"Of course they do, granny! I think it is only blockheads who are never astonished, because one thing is much the same to them as another."
"Well, I'm glad I can prove myself no blockhead at such an easy rate. What is your surprise about, May?"
"It's about—Mr. Bragg."
The colour came into May's cheeks as she looked up with a bright, shy glance from her favourite low seat beside granny's knee. But it was nothing to the deep, sudden flush which dyed Mrs. Dobbs's face. She looked at her grandchild almost vacantly for a moment, and then grew paler than before. But May did not observe all this. She sat smiling to herself, with the colour varying in her face, as it so easily did on the very slightest emotion, her hands clasped round her knees, and her bright head bent down, as she continued—
"I have had my suspicions for some time past; but I said nothing until last night. Then, when I went into Clara's room to put my hat on, I just gave her a tiny hint; and she said very likely I was right, and did not laugh at me a bit. But I dare say you will laugh at me, granny."
"Let us hear, my lass," said Mrs. Dobbs, moistening her lips, which felt parched.
"Well—I think that Mr. Bragg has a motive in coming so often to Garnet Lodge."
"I suppose he has."
"Ah, but a very special motive—a matrimonial motive. There, granny!"
Mrs. Dobbs looked down with a singular expression at the shining brown hair so near to her hand which rested on the elbow of her easy-chair. But she did not caress it as she habitually did when within reach. She sat quite still, and merely said—