From being a frail phantom of her former equable self she returned in

bounds to a condition of passable philosophy. She bloomed again in the

face in the course of a few days, and was well enough to go about as

usual. One day Mrs. Melbury proposed that for a change she should be

driven in the gig to Sherton market, whither Melbury's man was going on

other errands. Grace had no business whatever in Sherton; but it

crossed her mind that Winterborne would probably be there, and this

made the thought of such a drive interesting.

On the way she saw nothing of him; but when the horse was walking

slowly through the obstructions of Sheep Street, she discerned the

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young man on the pavement. She thought of that time when he had been

standing under his apple-tree on her return from school, and of the

tender opportunity then missed through her fastidiousness. Her heart

rose in her throat. She abjured all such fastidiousness now. Nor did

she forget the last occasion on which she had beheld him in that town,

making cider in the court-yard of the Earl of Wessex Hotel, while she

was figuring as a fine lady in the balcony above.

Grace directed the man to set her down there in the midst, and

immediately went up to her lover. Giles had not before observed her,

and his eyes now suppressedly looked his pleasure, without the

embarrassment that had formerly marked him at such meetings.

When a few words had been spoken, she said, archly, "I have nothing to

do. Perhaps you are deeply engaged?"

"I? Not a bit. My business now at the best of times is small, I am

sorry to say."

"Well, then, I am going into the Abbey. Come along with me."

The proposition had suggested itself as a quick escape from publicity,

for many eyes were regarding her. She had hoped that sufficient time

had elapsed for the extinction of curiosity; but it was quite

otherwise. The people looked at her with tender interest as the

deserted girl-wife--without obtrusiveness, and without vulgarity; but

she was ill prepared for scrutiny in any shape.

They walked about the Abbey aisles, and presently sat down. Not a soul

was in the building save themselves. She regarded a stained window,

with her head sideways, and tentatively asked him if he remembered the

last time they were in that town alone.

He remembered it perfectly, and remarked, "You were a proud miss then,

and as dainty as you were high. Perhaps you are now?"

Grace slowly shook her head. "Affliction has taken all that out of

me," she answered, impressively. "Perhaps I am too far the other way

now." As there was something lurking in this that she could not

explain, she added, so quickly as not to allow him time to think of it,

"Has my father written to you at all?"




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