“I wish,” she began, half wistfully, and then she got no further. Instead she spoke of Harold Pennington, who had been her guest for several days, and whom she liked very much. “Will you be able to do anything for him, Val?” she asked.
“He is young yet; but I think I can mold him to something. The boy is certainly clever, but he strikes me as being dreadfully delicate.”
“Indeed, yes,” Grace said, thoughtfully. “I heard him coughing, oh! so badly, last night, and I felt so tempted to go in and look after him, Val. Does he not remind you a little of his sister, Lady Wentworth? To me his eyes are just like hers, only softer. Is Miss Pennington at all like Mark’s wife?”
“Not in the very least,” Valentine said, emphatically. “She has far more beauty.”
Grace opened her eyes.
“Harold tells me she is the plain one of the family. I wonder if I shall share your opinion?”
“Wait and see,” Val said dryly.
That same evening he spoke to his brother about Mark Wentworth.
“How is he going on?” he asked. “Is he keeping straight? I hear he is looking very ill.”
Sacha shrugged his shoulders.