She had failed; and he had read all her effort
and all her failure. She was quite conscious of this; she felt it
thoroughly; and she knew that he was noble and a gentleman to the
last drop of his blood. And yet--yet--yet there was almost a feeling
of disappointment in that he had not written such a letter as Lady
Macleod had anticipated.
During the next week Lady Macleod still came almost daily to Queen
Anne Street, but nothing further was said between her and Miss
Vavasor as to the Swiss tour; nor were any questions asked about Mr
Grey's opinion on the subject. The old lady of course discovered
that there was no quarrel, or, as she believed, any probability of a
quarrel; and with that she was obliged to be contented. Nor did she
again on this occasion attempt to take Alice to Lady Midlothian's.
Indeed, their usual subjects of conversation were almost abandoned,
and Lady Macleod's visits, though they were as constant as
heretofore, were not so long. She did not dare to talk about Mr Grey,
and because she did not so dare, was determined to regard herself as
in a degree ill-used. So she was silent, reserved, and fretful. At
length came the last day of her London season, and her last visit
to her niece. "I would come because it's my last day," said Lady
Macleod; "but really I'm so hurried, and have so many things to do,
that I hardly know how to manage it.
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