She looked back with a terrified, reluctant
glance to the drawer where Mr. Magnus' letter was, then she went
downstairs.
Soon after they started for Little Harben. The last days in Skeaton
had scarcely been happy ones. Grace had erected an elaborate
scaffolding of offended dignity and bitter misery. She was not
bitterly miserable, indeed she enjoyed her game, but it was
depressing to watch Paul give way to her. He was determined to leave
her in a happy mind. Any one could have told him that the way to do
that was to leave her alone altogether. Instead he petted her,
persuading her to eat her favourite pudding, buying her a new work-
box that she needed, dismissing a boy from the choir (the only
treble who was a treble) because he was supposed to have made a
long-nose at Grace during choir-practice.
Ht adopted also a pleading line with her. "Now, Grace dear, don't
you think you could manage a little bit more?"
"Do you think you ought to go out in all this rain, Grace dear?"
"Grace, you look tired to death. Shall I read to you a little?"
He listened to her stories with a new elaborate attention.
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