But is it certain that you and I perfectly understand Harvey?"
"I understand the circumstances of the case. There can be no mistake, and no excuse."