“This is a second grief to you, Grace, dear, I fear,” he said, his voice its usual tone again.
Grace shook her head.
“Not altogether, for I had felt that our request would be refused.”
The girl stood a moment by the fireplace, looking wistfully about the old hall that was beginning to wear a chaotic and disconsolate air already.
“Valentine,” she said, in a low, grave voice, “if you don’t mind, I shall now make a rule of going to see grannie every day for at least half an hour. There are certain circumstances that make personal feelings a matter of indifference, and I need never come in contact with Lady Wentworth.”
“You shall do just what seems best to you, dear,” Val made answer, gently.
And after that day, though he asked nothing, he knew that Grace stole an hour out of the worry and bustle of the removal to go up and sit with the fading old woman she loved so dearly, and who could not count on many more days on earth.
Christmas had passed, and Sacha had come down from town. To Grace’s delight, her younger brother announced his determination to stay and join in the business of the moment.
Grace had an unbounded pride and love for Val, but for Sacha she had more tenderness. The brothers were not very much alike. Sacha was a smaller build altogether. He was a very handsome young man, with an air of delicacy about him. This delicacy it was that made him so dear to Grace. She fussed about him as though she had been his mother.
Sacha had big, soft, brown eyes, that always had an unconscious touch of pleading in them. He was by nature as much Valentine’s inferior, as far as unselfishness and sterling, straightforward goodness went, as his strength and stature were visibly inferior to those of his big brother.