Court Netherleigh. Mrs. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ do nothing but sing his praises. Poor unselfish Grace once caught herself wishing that that early misapprehension had not been one, and then took herself to task severely. She loved Adela, and was glad for her sake.

      But Adela was not quite always cold and haughty. As if to show her affianced husband that such was not her true nature, she would now and again be sweetly winning and gentle. On one of these occasions he caught her hand. They were alone, sitting on a sofa; Frances had run into the next room for a book they were discussing.

      "Adela," he whispered passionately, taking both her hands in his, "but for these rare moments, I should be in despair."

      She did not, for a wonder, resent the words. She glanced up at him, a shy look in her sweet brown eyes, a smile on her parted lips, a deeper rose-blush on her delicate face. He stooped and kissed her; kissed her fervently.

      She resented that. For when Frances, coming back on the instant, entered, she met Adela sweeping from the room in a storm of anger.

      Not to let him kiss her! And in six weeks' time she was to be his wife!

      Mr. Grubb had an adventure on the journey home. They had passed Reading some minutes, when the train was stopped. A down-train had come to grief through the breaking of an axle, throwing a carriage, fortunately empty, right across the line; which in consequence was temporarily blocked up. The passengers of the down-train, very few of them, were standing about; the passengers of the up-train got out also.

      "Can I be of any use?—can I do anything for you?" asked Mr. Grubb, addressing a little lady in a black-silk cloak and close bonnet, who was sitting on a box and looking rather helpless. And, though he had heard of Miss Margery Upton, he was not aware that it was she to whom he was speaking.

      "It is good of you to inquire, sir; you are the first who has done it," she answered; "but I don't see that there's anything to be done. We might all have been killed. They should keep their material in safer order."

      She looked up as she spoke. Some drops of rain were beginning to fall. Mr. Grubb put up his umbrella, and held it over her. To do this, he laid down a small hand-bag of Russian leather, on the silver clasp of which was engraved "C. Grubb." Miss Upton read the name, rose from her box, and looked him steadily in the face. "It is a good face and a handsome one," she thought to herself.

      "Sir, is your name Grubb?" she asked.

      "Yes, madam, it is."

      "I read it here," she explained, pointing to the old-fashioned article.

      "Ah, yes," he smiled. "It was my late father's bag, and that was his name."

      "Was he Christopher Grubb?

      "He was."

      She put her hand on his coat-sleeve, apparently for the purpose of steadying herself while regarding his face more attentively.

      "You have your mother's eyes," she said; "I should know them anywhere. Beautiful eyes they were. And so are yours."

      "And may I inquire who it is that is doing honour to my vanity in saying this?" he rejoined, in the winning voice and manner characteristic of him.

      "Ay, if you like. I dare say you have heard of me. I am Margery Upton."

      "Indeed I have; and I have wondered sometimes whether I should ever see you. Then—did you know my mother, Miss Upton?"

      "I did; in the old days when we were girls together. Has she never told you so?"

      "Not to my recollection."

      "I see. Resented our resentment, and dropped us out of her life as we dropped her," commented Miss Upton partly to herself, as she sat down again. "What a tinkering they keep up there! Is your mother living?"

      "Yes; but she is an invalid."

      "Is it you who are about to marry Lord Acorn's daughter?" continued Miss Upton.

      "Yes. I have just come from them."

      "I knew the name was Grubb, and that he was a City man and wealthy," she candidly continued; "and the thought occurred to me that it might possibly be the son of the Christopher Grubb I heard something of in early life. I did not put the question to the Acorns."

      "It is by them I have heard you spoken of," he remarked. "Also by my sister."

      "By your sister!" exclaimed Miss Upton, in surprise. "What sister? What does she know of me?"

      "She was staying some fourteen or fifteen months ago with the Dalrymples of Moat Grange—it was at the time of Mr. Dalrymple's sad death—and she made your acquaintance there. She is Mary Lynn, my half-sister. My father died when I was a little lad, and my mother made a second marriage."

      Miss Upton was silent, apparently revolving matters in her mind. "Did your sister know that I was her mother's early friend?" she asked.

      "Oh no; I think not. She only spoke of you as a stranger—or, rather, as a friend of the Dalrymples. I never heard my mother speak of you at all—I do not suppose Mary has."

      "That young girl had her mother's eyes," suddenly cried Miss Upton, "just as you have. They seemed familiar to me; I remember that; but I wanted the clue, which this name"—bending to look at the bag—"has supplied. C. Grubb—Christopher was your father's name."

      "It is mine also."

      "And Francis too!" she quickly cried.

      "And Francis too—Francis Charles Christopher." It crossed his mind to wonder how she knew it was Francis, then remembered it must have been from the Acorns. Miss Upton had lifted her face, and was looking at him.

      "Why did your mother name you Francis?" she asked, rather sharply.

      "I was named Francis after my father's only brother. He was my godfather, and gave me his name—Francis Charles." And left me his money also, Mr. Grubb might have added, but did not.

      "I see," nodded Miss Upton, apparently satisfied. "You have been letting Lord Acorn borrow no end of money of you on the strength of his coming into the Netherleigh estate," she resumed, in her open, matter-of-fact way, that spoke so much of candour.

      Mr. Grubb hesitated, and his face slightly flushed. It did not seem right to enter upon Lord Acorn's affairs with a stranger. But she seemed to know all about it, and was waiting for his answer.

      "Not on the Netherleigh estate," he answered. "I have always told Lord Acorn that he ought not to make sure of that."

      "You would be quite safe in lending it," she nodded, a peculiar look of acuteness, which Mr. Grubb did not altogether fathom, on her face. "Quite."

      Some stir interrupted further conversation. The tinkering, as Miss Upton called it, had ceased, and the down-line was at length ready for traffic. "Where are my people, I wonder?" cried Miss Upton, rising and looking around.

      They came forward almost as she spoke—a man and a maid servant. The former took up the box she had been sitting on, and Mr. Grubb gave her his arm to the train, and put her into the carriage.

      "This is the first time I have seen you, but СКАЧАТЬ