"No, of course not, but still—oh, Violet, I do hope they'll like the book! By the way, I was reading a paper yesterday about a girl who got a prize in some competition. She only got the fourth prize, and it was a hundred pounds! Why don't you try for one of them?"
Mrs. Walbridge was humbled-minded, but she had her pride. "I saw that thing. It was some rubbish that they print in pale blue paper covers—scullery maid's romance!"
Caroline bridled. "I'm sure I didn't mean to offend you. As far as that's concerned, there are a lot of competitions, and some very good writers write for them. Harbottle's offering a thousand pounds for a good novel, to start off his new five shilling edition."
But Mrs. Walbridge was not to be beguiled into paths of speculative dalliance. "I'm writing my book, as you know, for Lubbock & Payne," she said, "and even if I had a chance of winning a prize, which I haven't, it wouldn't be honest to offer my book to anybody else."
The talk then turned again to Grisel and her prospects.
Somehow, although her dear old friend had done her best to cheer her up, it was with a very flagging heart that Mrs. Walbridge reached "Happy House" at tea-time.
She was afraid to face in her own mind the latent fear she had about Oliver Wick. But she was tired, and could not put him resolutely out of her mind, and she looked a very weary, faded little creature, on the very verge of old age, as she toiled up the steps and opened the door.
Voices upstairs in the girls' room. She went up a few steps and listened. Yes, there was a man's voice she had never heard before. Sir John Barclay had come.
For a moment she thought of going to her own room and putting on her afternoon dress. She knew how shabby she looked; she had on her oldest hat, for the afternoon had looked threatening, and she had not touched her hair since the early morning. Then, with a little sigh, she went straight on. It wouldn't matter to this prospective bridegroom that his lovely little sweetheart's mother was a dowdy old woman; and she was tired, and wanted a cup of tea more than anything in the world. So, without pausing, she opened the door and went in.
Maud and Hermy were both there, and they were all sitting round the tea-table at which Grisel, very flushed and excited and pretty, presided. The stranger sat with his back to the door. She had only time to see that it was a straight, broad, strong back, surmounted by a well-shaped head, covered with thick white hair, when the girls saw her and rose in a little covey, fluttering towards her with cries of excitement and affection.