"God grant it may be so!" he said, fervently.
"Do you mind telling me how it was it all went wrong at Lornbay? I thought you cared for her then."
"Cared for her! It was a terrible misunderstanding. I never can forgive myself for having said something—put something in a stupid way. It does not bear thinking about. You have no conception what a trial that has been to bear. It has added to everything else."
"Well, before my lady and her butterfly comes, hear me promise to do what little I can in the matter, Sir Albert. Let us swear an eternal friendship!"
She held out her hand as Lady Lyons came into the room, and he gave her a grateful pressure. Lady Lyons coughed loudly, as much as to say—"I am here."
"Now, Sir Albert," said Grace, gaily, "Lady Lyons is quite shocked; you really must not make love to me under her very eyes."
Poor Lady Lyons felt dreadfully taken aback. Sir Albert, however, was so kind about her jewel, and, taking it to the light, gave it such real attention, that she was soon thinking of her butterfly more than of anything else.
When he had gone, however, the little scene recurred to her, and she began talking about him.
She was just sufficiently afraid of Grace to begin the conversation as far from the subject as possible, and, without losing sight of what she wanted to know, she began talking of Mrs. Dorriman, and of the days of her youth, when she had been a neglected girl of sixteen as Anne Sandford.
"Do you know, my dear, that in those days people used to think she was an heiress. Nobody knew anything at all about the brother, and it was such a surprise when he appeared. No one knew anything about his mother, and no one, I believe—none of his most intimate friends—knew of his father's first marriage."