“Never mind,” said Grace. “I can tell you that your Bank would not meet it. No, not if all its coffers were filled to the brim.”
“I see,” observed George: “he is inestimable. Do not set your heart too much upon him, Grace,” he continued, his voice changing.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Maria had to lose some, equally dear.”
“That is true,” said Grace in softened tones. “How is Maria to-day?”
“Quite well, thank you. She went to Ashlydyat this afternoon, and I dare say has remained there. Famous weather for the hay, is it not, sir?” he added to the Rector.
“Couldn’t be better,” replied Mr. Hastings.
George rode off at a canter. The baby burst into a cry; perhaps that he could not go off at a canter too: and Grace, after a vain attempt to hush him, carried him into the house. The Rector remained, looking over the gate.
“Things going wrong with him!—No! He could not be so easy under it,” was his mental conclusion. “It is all right, depend upon it,” he added aloud to his son.
“I think it must be, sir,” was the reply of Isaac Hastings.