Mr. Carden kept silence; but his fortitude was sorely tried.

That day Grace pleaded headache, and did not appear to dinner.  Mr. Carden dined alone, and missed her bright face sadly.  He sent his love to her, and went off to the club, not very happy.  At the club he met Mr. Coventry, and told him frankly what he had done.  Mr. Coventry, to his surprise, thanked him warmly.  “She will be mine in two years,” said he.  “Little will never be able to make a settlement on her.”  This remark set Mr. Carden thinking.

Grace watched the window day after day, but Henry never came nor passed.  She went a great deal more than usual into the town, in hopes of meeting him by the purest accident.  She longed to call on Mrs. Little, but feminine instinct withheld her; she divined that Mrs. Little must be deeply offended.

She fretted for a sight of Henry, and for an explanation, in which she might clear herself, and show her love, without being in the least disobedient to her father.  Now all this was too subtle to be written.  So she fretted and pined for a meeting.

While she was in this condition, and losing color every day, who should call one day—­to reconnoiter, I suppose—­but Mr. Coventry.

Grace was lying on the sofa, languid and distraite, when he was announced.  She sat up directly, and her eye kindled.

Mr. Coventry came in with his usual grace and cat-like step.  “Ah, Miss Carden!”

Miss Carden rose majestically to her feet, made him a formal courtesy, and swept out of the room, without deigning him a word.  She went to the study, and said, “Papa, here’s a friend of yours—­Mr. Coventry.”

“Dear me, I am very busy.  I wish you would amuse him for a few minutes till I have finished this letter.”

“Excuse me, papa; I cannot stay in the same room with Mr. Coventry.”

“Why not, pray?”

“He is a dangerous man:  he compromises one.  He offered me an engagement-ring, and I refused it; yet he made you believe we were engaged.  You have taken care I shall not be compromised with the man I love; and shall I be compromised with the man I don’t care for?  No, thank you.”

“Very well, Grace,” said Mr. Carden, coldly.

Shortly after this Mr. Carden requested Dr. Amboyne to call; he received the doctor in his study, and told him that he was beginning to be uneasy about Grace; she was losing her appetite, her color, and her spirits.  Should he send her to the seaside?

“The seaside!  I distrust conventional remedies.  Let me see the patient.”

He entered the room and found her coloring a figure she had drawn:  it was a beautiful woman, with an anchor at her feet.  The door was open, and the doctor, entering softly, saw a tear fall on the work from a face so pale and worn with pining, that he could hardly repress a start; he did repress it though, for starts are unprofessional; he shook hands with her in his usual way.  “Sorry to hear you are indisposed, my dear Miss Grace.”  He then examined her tongue, and felt her pulse; and then he sat down, right before her, and fixed his eyes on her.  “How long have you been unwell?”