"Rather often," replied Grace, knowing that the question must refer to Sir Francis.
"He is friendly with you, then?"
"Quite so. The friendship has never been interrupted. We are going to his house tonight," she added, perhaps incautiously.
"To Grosvenor Square?" cried Adela.
"Yes. I think it is the first entertainment he has given since you left it. Half London will be there."
"If I could only go!" exclaimed Adela, a light rising in her eye, a flush to her pale cheek. Grace looked at her in surprise; she had forfeited the right ever to enter there. Grace made no comment, and a pause ensued.
"Did you read the speech he made last Thursday night to the Commons?" resumed Adela, in a low tone.
"Yes. Every one was talking of it. Did you read it, Adela?—in Scotland?"
Grace received no answer. Sir Sandy below could have told her that Adela used to seize upon the Times, when it arrived, with feverish interest, to see whether any speech of her husband's was reported in it. If so, Sir Sandy's belief was that she learnt it by heart, so long did she keep the paper.
The chocolate finished, she lay back in the chair, her eyes looking into vacancy, her listless hands folded before her. Grace, sitting opposite, ostensibly occupied with some work, for she was rarely idle, had leisure to note her sister's countenance. It was much changed. Worn, wan, and weary it looked, but there was no special appearance now of ill health.