"Oh, yes, my dear, indeed, you put that very prettily; I used to wish it was Margaret, but now I think you will like to know, that I am quite reconciled—then there is the Duchess, and my new dress!"
Grace laughed a little and left her.
She locked her door and once again read Margaret's affectionate, earnest letter.
After discussing the news of her marriage she said,
"Now, Grace, my darling, I want you to think, think more prayerfully than I did, about this. If you do not love Paul Lyons, do not mind the disagreeable speeches that may be made, but do not go on with it. Far better to bear angry words now than to marry without love. I would come to you, darling, at a moment's notice, and I could make a home for you somewhere, only do not do this. Had I had so solemn a warning I might have been saved."
There was more to the same point; each word, every line, showed by its intensity what an agony of pain, and shame, and misery she had herself gone through.
Hot tears fell on Grace's hands as she read the letter, and she threw herself upon her knees.
"Why should she suffer and not I?" she cried, "and I am looking forward to happiness. Then she prayed long and fervently, not for happiness and blessings but for forgiveness!"
"I shall only be really happy when I know she has forgotten," she said to herself, and she knew that this meant when Sir Albert Gerald had won her sister.
The sun shone brightly on Grace's wedding-day. She was quiet and composed. When Lady Lyons praised her for her demeanour she said gravely,