“Perhaps it will all come right some day,” was what she said to herself, cheerily.
Had she ever come across her cousin, she would have gone straight up to him and have chided him in her old, affectionate way, for Mark had always had a great liking for her, but she never saw her cousin—only her cousin’s wife.
Christina’s presence so constantly in the streets of Dynechester seemed to emphasize the separation between Sir Mark and the Ambletons, for she would flash past in her carriage, in which she sat swathed about in her furs like an empress, and Grace had to watch and see her go as a stranger.
With the coming of Christmas, Grace gave herself up, heart and soul, to her preparations.
“Mark will send us no game this year,” she had remarked once to Val, who had answered, quietly:
“Expect nothing from Sunstead now, Gracie dear; but the unexpected!” and Grace had looked at him half wistfully, not quite understanding him.
Valentine did not think it necessary to put trouble into his sister’s mind before such trouble was inevitable, but he was a man who saw far into the future, and he felt assured that young Lady Wentworth was not merely an enemy, but one who would carry her enmity very far.
Happily for Val he was kept hard at work these autumn and early winter days. There were many times when he was compelled to be absent from Dynechester for days together, but Grace, though she missed him sorely, encouraged him in all that concerned his work. She would at least have him at home for Christmas, and she would be so happy with both her “children” with her; in fact, it was going to be a happy Christmas altogether.
“I am afraid they will be rather desolate up at Sunstead, Val,” she said one morning, just the week preceding the holiday time.
Val was going to London on business, and she walked with him to the station to see him off. He was to bring Sacha back with him.