"You have been crying," she exclaimed; "what is it, my dear? what has happened?"
"Nothing has happened, but I have a letter from Margaret, a most dear letter, and I could not help contrasting my marriage with hers, for I love Paul, Lady Lyons, and all is different."
"Very different," said Lady Lyons, and she sighed sympathetically; "and Mr. Drayton had no position, my dear; he was only a manufacturer."
"Oh, Lady Lyons, how absurd you are!" said Grace, the tears still standing in her eyes, though she laughed heartily; "fancy, in these days, talking like that! Why, all our leading spirits in Parliament and out of it are 'only' manufacturers; they have the ball at their feet now."
"My dear, you have a way of putting things I never can follow," said poor Lady Lyons; "now you are talking about a ball, it is really very puzzling."
"Well then, I beg your pardon over and over and over again," said Grace, "and I will try not to say puzzling things."
"Thank you, my dear," said Lady Lyons, very heartily, who considered this a great concession.
"Now I am to be your daughter," said the girl, with the natural wish of having a little affection and kindness shown to her just now, "you will try and like me—love me a little bit." She looked wistfully at Lady Lyons, who was touched and quite melted by this appeal.
"I suppose," she said very naïvely to Grace, who had turned round to leave the room, "that I also have things about me, peculiarities that require indulgence."
"You are very good," said Grace, evading the question, "and I mean to be a good wife to Paul, you believe that?"