The New Magdalen

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 interest herself in his marriage. 'Must I really speak to Grace?' she asked, with a gentleness of tone and manner far from characteristic, on ordinary occasions, of the lady of Mablethorpe House. Horace saw that he had gained his point. He sprang to his feet; his eyes turned eagerly in the direction of the conservatory; his handsome face was radiant with hope. Lady Janet (with her mind full of his father) stole a last look at him, sighed as she thought of the vanished days, and recovered herself.

'Go to the smoking-room,' she said, giving him a push toward the door. 'Away with you, and cultivate the favorite vice of the nineteenth century.' Horace attempted to express his gratitude. 'Go and smoke!' was all she said, pushing him out. 'Go and smoke!'

Left by herself, Lady Janet took a turn in the room, and considered a little.

Horace's discontent was not unreasonable. There was really no excuse for the delay of which he complained. Whether the young lady had a special motive for hanging back, or whether she was merely fretting because she did not know her own mind, it was, in either case, necessary to come to a distinct understanding, sooner or later, on the serious question of the marriage. The difficulty was, how to approach the subject without giving offense. 'I don't understand the young women of the present generation,' thought Lady Janet. 'In my time, when we were fond of a man, we were ready to marry him at a moment's notice. And this is an age of progress! They ought to be readier still.'

Arriving, by her own process of induction, at this inevitable conclusion, she decided to try what her influence could accomplish, and to trust to the inspiration of the moment for exerting it in the right way. 'Grace!' she called out, approaching the conservatory door. The tall, lithe figure in its gray dress glided into view, and stood relieved against the green background of the winter-garden.

'Did your ladyship call me?'

'Yes; I want to speak to you. Come and sit down by me.'

With those words Lady Janet led the way to a sofa, and placed her companion by her side.

CHAPTER VII. THE MAN IS COMING.

'You look very pale this morning, my child.'

Mercy sighed wearily. 'I am not well,' she answered. 'The slightest noises startle me. I feel tired if I only walk across the room.'

Lady Janet patted her kindly on the shoulder. 'We must try what a change will do for you. Which shall it be? the Continent or the sea-side?'

'Your ladyship is too kind to me.'

'It is impossible to be too kind to you.'

Mercy started. The color flowed charmingly over her pale face. 'Oh!' she exclaimed, impulsively. 'Say that again!'

'Say it again?' repeated Lady Janet, with a look of surprise.

'Yes! Don't think me presuming; only think me vain. I can't hear you say too often that you have learned to like me. Is it really a pleasure to you to have me in the house? Have I always behaved well since I have been with you?'

(The one excuse for the act of personation—if excuse there could be—lay in the affirmative answer to those questions. It would be something, surely, to say of the false Grace that the true Grace could not have been worthier of her welcome, if the true Grace had been received at Mablethorpe House!)

Lady Janet was partly touched, partly amused, by the extraordinary earnestness of the appeal that had been made to her.

'Have you behaved well?' she repeated. 'My dear, you talk as if you were a child!' She laid her hand caressingly on Mercy's arm, and continued, in a graver tone: 'It is hardly too much to say, Grace, that I bless the day when you first came to me. I do believe I could be hardly fonder of you if you were my own daughter.'

Mercy suddenly turned her head aside, so as to hide her face. Lady Janet, still touching her arm, felt it tremble. 'What is the matter with you?' she asked, in her abrupt, downright manner.

'I am only very grateful to your ladyship—that is all.' The words were spoken faintly, in broken tones. The face was still averted from Lady Janet's view. 'What have I said to provoke this?' wondered the old lady. 'Is she in the melting mood to-day? If she is, now is the time to say a word for Horace!' Keeping that excellent object in view, Lady Janet approached the delicate topic with all needful caution at starting.

'We have got on so well together,' she resumed, 'that it will not be easy for either of us to feel reconciled to a change in our lives. At my age, it will fall hardest on me. What shall I do, Grace, when the day comes for parting with my adopted daughter?'

Mercy started, and showed her face again. The traces of tears were in her eyes. 'Why should I leave you?' she asked, in a tone of alarm.

'Surely you know!' exclaimed Lady Janet.