“All the family were there—yes. Didn’t you know?”
“How could I know, Sir George? I have not kept up correspondence with the Mainwarings. They do not care enough about me.”
“But you left others behind you at Garstone who did,” said he, more hurriedly than he generally spoke such speeches, for his heart was beating faster.
He had never yet looked on a woman who so completely fulfilled his ideal of a beautiful and graceful lady. A passionate wish sprung up in him that he might be mistaken in spite of all, and that his brother might have no interest for her. He glanced at her hands; they were ringless. He would fain have convinced himself that the very glance of her steadfast brown eyes proved her to be innocent of any evil. Yet these rooms, this dainty dress, did not proclaim the struggling governess out of work. For the first time it flashed across his mind, as he looked at her, that, if only she could convince him that she was as free and as pure as he would fain believe, he, Sir George Braithwaite of Garstone Grange, would be ready to marry the little governess out of employment.
She had noticed his compliment only by a short, sharp breath, and asked after the vicar’s family to divert the conversation.
“I am sure I shall like daily teaching much better than my life with them,” she went on quickly.
“You have some pupils then?”
“Not yet. I—there have been difficulties in the way of my getting any before now; but I hope to do so soon,” she said, hurriedly.
“And you don’t find this life dull?” said Sir George, his jealousy awake again.
“Oh, no!”