t and depressed. Just now, when she left the table (didn't you
notice it?), she looked at me in the strangest way--almost as if she was
sorry for me. What do these things mean?"

Horace's reply, instead of increasing Lady Janet's anxiety, seemed to
relieve it. He had observed nothing which she had not noticed herself.
"You foolish boy!" she said, "the meaning is plain enough. Grace has
been out of health for some time past. The doctor recommends change of
air. I shall take her away with me."

"It would be more to the purpose," Horace rejoined, "if I took her away
with me. She might consent, if you would only use your influence. Is
it asking too much to ask you to persuade her? My mother and my sisters
have written to her, and have produced no effect. Do me the greatest of
all kindnesses--speak to her to-day!" He paused, and possessing himself
of Lady Janet's hand, pressed it entreatingly. "You have always been so
good to me," he said, softly, and pressed it again.

The old lady looked at him. It was impossible to dispute that there were
attractions in Horace Holmcroft's face which made it well worth looking
at. Many a woman might have envied him his clear complexion, his
bright blue eyes, and the warm amber tint in his light Saxon hair.
Men--especially men skilled in observing physiognomy--might have noticed
in the shape of his forehead and in the line of his upper lip the signs
indicative of a moral nature deficient in largeness and breadth--of
a mind easily accessible to strong prejudices, and obstinate in
maintaining those prejudices in the face of conviction itself.

To the observation of women these remote defects were too far below
the surface to be visible. He charmed the sex in general by his rare
personal advantages, and by the graceful deference of his manner. To
Lady Janet he was endeared, not by his own merits only, but by old
associations that were connected with him. His father had been one of
her many admirers in her young days. Circumstances had parted them. Her
marriage to another man had been a childless marriage. In past times,
when the boy Horace had come to her from school, she had cherished a
secret fancy (too absurd to be communicated to any living creature) that
he ought to have been _her_ son, and might have been her son, if she had
married his father! She smiled charmingly, old as she was--she yielded
as his mother might have yielded--when the young man took her hand and
entreated her to int