"
Mercy became absorbed in her work; she stooped close over the
embroidery--so close that Horace could not see her face. "Do you
know what the present is?" she asked, in lowered tones, speaking
absently.
"No. I only know it is waiting for you. Shall I go and get it
to-day?"
She neither accepted nor refused the proposal--she went on with
her work more industriously than ever.
"There is plenty of time," Horace persisted. "I can go before
dinner."
Still she took no notice: still she never looked up. "Your mother
is very kind to me," she said, abruptly. "I was afraid, at one
time, that she would think me hardly good enough to be your
wife."
Horace laughed indulgently: his self-esteem was more gently
flattered than ever.
"Absurd!" he exclaimed. "My darling, you are connected with Lady
Janet Roy. Your family is almost as good as ours."
"Almost?" she repeated. "Only almost?"
The momentary levity of expression vanished from Horace's face.
The family question was far too serious a question to be lightly
treated A becoming shadow of solemnity stole over his manner. He
looked as if it was Sunday, and he was just stepping into church.
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