Grace was standing on the platform at the Dynechester station the afternoon of the next day, as the train from London pulled slowly up.
In her sealskin coat and cap she looked strikingly handsome, but more than one of the people who knew her well had remarked a difference in the girl’s usually bright, happy expression. In fact, Grace had a pale, tired air this afternoon, very unlike her general bearing.
The brother’s eyes noted this from the railway carriage before they had clasped hands.
“What’s amiss, Gracie?” Val asked, as they walked down the platform together; “and what have you been doing to yourself? You look quite ill.”
“I could not close my eyes last night,” Grace answered. “I had a great shock yesterday. Oh! Val, it is nice to see you! I think last night was the longest year I have ever known. No; I don’t want to drive. Joseph is coming down for your bag and things, and I can tell you better all that has happened out here in the air as we walk.”
Valentine tucked his sister’s hand through his arm.
“Fire away, dear old girl!” was all he said.
He knew something of a heavy nature must have fallen on Grace to upset her in this way; she was neither an alarmist nor a person given to any form of exaggeration.
“Somehow I don’t believe you will be in the least surprised to hear my news,” Grace said, as they walked briskly toward the Dower House, avoiding the town.
The weather had changed. It was much colder.