"I know you have made overtures to her. You have told me so before; but won't you make another effort? Just one more. It seems so sad to me that the children should not know the only relative they have."
"She is an unforgiving woman."
Justin's voice was hard.
"A North-country woman," said Anstice with a smile; "but North-country people are as deep in their loves as in their dislikes. What can we do? How can we win her?"
"Why should you trouble yourself about her?"
"Well, ever since Miss Maybrick's death, I have been wanting you to make it up with her. That seemed such a tragedy; and now, too late, the one sister left, mourns for the one she quarrelled with. Life here isn't very long; and your sister is getting old, much older than you, isn't she?"
"Not so very much older. People say she has aged quickly. I would do anything to please you, Anstice dearest; but I really don't know what I can do in this matter. I think you are dispelling all the bitterness in my nature, for I can think of Grace now with pity. I was really more to blame than she was. I'll write to her if you like. I can but have another try."
With this promise, Anstice was content. She was so happy herself, that she longed for others to be so too. She could not forget Miss Holme's unhappy face. When they returned home, Justin shut himself into his smoking-room. And later on, when the children were safely in bed, he showed her his letter. It was very brief.
"MY DEAR GRACE,—
"From what I hear, you happened upon my wife and boy the other day in the Fells. Will you come over one day next week to lunch and renew your acquaintance? Let bygones be bygones. I was to blame, and ask you to forgive and forget the past.
"We lunch at one.
"Your affec. brother,
"JUSTIN."
Anstice smiled up at her husband, then placed her hand on his shoulder caressingly.