"Don't talk of her, Graves, unless you can speak kindly. You know I told you this the other day."
"Well, I don't wish to be unkind; but when a lady of high birth marries a wretched playwright, a buffoon——"
"Stop!" Griselda exclaimed. "No more of this. If you can be neither respectful nor kind, say no more."
"Well, my dear, there are times when I see your mother over again in you, and I tremble," said poor Graves, "yes, I shudder. If a bad man got hold of you, what then? I have my fears. It's out of love I speak."
Griselda was touched at once.
"I know it—I know, dear old Graves," she said. "There are few enough to care about me, or whether bad or good men are in my company. That is true, and I am glad you care," she added, springing up, and, throwing off the wrapper, she bent her stately head and kissed the lined, rugged cheek, down which a single tear was silently falling. "Dear old 'Melia, I am sure you love me, and I will keep out of the hands of bad men and women too. I want to go to-day to see a good, brave woman who sings divinely, and whose whole life is devoted to her brother—a wonderful musician."
"Musician, yes. Music—music——"
"But, to other things also; Mr. Herschel studies the wonders of the heavens, and is measuring the mountains in the moon and searching star-depths."
"A pack of nonsense!" said Graves, recovering herself from the passing wave of sentiment which had swept over her. "A pack of nonsense! I take the stars as God set them in the heavens—to give light with the moon—and I want to know no more than the Word teaches me. The sun to rule by day, the moon and stars to rule by night. There! I hear her ladyship. Yes, I'll order the chair—maybe two; but you'll dine first? Her ladyship said she should dine at two—late enough."
"Well, make haste and get her up, and stroke her the right way."