’And no duty opposes my loving him!  And my aunt wishes it! my kind aunt!  And I may think of him.—­You, my best friend, would not assure me of this if you were not certain of the truth.—­Oh, how can I thank you for all your kindness, and for that best of all kindness, sympathy.  You see, your calmness, your strength of mind supports and tranquillises me.  I would rather have heard all I have just learnt from you than from any other person living.  I could not have borne it from any one else.  No one else knows my mind so perfectly—­yet my aunt is very good,—­and my dear uncle! should not I go to him?—­But he is not my uncle, she is not my aunt.  I cannot bring myself to think that they are not my relations, and that I am nothing to them.’

‘You may be everything to them, my dear Grace,’ said Lady Berryl; ‘whenever you please, you may be their daughter.’

Grace blushed, and smiled, and sighed, and was consoled.  But then she recollected her new relation Mr. Reynolds, her grandfather, whom she had never seen, who had for years disowned her—­treated her mother with injustice.  She could scarcely think of him with complaisancy; yet, when his age, his sufferings, his desolate state, were represented, she pitied him; and, faithful to her strong sense of duty, would have gone instantly to offer him every assistance and attention in her power.  Lady Berryl assured her that Mr. Reynolds had positively forbidden her going to him; and that he had assured Lord Colambre he would not see her if she went to him.  After such rapid and varied emotions, poor Grace desired repose, and her friend took care that it should be secured to her for the remainder of the day.

In the meantime, Lord Clonbrony had kindly and judiciously employed his lady in a discussion about certain velvet furniture, which Grace had painted for the drawing-room at Clonbrony Castle.

In Lady Clonbrony’s mind, as in some bad paintings, there was no keeping; all objects, great and small, were upon the same level.

The moment her son entered the room, her ladyship exclaimed—­

’Everything pleasant at once!  Here’s your father tells me, Grace’s velvet furniture’s all packed; really, Soho’s the best man in the world of his kind, and the cleverest—­and so, after all, my dear Colambre, as I always hoped and prophesied, at last you will marry an heiress.’

‘And Terry,’ said Lord Clonbrony, ‘will win his wager from Mordicai.’

‘Terry!’ repeated Lady Clonbrony, ’that odious Terry!—­I hope, my lord, that he is not to be one of my comforts in Ireland.’