"Don't you see how much more silent he is, with only an occasional burst of his old fun? I am afraid he cares—really cares—for this girl."
"And if he does, what then? There is really nothing to object to in her. Putting her beauty aside, she is clever—in her way—wonderfully adaptable, and has a great deal of character. I don't say that she is exactly the sister-in-law I should have selected, but then, almost certainly, the girl I should prefer Mordy would not look at. If Miss Planter makes up her mind to marry him, which I am not at all sure that she will—"
"The idea! Not accept Mordy, who might marry almost any one in England?"
"Nonsense, aunty. You know very well that, judged by your own standard—the worldly standard—a poor baronet, without any transcendent abilities to advance his career, is not a match for ambitious mammas or daughters to jump at. If dear Mordy really and truly falls in love at last with this American girl, and if she returns his love—she won't marry him unless she does—I see no reason why they should not be very happy."
"I wish it had been the Hurlstone girl," said Mrs. Frampton, without taking her eyes from her work. "Besides the money being certain in her case, there are the relations. The Planters, I am told, are people of yesterday."
"Yesterday, or the day before—does it make much difference?"
"The father, I am told, is impossible. The mother—"
"You heard all this from the Hurlstones; it is a tainted source. People are even more jealous of each other over here, it seems to me, than in London. And in this case, you see, there are peculiar reasons for jealousy. If you meet the Planters in the course of our travels"—she cautiously avoided any hint of the Californian rendezvous—"you must not be prejudiced. You must judge the girl upon her own merits. Promise me you will do this, aunty."
"Oh! No one can say I am prejudiced. That is the last charge that can be brought against me." Grace bit her lip, and bent her head over a dropped stitch in her knitting. There was a little pause. Mrs. Frampton heaved a sigh, then stretching out her hand to her work-basket, drew from the depths of it a society paper, not yet a fortnight old. "Look here, Gracey," she continued, as she opened and flattened out the paper with her hand; "there is a subject upon which I have long since given up speaking to you. I shouldn't do so now but for something Mordy said to me yesterday. I had hoped your eyes were gradually opened to Mr. Ivor Lawrence's true character. I told Mordy to tell you the common topic of conversation—the new light that has been thrown upon the case. And now, as it seems you still believe in the man, I think you should see this paragraph," and she handed the paper to her niece. It ran thus:
"With regard to the disputed will of the late Mr. Tracy, which promises to be a cause célèbre, we understand that the attorney who drew up several wills for the deceased, between the years 1875 and 1887, has been traced to Victoria, where he emigrated on account of his health. He is subpoenaed to appear, and will be an important witness, as it is said he brings with him duplicates of these wills, which appear to have been destroyed. The evidence of this witness, as testifying to the affection which subsisted formerly between Mr. Giles Tracy and his uncle, will, it is said, be of paramount importance on the trial."