‘So you cured your grief!’ said Lady Grace; and Skepsey made way for his master.
Victor’s festival-lights were kindled, beholding her; cressets on the window-sill, lamps inside.
‘Am I so welcome?’ There was a pull of emotion at her smile. ‘What with your little factotum and you, we are flattered to perdition when we come here. He has been proposing, by suggestion, like a Court-physician, the putting on of his boxing-gloves, for the consolation of the widowed:—meant most kindly! and it’s a thousand pities women haven’t their padded gloves.’
‘Oh! but our boxing-gloves can do mischief enough. You have something to say, I see.’
‘How do you see?’
‘Tusk, tush.’
The silly ring of her voice and the pathless tattle changed; she talked to suit her laden look. ‘You hit it. I come from Dudley. He knows the facts. I wish to serve you, in every way.’
Victor’s head had lifted.
‘Who was it?’
‘No enemy.’