What took place between them on that occasion was very little more
than what has been here related. There may have been an ice or a
glass of lemonade into the bargain, and perhaps the faintest possible
attempt at hand-pressing. But if so, it was all on one side. To such
overtures as that Griselda Grantly was as cold as any Diana. But
little as all this was, it was sufficient to fill Lady Lufton's
mind and heart. No mother with six daughters was ever more anxious
to get them off her hands, than Lady Lufton was to see her son
married,--married, that is, to some girl of the right sort. And now
it really did seem as though he were actually going to comply with
her wishes. She had watched him during the whole evening, painfully
endeavouring not to be observed in doing so. She had seen Lord
Dumbello's failure and wrath, and she had seen her son's victory and
pride. Could it be the case that he had already said something, which
was still allowed to be indecisive only through Griselda's coldness?
Might it not be the case, that by some judicious aid on her part,
that indecision might be turned into certainty, and that coldness
into warmth? But then any such interference requires so delicate a
touch,--as Lady Lufton was well aware.--"Have you had a pleasant
evening?" Lady Lufton said, when she and Griselda were seated
together with their feet on the fender of her ladyship's
dressing-room.
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