She said no more. One step at a time.
Henry went up to Woodbine Villa and Grace received him a little coldly. He asked what was the matter. She said, “They tell me you were at the very door the other day, and did not come in.”
“It is true,” said he. “Another had just come out—Mr. Coventry.”
“And you punished ME because that poor man had called on me. Have you not faith in me? or what is it? I shall be angry one of these days.”
“No, you will not, if I can make you understand my feelings. Put yourself in my place, dearest. Here am I, fighting the good fight for you, against long odds; and, at last, the brickmakers and bricklayers have beat us. Now you know that is a bitter cup for me to drink. Well, I come up here for my one drop of comfort; and out walks my declared rival, looks into my face, sees my trouble there, and turns off with a glance of insolent triumph.” (Grace flushed.) “And then consider: I am your choice, yet I am only allowed to visit you once a week.”
“That is papa's doing.”
“No matter; so it is. Yet my rival can come when he pleases: and no doubt he does come every other day.”
“You fancy that.”
“It is not all fancy; for—by heaven! there he is at the gate. Two visits to my one; there. Well, all the better, I'll talk to HIM.”
He rose from his seat black with wrath.