Cora’s consideration of it went even further. “Has he changed?”
It went—and the effect was odd—a little too far for her companion, in whom, just discernibly, it had touched the spring of impatience. “My dear child, how in the world should I know?”
But Cora knew exactly how anyone would know. “He hasn’t seemed to care enough for the house. Does he care?”
Mrs. Gracedew moved away, passed over to the fireplace, and stood a moment looking at the old armorial fire-back she had praised to its master—yet not, it must be added, as if she particularly saw it. Then as she faced about: “You had better ask him!”
They stood thus confronted, with the fine old interval between them, and the girl’s air was for a moment that of considering such a course. “If he does care,” she said at last, “he’ll propose.”
Mrs. Gracedew, from where she stood in relation to the stairs, saw at this point the subject of their colloquy restored to view: Captain Yule was just upon them—he had turned the upper landing. The sight of him forced from her in a flash an ejaculation that she tried, however, to keep private—“He does care!” She passed swiftly, before he reached them, back to the girl and, in a quick whisper, but with full conviction, let her have it: “He’ll propose!”
Her movement had made her friend aware, and the young man, hurrying down, was now in the hall. Cora, at his hurry, looked dismay—“Then I fly!” With which, casting about for a direction, she reached the door to the court.
Captain Yule, however, at this result of his return, expressed instant regret. “I drive Miss Prodmore away!”
Mrs. Gracedew, more quickly still, eased off the situation. “It’s all right!” She had embraced both parties with a smile, but it was most liberal now for Cora. “Do you mind, one moment?”—it conveyed, unmistakeably, a full intelligence and a fine explanation. “I’ve something to say to Captain Yule.”
Cora stood in the doorway, robust against the garden-light, and looking from one to the other. “Yes—but I’ve also something more to say to you.”