She fretted for a sight of Henry, and for an explanation, in which she might clear herself, and show her love, without being in the least disobedient to her father. Now all this was too subtle to be written. So she fretted and pined for a meeting.
While she was in this condition, and losing color every day, who should call one day—to reconnoiter, I suppose—but Mr. Coventry.
Grace was lying on the sofa, languid and distraite, when he was announced. She sat up directly, and her eye kindled.
Mr. Coventry came in with his usual grace and cat-like step. “Ah, Miss Carden!”
Miss Carden rose majestically to her feet, made him a formal courtesy, and swept out of the room, without deigning him a word. She went to the study, and said, “Papa, here's a friend of yours—Mr. Coventry.”
“Dear me, I am very busy. I wish you would amuse him for a few minutes till I have finished this letter.”
“Excuse me, papa; I cannot stay in the same room with Mr. Coventry.”
“Why not, pray?”
“He is a dangerous man: he compromises one. He offered me an engagement-ring, and I refused it; yet he made you believe we were engaged. You have taken care I shall not be compromised with the man I love; and shall I be compromised with the man I don't care for? No, thank you.”
“Very well, Grace,” said Mr. Carden, coldly.