“Give me two years: I'll win her or lose her in that time.” He then asked, piteously, if he might see her.
“I am sorry to say No to that,” was the reply; “but she has been already very much agitated, and I should be glad to spare her further emotion. You need not doubt her attachment to you, nor my esteem. You are a very worthy, honest young man, and your conduct does much to reconcile me to what I own is a disappointment.”
Having thus gilded the pill, Mr. Carden shook hands with Henry Little, and conducted him politely to the street door.
The young man went away slowly; for he was disconsolate at not seeing Grace.
But, when he got home, his stout Anglo-Saxon heart reacted, and he faced the situation.
He went to his mother and told her what had passed. She colored with indignation, but said nothing.
“Well, mother, of course it might be better; but then it might be worse. It's my own fault now if I lose her. Cutlery won't do it in the time, but Invention will: so, from this hour, I'm a practical inventor, and nothing but death shall stop me.”
CHAPTER XXVII.
Grace Carden ran to the window, and saw Henry Little go away slowly, and hanging his head. This visible dejection in her manly lover made her heart rise to her throat, and she burst out sobbing and weeping with alarming violence.