"Did she give you any address?"
"Oh, she never does, because she never has the least idea where she is going to. Mr. Drayton keeps it all to himself, I fancy. I have written to her, but I send my letters on chance. Stay, I think I have her last letter here, you may see it if you like. Poor Margaret, she always takes life so very seriously, she has no sense of fun. I am sure with her opportunities I should have written a much longer and a more amusing letter!"
Mrs. Dorriman read the letter, and her eyes filled with tears. It was a letter written by one who has lost all the spring of youth—unhappiness was on its every page, and the craving to know that Grace was well and surrounded with comforts, and that she was happy. It was a beseeching cry to know if the step she had taken had been of use to her beloved sister.
"Grace," said Mrs. Dorriman, after a moment or two, "when you move, as the doctor hopes, have you money?"
"Money! My dear Mrs. Dorriman, what an odd question. I have no money—A few shillings, that is all."
"And will Margaret send you some? Will Mr. Drayton pay all your expenses?"
"Of course he will, now Margaret has married him. I see what you mean. I had better write to her about it."
"Yes, you had better write." Mrs. Dorriman's face flushed. "I wish, my poor child, it had been otherwise, but my brother is still offended with you. I am so very sorry, but he wants me to go home to him."
"Does he?" said Grace, indifferently, and Mrs. Dorriman noticed with a pang that this news she had thought necessary to break to the invalid did not affect her at all.
"He wants me at once. I do not like leaving you alone here, Grace, without your sister; it will be dull for you and lonely."