"I must not tell you the name of this faithless girl," said Grace.
"It is sufficient that her refusal made Richard gloomy, eccentric
and misanthropical; in short, it nearly ruined him."
"My curse be on the woman's head who wrought this ruin, then,"
said Edith, her black eyes flashing with something of their former
fire.
She had forgotten the scene in the kitchen of Brier Hill when
Rachel whispered to her that Grace Atherton was in love, and she
had now no suspicion that the calm, white-faced woman sitting
there before her was the being she would curse. Neither was her
emotion caused, as Grace imagined, by any dread lest the early
love of Richard Harrington should stand between herself and him.
The thought that SHE could be his wife had never crossed her
brain, and her feelings were those of indignation toward a person
who could thus cruelly deceive a man as noble and good as Richard,
and of pity for him who had been so deceived.
"I will love him all the more and be the kinder to him for this
vile creature's desertion," she thought, as she beat the floor
nervously with the little prunella gaiter, and this was all the
good Grace Atherton had achieved.
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