"Dear Graves, I have met a gentleman often, who is not like the rest of the world's votaries. His name is Travers; his mother frequents the chapel in the Vineyards. Take me thither with you next Sunday! Say you will, Graves!"
"I will take you if her ladyship is up in good time; but I can't get off early if she chooses to lie a-bed. But you would not go to scoff, Miss Griselda?"
"Nay; I have done with scoffing. But, Graves, do you ever think of the miserable poor who have no food and no clothing, like a poor child I saw on Mr. Herschel's doorstep t'other night? This Mr. Travers has tracked her at my desire, and I want to sell some trinkets to feed and clothe her. Hand me the large box; I rarely open it. I did sell the amethyst-brooch to buy my violin, and now there are the two necklets my grandmother left my mother, and which came to me by will; and there are some other trinkets—a silver scent-box and golden ear-drops. Make haste, dear Graves, and let me do what I wish."
"Well," said Graves, "I suppose you can do what you will with your own; but, all the same, I don't hold with selling property—you may want it yourself some day."
"True—ah, that is true! I wonder how it came about that I had no maintenance!"
"Your poor dear mamma had her portion on her marriage with that good-for-nothing, and he made away with every penny. Then Mr. Longueville took you as you know, and gave you a home."
"Yes; he was good to me. I remember coming, I think, when I was four years old."
"You poor little thing!" Graves exclaimed. "Yes, I can see you now, in your black pelisse, so shy and so strange! If your poor uncle had never married, it would have been all right; but there, my lady could draw water out of a stone by her wiles and ways. It's no use moaning over spilt milk. Here's the box. Now, don't be in a hurry to sell, as I tell you these trinkets are all you've got in the world. I must go and look after her ladyship's buckles; she wants a blue rosette sewn on her shoes, and the buckles taken off. It is all vanity and vexing of spirit. She'll be as cross as two sticks to-night; she always is, when she has been to the Pump Room, drinking these waters for fidgets and fancies—they upset folks' stomachs, and then other folks have to put up with their tantrums."
When Graves was gone, Griselda pulled the little table towards her; and, taking a small key from her chatelaine, unlocked the box.
"Yes," she thought, "it is as Graves says, I have nothing in the world but these jewels. It seemed till to-day that I had no one in the world to care for me; but now I think he does care for me. He is not like those gay, foolish men who treat women as if they were dolls to be dressed up, or puppets to move at their bidding. No, he is of another sort, I think." And the swift blush came to her fair cheek. "What if he loves me! It would be sweet to be taken from this hollow existence—dressing and dancing, and looking out for flattery and admiration. If he were near, that dreadful man would not dare to talk to me as he does—he would not dare if I were not an orphan; and my only protector—that silly creature who drives me nearly wild with her folly——Well, let me hope better times are coming. Now for the jewels."