Mrs. Gracedew looked at her a moment. “Then so do I—and I like him for believing in you.”
“Oh, he does that,” the girl hurried on, “far more than Captain Yule—I could see just with one glance that he doesn’t at all. Papa has of course seen the young man I mean, but we’ve been so sure papa would hate it that we’ve had to be awfully careful. He’s the son of the richest man at Bellborough, he’s Granny’s godson, and he’ll inherit his father’s business, which is simply immense. Oh, from the point of view of the things he’s in”—and Cora found herself sharp on this—“he’s quite as good as papa himself. He has been away for three days, and if he met me at the station, where, on his way back, he has to change, it was by the merest chance in the world. I wouldn’t love him,” she brilliantly wound up, “if he wasn’t nice.”
“A man’s always nice if you will love him!” Mrs. Gracedew laughed.
Her young friend more than met it. “He’s nicer still if he ‘will’ love you!”
But Mrs. Gracedew kept her head. “Nicer of course than if he won’t! But are you sure this gentleman does love you?”
“As sure as that the other one doesn’t.”
“Ah, but the other one doesn’t know you.”
“Yes, thank goodness—and never shall!”
Mrs. Gracedew watched her a little, but on the girl’s meeting her eyes turned away with a quick laugh. “You mean of course till it’s too late.”
“Altogether!” Cora spoke as with quite the measure of the time.