“Mrs. Archer goes on to say that he overworks shockingly, and that he is bound to break down soon; he will take no advice, and allows himself no pleasure. What a pity to see a man throwing away his life, isn't it?”
“Perhaps he finds his... satisfaction in work, mother.”
“Nonsense; no man ought to kill himself. Mr. Lennox ought to have married years ago, and then he would not have been making a wreck of himself; I don't know any man who would have made a better husband, or of whom a woman would have been prouder.” And Mrs. Leconte compelled a reply.
“He is a good man, and I think you are right, mother.” Something in her tone struck Mrs. Leconte's ear.
“Grace, Mr. Lennox used to come frequently to this house, and now I have noticed he never calls.”
Her daughter said nothing.
“It was after your sisters' wedding that he ceased to call. Do you think... I mean, was he in love with Gerty? Frances it couldn't be. I never thought of that before, for I am not very observant. Nothing would have given me more pleasure, if my daughters were to be married, than to have George Lennox for a son-in-law. Can it be, Grace, that Gerty refused him, and we have never known?”
“I am sure she did not, mother;” and again Mrs. Leconte caught a strange note in her daughter's voice.
“Do you know, I suspect that if you had given him any encouragement, George Lennox would have been a happy man to-day. Is that so, Grace?
“Pardon me, Grace, perhaps I ought not to ask such a question; it came suddenly into my mind. Whatever you did was no doubt right; a woman cannot give her hand without her heart even to the best of men. If it be as I imagine, I do not blame you, Grace, but... I am sorry for George Lennox.”