Hordle stood in the pale spacious corridor without. He presented Marshall
Wace's card. The gentleman, he said rather huffily, had called, bringing
a message from Mrs. Frayling as Hordle understood, which he requested to
deliver to Miss Damaris in person. He begged her to believe he was in no
hurry. If she was engaged he could perfectly well wait.--He would do so
in the hotel drawing-room, until it was convenient to her to allow him a
few minutes' conversation.
So, for the second time, this young man's intrusion proved by no means
unwelcome, as offering Damaris timely escape. She went down willingly
to receive him. Yesterday he struck her as a pleasant and agreeable
person--and of a type with which she was unacquainted. It would be
interesting to talk to him.--She felt anxious, moreover, to learn what
Henrietta, lovely if not entirely satisfactory Henrietta, could
possibly want.
CHAPTER IV
BLOWING OF ONE'S OWN TRUMPET PRACTISED AS A FINE ART
The slender little Corsican horses, red-chestnut in colour and active as
cats, trotted, with a tinkle of bells, through the barred sunshine and
shadow of the fragrant pine and cork woods.
Pages:
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428