“I don't see that, really. He is very civil, and I presume this five hundred guineas is just a polite way of saying that he means to keep it. Wants it for an advertisement, eh?”
Grace smiled and bit her lip. “Oh, what a man of business you are!” And a little while after the tears came into her eyes. “Madman!” said she to herself. “He won't let me be his friend. Well, I can't help it.”
After the brief excitement of this correspondence, Little soon relapsed into dull misery. His mother was alarmed, and could restrain herself no longer. She implored his confidence. “Make me the partner of your grief, dear,” she said; “not that you can tell me anything I have not guessed already; but, dearest, it will do you good to open your heart; and, who knows, I may assist you. I know my sex much better than you do.”
Henry kissed her sadly, and said it was too late now. “It is all over. She is going to marry another man.”
“Has she told you so?”
“Not in words; but I have seen it. She has burned it into my heart.”
“I wish I knew her,” said Mrs. Little, very earnestly, and almost in a whisper.
“Some day, mother, some day; but not now. Oh, the tortures one heart can suffer, and yet not break.”
Mrs. Little sighed. “What, not even tell me her name?”
“I can't, I can't. Oh, mother, you mean well, but you will drive me mad.”