But Lily's easy laugh reassured her.
“No, indeed,” she said. “I am not. I shall probably marry beneath me, as you would call it, but not William Wallace Cameron. For one thing, he wouldn't have grandfather in his family.”
Some time later Mademoiselle tapped at Grace's door, and entered. Grace was reclining on a chaise longue, towels tucked about her neck and over her pillows, while Castle, her elderly English maid, was applying ice in a soft cloth to her face. Grace sat up. The towel, pinned around her hair like a coif, gave a placid, almost nun-like appearance to her still lovely face.
“Well?” she demanded. “Go out for a minute, Castle.”
Mademoiselle waited until the maid had gone.
“I have spoken to Ellen,” she said, her voice cautious. “A young man who does not care for women, a clerk in a country pharmacy. What is that, Mrs. Cardew?”
“It would be so dreadful, Mademoiselle. Her grandfather—”
“But not handsome,” insisted Mademoiselle, “and lame! Also, I know the child. She is not in love. When that comes to her we shall know it.”
Grace lay back, relieved, but not entirely comforted.
“She is changed, isn't she, Mademoiselle?”