Bryda had recovered her self-possession.
'He has promised to stay proceedings against grandfather for a month,' and the swift colour came to her face, and then vanishing, left it pale as death.
'What has he been saying to you?' Jack demanded, almost fiercely. 'Has he been frightening you to death—it looks like it.'
'Don't be angry, Jack; you should be glad. I have got a month's respite. I am tired, that is all. Come in to supper; Betty is sure to have something good to-night to try and tempt grandfather.'
Jack was wondering when Bryda would ask what had been the result of his journey to Bristol. He had walked some twenty miles in her service, and yet she asked no questions about the letter.
'I have been to Bristol,' he began, 'and delivered your letter. Don't you want to know what Madam Lambert said?'
'Oh, my letter! Yes—will she have me?' But Bryda did not seem eager for an answer.
'Yes, you can ride with me on Monday in the cart, and I will put you down at number six Dowry Square. Madam will give you ten pounds a year, and you will get a lot of books—I saw shelves full in the parlour—and you will see all the fine folks at the pump-room, and hear the band play. Won't you like that—eh, Bryda?'
'Oh, yes, of course I shall. I thank you, Jack, for taking all this trouble for me.'
But the thanks were not so warm as Jack expected, and he could not understand what made Bryda seem so different from the eager, restless girl of the previous day, whose whole heart seemed then set on going to Bristol.