Graeme laughed, but she was very much afraid she changed colour, too, as she answered:
“There is no haste. When you make up your mind as to which will be most appropriate, you will be in time.”
“Ah! you are not to commit yourself, I see. Well, you are quite right. She is a harmless little person, I believe, and may turn out very well if withdrawn from the influence of her stepmother.”
Something in Graeme’s manner stopped the voluble lady more effectually than words could have done, and a rather abrupt turn was given to the conversation. But Graeme could not forget it. Not that she believed in the truth of what Mrs Gridley had hinted at, yet she could not help being annoyed at it. It was rather foolish, she thought, for Arthur to give occasion for such gossip. It was so unlike him, too. And yet so little was enough to raise a rumour like that, especially with so kind a friend as Mrs Gridley to keep the ball rolling. Very likely Arthur knew nothing at all about this rumour, and, as the thought passed through her mind, Graeme determined to tell him about it.
But she did not; she could not do so—though why she could not was a mystery to herself. Sometimes she fancied there was that in Arthur’s manner which prevented her from pursuing the subject, when an opportunity seemed to offer. When he was not there, she was quite sure it was only her own fancy, but no sooner was the name of Grove mentioned; than the fancy returned, till the very sight of the Grove carriage made her uncomfortable at last, especially if the lady of the mansion was in it. She never failed to lean forward and bow to them with the greatest interest and politeness; and more than once Graeme was left standing looking in at a shop-window, while Arthur obeyed the beckoning hand of the lady, and went to speak to her. Sometimes the pretty Fanny was there; sometimes she was not. But her absence did not set Graeme’s uncomfortable feelings at rest with regard to her brother.
And yet, why should she be uncomfortable? she asked herself, a thousand times. What right had she to interfere, even in thought, with her brother’s friendship? If he admired Miss Grove, if even he were attached to her, or engaged to her, it was nothing with which she could interfere—nothing to which she could even allude—until he should speak first. But then, of course, that was quite absurd! Miss Grove, though very pretty, and the daughter of a man who was reported to be rich, was no more worthy to be Arthur’s wife—than—
Oh! of course it was all nonsense. No one had ever heard three words of common sense from those pretty lips. She had heard Arthur say as much as that himself. Miss Grove could dance and flirt and sing a little; that was all that could be said for her, and to suppose that Arthur would ever—
And yet Graeme grew a little indignant standing there looking at, but scarcely seeing the beautiful things in Savage’s window, and she inwardly resolved that never again should she wait for the convenience of the free-and-easy occupant of the carriage standing a few doors down the street. She had time to go over the same thoughts a good many times, and the conclusion always was that it was exceedingly impertinent of Mrs Grove, and exceedingly foolish of Arthur, and exceedingly disagreeable to herself, before she was recalled by her brother’s voice from her enforced contemplation of the beautiful things before her.
“Mrs Grove wanted to speak to you, Graeme,” said he, with a little embarrassment.
“I could hardly be expected to know that by intuition,” said Graeme, coldly.