This reception surprised Henry, and disappointed him; however he constrained himself, and said politely, but rather coldly, that some unpleasant circumstances had kept him away; but he hoped now to keep his time better.
“Oh, pray consult your own convenience entirely,” said Miss Carden. “Come when you have nothing better to do; that is the understanding.”
“I should be always coming, at that rate.”
Grace took no notice. “Would you like to see how I look with my one eyebrow?” said she. “Jael, please fetch it.”
While Jael was gone for the bust, Henry took a humbler tone, and in a low voice began to excuse his absence; and I think he would have told the real truth, if he had been encouraged a little; but he was met with a cold and withering assurance that it was a matter of no consequence. Henry thought this unfair, and, knowing in his own heart it was ungrateful, he rebelled. He bit his lip, sat down as gloomy as the grave, and resumed his work, silent and sullen.
As for Jael, she brought in the bust, and then sat down with her bonnet on, quaking; for she felt sure that, in such a dismal dearth of conversation, Miss Carden would be certain to turn round very soon, and say, “Well, Jael, you can go now.”
But this Quaker's meeting was interrupted by a doctor looking in to prescribe for Miss Carden's cold. The said cold was imperceptible to vulgar eyes, but Grace had detected it, and had written to her friend, Dr. Amboyne, to come and make it as imperceptible to herself as to the spectator.
In rolled the doctor, and was not a little startled at sight of Little.
“Hallo!” cried be. “What, cured already? Cairnhope forever!” He then proceeded to feel his pulse instead of Miss Carden's, and inspect his eye, at which Grace Carden stared.
“What, is he unwell?”