She was always distinctly maternal towards Margaret, hoping she understood, while a little disappointed that Margaret never sufficiently unbent to enable her to embrace her.
Margaret, when in good spirits, was inclined to make fun of her to Grace as rather "a gushing old lady," and the intended maternal impression was, so far, unsuccessful.
Before Lady Lyons had arranged her ideas entirely, Grace, much to her sister's surprise, took Lady Lyons into their counsel, and spoke openly to her of her hopes, her disappointments, and all else, and ended by saying—
"You were quite right, Lady Lyons—no one will have anything to say to me."
"My dear Miss Rivers," said the mistaken woman, and speaking in a most patronising tone, "Don't be afraid, your day will come. You will see, your day will come."
"You are all wrong," said Grace, very much annoyed with her; "I am talking of a chaperone."
"Grace, there is really no use in troubling Lady Lyons with our private affairs," said Margaret, in a tone she trusted would check Grace's indiscretion.
"Nonsense!" said Grace, coolly. "Now, Lady Lyons, here is the whole thing. I want to go and have a little peep at London" (Grace's ideas had become a little modified); "I do not expect to go to royal garden-parties, and all those very swell things, but I want to go to balls and do pleasant things. I am pining to have some fun."
"I am sure it is very natural," said Lady Lyons, a little touched by these girlish sentiments.
"Margaret does not agree with you," said Grace. "She is quite happy spending her time in hospitals and very gruesome places, where she looks after sick people—that is her idea of happiness. It is not mine."