Mrs. Dorriman was surprised and moved at the girl's action, and allowed herself to be taken upstairs and looked after in her own room with a feeling akin to gratitude.
The evidence of friendship offered just when she was feeling so forlorn came to her as a ray of sunshine. The house, so bare and so desolate-looking in its exterior, had struck her painfully as she went up to it. Her last home, with its wooded knolls and a lovely background of hills, was vividly present to her.
Why, if her brother did not want money, had he sold the place? Surely he must have had some liking for a home where so many generations had lived and died, and, as her eye took in the ugly garden and the closely-built streets at a stone's throw only of his gate, her wonder increased.
She was conscious of a perfect sinking of the heart when she thought that here must probably all the rest of her days be spent.
Christie's words rushed into her mind, and then came the meeting at the hall-door, and Margaret's sweetness.
Yes; that was a real comfort to her, and no caress ever was bestowed with greater results; the drop of kindness just when she so needed kindness sank into her heart. Whatever the days might hold for her in the future, this would always be gratefully remembered.
Poor Margaret, having left her, went to congratulate Grace, as she did herself, upon so pleasant a surprise. Instead of the disagreeable and authoritative woman they had pictured to themselves, here was a gentle and timid lady, whom it would be easy to love. Full of this relief, she found Grace in their own room.
She was leaning against the shutters, and her eyes were fixed upon the town. Margaret knew by instinct that she was ruffled.
"Anything wrong?" she asked, brightly, going up to her, and laying her hand affectionately upon her shoulder.
Grace made no reply, but she gave a little shrug, and dislodged her sister's hand.