An hour later Grizel awoke the sleeping nurse and informed her of her patient’s death some ten minutes before. The nurse rose hurriedly, shocked and discomfited in her professional pride. Why was she not called?
“She did not want you. We preferred to be alone,” said Grizel calmly. She was perfectly composed, and there were no tear marks on her pallid face. The nurse looked at her and wondered instinctively why people called Miss Dundas a beauty. She fastened her dressing-gown, and made the inevitable attempt at comfort.
“You must be exhausted. Let me make you a cup of tea!”
“Please do,” returned Grizel heartily. “I adore stray teas!”
Most unfeeling! the nurse decided, but then, what could one expect? A most disagreeable old woman, and such a fortune to inherit! She sighed, stifling a pang of envy.
The will of Lady Griselda Dundas was published the week after her funeral, and was the subject of comment in every large newspaper in the kingdom. The disposal of so large a fortune was in itself interesting, but the unusual conditions of the will attracted a curious attention. Beyond a few insignificant legacies the entire property was bequeathed to her niece, and adopted daughter, Miss Grizel Dundas, for the term of her unmarried life. On her marriage she became entitled to an income of five hundred a year, with a further sum of ten thousand pounds to be paid down on her fiftieth birthday, the remainder of the vast property being divided between certain charities, and a few distant relations, scattered about the world.
Grizel Dundas was left then to decide between single blessedness and an income approaching thirty thousand a year, and marriage on a pittance of five hundred! Society wagged its tongue in excited effort to solve the reason of the mystery. Lady Griselda’s own unhappy marriage had made her dread a similar experience for her niece. Grizel Dundas had been on the eve of an imprudent marriage, from which the will was designed to save her. Unsavoury facts had come to light concerning the private life of a certain titled aspirant... Numerous theories were advanced, but only one solution. Grizel Dundas was already twenty-eight, an age at which the sentimental period might be supposed to be outlived; she would accept the goods which the gods had given, and become one of the great hostesses of society. Those seemingly lazy, easy-going people were invariably the most practical at heart. Grizel Dundas was no fool. She knew well enough on which side her bread was buttered.
And in The Glen, Martin and Katrine Beverley read the different notices in strained silence, and referred to them in terse, difficult words. Each tried anxiously to discover the other’s sentiments, and to conceal a personal verdict. Katrine discovered in Martin’s depression the confirmation of her own conviction that he could never venture to ask Grizel to become his wife, at such a cost to her future prospects. The conviction brought with it a renewed sense of security, but little of the satisfaction which she had expected. A mysterious weight lay on her heart, and she struggled against an almost overwhelming sense of impatience. The routine of daily life appeared insufferably monotonous, blank, and unsatisfying. If Martin settled down again into his old, grave way, life would go on in the same old way, always the same! She had been passing through a period of unrest and dread, but now that the dread seemed over, her heart knew no joy. “What do I want?” Katrine asked despairingly of herself. “What do I want?”
Martin had gone to town to attend the funeral, but as Grizel had not attended the ceremony had had no glimpse of her. The ordinary letter of condolence had been forwarded, but had received no reply. A week dragged by, a fortnight, almost three weeks, and Martin, strained almost beyond endurance, was tentatively suggesting to Katrine that it would be a kind action to run up to town to pay Grizel a call, when the morning post arrived, and with it a letter in the large, well-known writing.
“Will you put me up for a week?” Grizel wrote. “There is a lot of clearing away to be done here, and I must get away. Expect me to-morrow by the five o’clock train!”