She had been forced to come in contact with Christina, and the further insight into the nature of her cousin’s wife had been singularly painful to her.
Christina’s manner to her had been one of scarcely veiled insolence, and Grace did not pretend not to see that Lady Wentworth was jealous of her; neither could she fail to realize the real and miserable truth about this regrettable marriage.
It was, therefore, with a sigh of relief that Grace left Dynechester once more.
“How little I thought I should be glad to go so soon again. I made up my mind to stay for years in Dynechester after our long tour last year, Val. One should never make plans.”
“It is a very harmless amusement,” Valentine had said to this.
Then he had echoed her sigh.
“And yet it is strange how very wrong our plans will go,” he had added.
He had poor Harold Pennington in his thoughts at the moment, and it was natural enough that thought of Harold should bring thought of Polly. He was making plans enough where she was concerned; plans that he felt quite certain were destined to be ruthlessly undone by fate or the girl’s pride.
He let Grace do most of the visiting to the Penningtons on their first arrival.
“Val is so busy,” Grace said, on these several occasions. “I am half afraid, poor fellow, he has upset all his arrangements to bring me to town. He will have to stay in Dynechester the greater part of this week, but he will be here over Sunday, Mrs. Pennington, and then we are all coming to have tea with you, if we may? I want to introduce my youngest brother, Sacha.”