“Silly child!” laughed Grace, kissing her on both cheeks. “As though it mattered so much, after all.”
“Oh, but it does matter,” Constance said regretfully as she left the room.
When Grace Fearing was alone she went to the window and looked out thoughtfully into the fresh, morning air.
“I am very glad,” she said aloud to herself. “I am very, very glad. But I would not have done it. No, not for worlds! I would rather cut off my right hand than treat a man like that!”
In that moment she pitied George Wood with all her heart.
CHAPTER XIII.
When George entered the drawing-room he was surprised to find Grace there instead of Constance, and it was with difficulty that he repressed a nervous movement of annoyance. On that day of all others he had no desire to meet Grace Fearing, and though he imagined that her presence was accidental and that he had come before the appointed time he felt something more of resentment against the young girl than usual. He made the best of the situation, however, and put on a brave face, considering that, after all, when the happiness of a lifetime is to be decided, a delay of five minutes should not be thought too serious an affair.
Grace rose to receive him and, coming forward, held his hand in hers a second or two longer than would have been enough under ordinary circumstances. Her face was very grave and her deep brown eyes looked with an expression of profound sympathy into those of her visitor. George felt his heart sink under the anticipation of bad news.
“Is anything the matter, Miss Fearing?” he inquired anxiously. “Is your sister ill?”
“No. She is not ill. Sit down, Mr. Wood. I have something to say to you.”