"If he is happy, I am more than content!" exclaimed Mrs. Granger.
A fire was lighted in the stove, and Bessie brought them a second breakfast of coffee and rolls, and a great basin of bread and milk for young Lovel. The little man ate ravenously, and did not cry for Brobson—seemed indeed rather relieved to have escaped from the jurisdiction of that respectable matron. He was fond of Jane Target, who was just one of those plump apple-cheeked young women whom children love instinctively, and who had a genius for singing ballads of a narrative character, every verse embellished with a curious old-fashioned quavering turn.
After this refreshment—the first that Clarissa had taken with any approach to appetite since that luckless scene in her brother's painting-room—Jane persuaded her mistress to lie down and rest, which she did, falling asleep peacefully, with her boy's bright young head nestling beside her on the pillow. It was nearly dark when she awoke; and after dinner she went out for a walk with Austin, in the bright gas-lit streets, and along a wide boulevard, where the tall bare trees looked grim in the darkness. The freedom of this new life seemed strange to her, after the forms and ceremonies of her position as Daniel Granger's wife, and Sophia Granger's stepmother—strange, and not at all unpleasant.
"I think I could be very happy with you and Bessie always, Austin," she said, "if they would only leave me in peace."
"Could you, Clary? I'm sure I should be very glad to have you; but it would be rather hard upon Granger."
"He was going to take me back to papa; he wanted to get rid of me."
"He was in a passion when he talked about that, rely upon it."
"He was as cold as ice, Austin. I don't believe he was ever in a passion in his life."
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