“What did you talk about?” she asked quietly, after a moment’s pause. “I wish I had been here. I have not seen him since he came to announce his engagement.”
“Yes. He was sorry to miss you, too. He was not particularly agreeable—considering how well he can talk when he tries. I am very fond of him now. I am sorry I misjudged him formerly, and I told him so before he came to town.”
“You have discovered that you misjudged him, then,” said Constance, as calmly as she could.
“Yes,” Grace answered with perfect unconcern. “I am always glad to see him. By-the-bye, we talked about you.”
“About me?”
“Yes. What is the matter? Is there any reason why we should not talk about you?”
“Oh, none whatever—except that he loved me once.”
“He said nothing but what was perfectly fair and friendly. I asked him if he was happy in the prospect of being married so soon, and then very naturally we spoke of you. He said that he owed you the most loyal friendship and sincere gratitude, that you had launched him in his career by sending his first novel to the publisher without his consent, that without you, he would not have been what he is—he said it seemed natural, on looking back, that he should have loved you, or thought that he loved you——”
“Thought that he loved me?” Constance repeated in a low voice.
“Yes. Considering how quickly he has recovered, his love can hardly have been much more sincere than yours. What is the matter, Conny dear? Are you ill?”