"I am not sure about it, personally," he said, "I meant your voice and your manner, and something altogether."
"We have the same kind of nose," laughed Grace. "Never mind, Mr. Lyons, I like you to be loyal to my sister; I never, never, could come up to her, and I know it!"
"You—you are more like than you were last year. Sometimes I think you very like Margaret," said Mr. Lyons, consolingly.
"Thank you. I know that is a very high compliment from you."
"Don't you think, Miss Rivers, that Margaret might, she might, have been happier with a fellow like me than with an old madman like Drayton?—that's what hurts me so much," said the young man.
"Of course she would have been happier, but everything went wrong," and Grace blushed vividly. "I sent everything wrong, and, poor, poor darling, she sacrificed herself to save me. Oh, Mr. Lyons! you never can say anything bad enough for me to feel it unjust. I hate myself more and more every day," and, much to his consternation, Grace, usually mocking at tears, shed them now.
"I declare you are so like Margaret that I am getting to be very fond of you," exclaimed Paul, "please don't cry, it makes me feel so ... funny!" and he looked unhappy, also.
"Oh, if I could do anything!" exclaimed poor Grace, who was, now she was stronger, less able to remain passive, and who was utterly and entirely miserable about her sister.
"If one could only shoot the fellow!" said Paul, vindictively.
"You see even if I could go out that wretched man keeps guard; he will not let Jean see my poor Margaret. A little while ago there was a back door, now that is shut up."