Lady Janet Roy, Mr. Horace Holmcroft,
you are to wait for that."
Steadily pledging herself in those terms to make her confession,
she unclasped the pearls from her neck, put them away in their
cases and placed it in Horace's hand. "Keep it," she said, with a
momentary faltering in her voice, "until we meet again."
Horace took the case in silence; he looked and acted like a man
whose mind was paralyzed by surprise. His hand moved
mechanically. His eyes followed Mercy with a vacant, questioning
look. Lady Janet seemed, in her different way, to share the
strange oppression that had fallen on him. A vague sense of dread
and distress hung like a cloud over her mind. At that memorable
moment she felt her age, she looked her age, as she had never
felt it or looked it yet.
"Have I your ladyship's leave," said Mercy, respectfully, "to go
to my room?"
Lady Janet mutely granted the request. Mercy's last look, before
she went out, was a look at Grace. "Are you satisfied now?" the
grand gray eyes seemed to say, mournfully. Grace turned her head
aside, with a quick, petulant action. Even her narrow nature
opened for a moment unwillingly, and let pity in a little way, in
spite of itself.
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