He obeyed--but she had not quite satisfied him yet. His face had not
lost its expression of anxiety and surprise. She persisted in playing
her part, determined to set at rest in him any possible suspicion that
she had reasons of her own for being afraid of Julian Gray. "Tell me
about this famous man of yours," she said, putting her arm familiarly
through his arm. "What is he like?"
The caressing action and the easy tone had their effect on Horace. His
face began to clear; he answered her lightly on his side.
"Prepare yourself to meet the most unclerical of clergymen," he said.
"Julian is a lost sheep among the parsons, and a thorn in the side of
his bishop. Preaches, if they ask him, in Dissenters' chapels. Declines
to set up any pretensions to priestly authority and priestly power. Goes
about doing good on a plan of his own. Is quite resigned never to rise
to the high places in his profession. Says it's rising high enough for
_him_ to be the Archdeacon of the afflicted, the Dean of the hungry, and
the Bishop of the poor. With all his oddities, as good a fellow as ever
lived. Immensely popular with the women. They all go to him for advice.
I wish you would go, too."
Mercy changed color. "What do you mean?" she asked, sharply.
"Julian is famous for his powers of persuasion," said Horace, smiling.
"If _he_ spoke to you, Grace, he would prevail on you to fix the day.
Suppose I ask Julian to plead for me?"
He made the proposal in jest. Mercy's unquiet mind accepted it as
addressed to her in earnest. "He will do it," she thought, with a sense
of indescribable terror, "if I don't stop him!" There is but one chance
for her. The only certain way to prevent Horace from appealing to his
friend was to grant what Horace wished for before his friend entered the
house. She laid her hand on his shoulder; she hid the terrible anxieties
that were devouring her under an assumption of coquetry painful and
pitiable to see.
"Don't talk nonsense!" she said, gayly. "What were we saying just
now--before we began to speak of Mr. Julian Gray?"
"We were wondering what had become of Lady Janet," Horace replied.
She tapped him impatiently on the shoulder. "No! no! It was something
you said before that."
Her eyes completed what her words had left unsaid. Horace's arm stole
round her waist.
"I was saying that I loved you," he answered, in a whisper.
"Only that?"
"Are you tired of hearing it?"
She smiled charmingly. "Are you so very much in earnest about--about--"
She stopped, and looked away from him.
"About our marriage?"
"Yes."
"It is the one dearest wish of my life."