Crauford kept his own counsel strictly, and, though he had the honesty to make no advances to Lady Maria, her appreciation of him made her an agreeable companion; his sisters looked on with keen interest and Agneta was emboldened to congratulate him on his return to the paths of wisdom.
‘Admit, brother,’ she began one day as they found themselves alone together, ‘that Lady Maria is vastly superior to Miss Raeburn, after all.’
‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed he, taken aback.
‘But why is it nonsense?’ continued his sister, ‘what is amiss with Lady Maria?’
‘Her face,’ said Crauford shortly.
‘But Mama says it is absurd to think of that; I heard her say so to Papa—quite lately too.’
‘And what did he answer?’ enquired her brother, thinking of a sentiment in the memorable letter Sir Thomas had written him.
‘I think he said that he supposed all cats were grey in the dark. He could not quite have understood what Mama said; it seemed such an odd answer, for they had not been talking about cats. It made her rather angry too.’
Crauford said nothing and the two walked on. They were on the lawn, watching Sir Thomas and the local minister playing bowls in the shower of dead horse-chestnut leaves, which fell, periodically, like so many yellow fans, to the ground.
‘Did Miss Raeburn play the harp?’ asked Agneta, at last.