“Give her a hint, Captain Hilton! I’ve asked her to go over and over again; I’ve ordered her to go—but it’s of no use. She comes back and cries all over me in the most dreadful way.”
“But why?—what about?”
“She has got a preposterous notion in her head that she is in love with my poor brother, and that he was very much attached to her because he called upon her once or twice. It’s really dreadful, for I don’t believe my brother ever gave her a thought.”
“You must reason with her, Mrs Bolter,” said Hilton, who could not help feeling amused.
“It is of no use: I’ve tried, and all I get for my pains is the declaration that she must give me the love that she meant for my brother. She says she shall make her will and leave all to me, for she shall die soon; and the way in which she goes on is horrible.”
“Well, it must be a nuisance where you don’t care for a person,” said Hilton.
“Nuisance: it’s unbearable! And now I’m talking to you about it, and very absurd you must think me; but if I didn’t relieve my mind to somebody I’m sure I should go mad. But won’t you come into the drawing-room?”
“Certainly,” said Hilton.
“I came out here to speak to her,” continued little Mrs Bolter; “because if she gets into my little drawing-room, she takes a seat, and I can never get her out again. Perhaps,” she whispered, “she’ll go as soon as she has said all she wants to Mr Harley.”
Hilton followed the little troubled body into the drawing-room, and then started and turned hot as he saw Grey Stuart rise to her feet, and stand there, looking deadly pale.