“I should think not,” laughed Grace, “if it is so hard to find it out!”
“Oh, you must not laugh at me,” said Constance earnestly. “It is very, very serious. Have I done right, Grace? I wish I knew! I have treated him so cruelly, so hatefully, and yet I did not mean to. I am so fond of him, I admire him so much, I like his ways—and all—I do still, you know. It is quite true. I suppose I ought to be ashamed of it—only, I am sure I never did love him, really.”
“I have no idea of laughing at the affair,” answered Grace. “It is serious enough, I am sure, especially for him.”
“Yes—I want to make a confession to you. I want to tell you that you were quite right, that I have encouraged him and led him on and been dreadfully unkind. I am sure you think I am a mere flirt, and perfectly heartless! Is it not true? Well, I am, and it is of no use to deny it. I will never, never, do such a thing again—never! But after all, I do like him very much. I never could understand why you hated him so, from the first.”
“I did not hate him. I do not hate him now,” said Grace emphatically. “I did hate the idea of his marrying you, and I do still. I thought it was just as well that he should see that from the way one member of the family behaved towards him.”
“He did see it!” exclaimed Constance in a tone of regret. “It is another of the things I inflicted on him.”
“You? I should rather think it was I——”
“No, it was all my fault, all, everything, from beginning to end—and you are a darling, Gracey dear, and it is so sweet of you. You will be very good to him? Yes—and if he should want to see me very much, after you have told him everything, I might come down for a minute. I should so much like to be sure that he has taken it kindly.”
“If you wish it, you might see him—but I hardly think—well, do as you think best, dear.”
“Thank you, darling—you know you really are a darling, though I do not always tell you so. And now, I think I will go and lie down. I never slept last night.”