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With which, conscious she was guilty of somewhat incoherent chatter,
Damaris sprang up and swung away along the terrace, through the clear
tonic radiance, buoyant as a caged bird set free.
"Go with her, Marshall, go with her," Mrs. Frayling imperatively bade
him.
"And leave you, Cousin Henrietta?"
She rose with a petulant gesture.
"Yes, go at once or you won't overtake her. I am tired, really wretchedly
tired--and am best left alone."


CHAPTER III
WHICH CONCERNS ITSELF, INCIDENTALLY, WITH THE GRIEF OF A VICTIM OF
CIRCUMSTANCE AND THE RECEPTION OF A BELATED CHRISTMAS GREETING

Henrietta Frayling left the Grand Hotel, that afternoon, in a chastened
frame of mind. Misgivings oppressed her. She doubted--and even more than
doubted--whether she had risen to the full height of her own reputation,
whether she had not allowed opportunity to elude her, whether she had not
lost ground difficult to regain. The affair was so astonishingly sprung
upon her. The initial impact she withstood unbroken--and from this she
derived a measure of consolation.


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