"I am very sorry," began Margaret, but she was stopped by Grace—
"You might have put dinner off," she said, coolly, "as our train gets here so late—it was quite impossible to be ready sooner."
Mr. Sandford stared at her attentively for a moment; a grim smile crossed his face; but he looked from her to her sister, and his countenance softened. Margaret was very like his wife—not so good-looking he thought, but like—and he was glad, and he took a fancy to her from that time.
There was plenty of everything, though all was plain. Mr. Sandford said little; Grace was the chief speaker, and what she said did not please him. She found fault with the trains, the smoke, the bustle, the inconvenience at the railway-station. He heard her in silence for some time, and then, looking up, he said, sarcastically—
"If I had thought of it, I might have ordered a special train for you."
Grace was slow to see a joke against herself, but she had an uncomfortable feeling (very dimly felt) that such a thing might be possible—in him.
Dinner went on. Mr. Sandford, from beneath his shaggy brows, watched the girl before him. He was immensely amused by her airs and graces; and, as observation is frequently mistaken for admiration by wiser people than Grace Rivers, she rose from table quite satisfied with a success which she intended should lead to many important results.
She talked a good deal about this to Margaret that night when they went to their room, and about all the reforms she intended to make in the household. Margaret listened, with all the deference she was accustomed to pay to Grace's remarks, and no misgiving crossed the mind of either sister as to the complete power to be in Grace's hands.
"I shall have a great deal to do," she said, in a tone of much importance, as they finally composed themselves to rest.
As it was her last thought at night, so it was her first idea next morning.