After the first joyful burst, she inquired tenderly why he was so pale: had he been ill? “No.” “No trouble nor anxiety, dear?” “A little, at first, till your sweet letters made me happy. No; I did not even know that I was pale. Overstudy, I suppose. Inventing is hard work.” “What are you inventing?” “All manner of things. Machine to forge large axes; another to grind circular saws; a railway clip: but you don't care about such things.” “I beg your pardon, sir. I care about whatever interests you.” “Well, these inventions interest me very much. One way or other, they are roads to fortune; and you know why I desire fortune.” “Ah, that I do. But excuse me, you value independence more. Oh, I respect you for it. Only don't make yourself pale, or you will make me unhappy, and a foe to invention.” On this Mr. Little made himself red instead of pale, and beamed with happiness. They spent a delightful hour together, and, even when they parted, their eyes lingered on each other. Soon after this the Cardens gave a dinner-party, and Grace asked if she might invite Mrs. Little and Mr. Little. “What, is he presentable?” “More than that,” said Grace, coloring. “They are both very superior to most of our Hillsborough friends.” “Well, but did you not tell me he had quarreled with Mr. Raby?” “No, not quarreled. Mr. Raby offered to make him his heir: but he chooses to be independent, and make his own fortune, that's all.” “Well, if you think our old friend would not take it amiss, invite them by all means. I remember her a lovely woman.” So the Littles were invited; and the young ladies admired Mr. Little on the whole, but sneered at him a little for gazing on Miss Carden, as if she was a divinity: the secret, which escaped the father, girls of seventeen detected in a minute, and sat whispering over it in the drawing-room. After this invitation, Henry and his mother called, and then Grace called on Mrs. Little; and this was a great step for Henry, the more so as the ladies really took to each other. The course of true love was beginning to run smooth, when it was disturbed by Mr. Coventry. That gentleman's hopes had revived in London; Grace Carden had been very kind and friendly to him, and always in such good spirits, that he thought absence had cured her of Little, and his turn was come again. The most experienced men sometimes mistake a woman in this way. The real fact was that Grace, being happy herself, thanks to a daily letter from the man she adored, had not the heart to be unkind to another, whose only fault was loving her, and to whom she feared she had not behaved very well. However, Mr. Coventry did mistake her. He was detained in town by business, but he wrote Mr. Carden a charming letter, and proposed formally for his daughter's hand.