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Her friend’s eyes came back to her. “I didn’t know.” She seemed also to wonder at two or three things more. “Has Captain Yule asked you?”
“No, but he will,” Cora was clear as a bell. “He’ll do it to keep the house. It’s mortgaged to papa, and Captain Yule buys it back.”
Her friend had an illumination that was rapid for the way it spread. “By marrying you?” she quavered.
“By giving me his name and his position. They’re awfully great, and they’re the price, don’t you see? My price. Papa’s price. Papa wants them.”
Mrs. Gracedew had caught hold; yet there were places where her grasp was weak. “But his name and his position, great as they may be, are his dreadful politics!”
Cora threw herself with energy into this advance. “You know about his dreadful politics? He’s to change them to get me. And if he gets me––”
“He keeps the house?”
“I go with it—he’s to have us both. But only if he changes. The question is—will he change?”
“I see. Will he change?”
Cora’s consideration went even further. “Has he changed?”
It went—a little too far for her companion. “My dear child, how in the world should I know?”
But Cora knew exactly how anyone would know. “He hasn’t seemed to care enough for the house. Does he care?”
Mrs. Gracedew moved away to the fireplace and stood a moment looking at the old armorial fire-back she had praised to its master—yet not, it must be added, as if she particularly saw it. “You had better ask him!”
They stood thus confronted, and the girl’s air was for a moment that of considering such a course. “If he does care, he’ll propose.”
Mrs. Gracedew, from where she stood, saw at this point the subject of their colloquy restored to view: Captain Yule was just upon them—he had turned the upper landing. The sight of him forced from her in a flash an ejaculation that she tried, however, to keep private—“He does care!” She passed swiftly back to the girl and, in a quick whisper: “He’ll propose!”
Cora, at his hurry, looked dismay—“Then I fly!” Casting about for a direction, she reached the door to the court.
Captain Yule, however, at this result of his return, expressed instant regret. “I drive Miss Prodmore away!”
Mrs. Gracedew eased off the situation. “It’s all right! I’ve something to say to Captain Yule.”
Cora stood in the doorway, robust against the garden-light, looking from one to the other. “Yes—but I’ve also something more to say to you.”
“Do you mean now?” the young man asked.
It was the first time he had spoken to her, and her hesitation might have signified a maidenly flutter. “No—but before she goes.”
Mrs. Gracedew took it amiably up. “Come back, then; I’m not going.” And there was both dismissal and encouragement in the way she blew her a familiar kiss. Cora waited just enough to show that she took it without a response; then dashed out, while Mrs. Gracedew looked at their visitor in vague surprise. “What’s the matter with her?”
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