Jean was, on the whole, easier about Grace, who had made a surprising rally. She was able to be up and enjoy her meals; she was also able to enjoy the visits of no less a person than Paul Lyons.
Margaret being married and out of his reach, that young man had conceived a great affection for her sister, now a very softened and subdued likeness of herself at Lornbay.
"You are not Margaret, but you remind me of her," he said sentimentally.
"We are sisters. I think there is a likeness."
Grace was extremely amused by his sentiment and by the little speeches he made her. She had always rather liked him, and was always tolerant of the little ways that had so provoked her high-minded sister.
"I am not sure about it, personally," he said, "I meant your voice and your manner, and something altogether."
"We have the same kind of nose," laughed Grace. "Never mind, Mr. Lyons, I like you to be loyal to my sister; I never, _never_, could come up to her, and I know it!"
"You--you are more like than you were last year. Sometimes I think you _very_ like Margaret," said Mr. Lyons, consolingly.
"Thank you. I know that is a very high compliment from you."
"Don't you think, Miss Rivers, that Margaret _might_, she might, have been happier with a fellow like me than with an old madman like Drayton?--that's what hurts me so much," said the young man.
"Of course she would have been happier, but everything went wrong," and Grace blushed vividly. "I sent everything wrong, and, poor, poor darling, she sacrificed herself to save me. Oh, Mr. Lyons! you never can say anything bad enough for me to feel it unjust. I hate myself more and more every day," and, much to his consternation, Grace, usually mocking at tears, shed them now.
"I declare you are so like Margaret that I am getting to be very fond of you," exclaimed Paul, "please don't cry, it makes me feel so ... funny!" and he looked unhappy, also.
"Oh, if I could _do_ anything!" exclaimed poor Grace, who was, now she was stronger, less able to remain passive, and who was utterly and entirely miserable about her sister.
"If one could only shoot the fellow!" said Paul, vindictively.
"You see even if I could go out that wretched man keeps guard; he will not let Jean see my poor Margaret. A little while ago there was a back door, now that is shut up."