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The permanent inconsistency of her
attitude, as I may say her permanent squint, gives her a certain _cachet_
without which she'd be a positive blank.--She is most anxious to meet
you, by the way, and Sir Charles--always supposing he is self-sacrificing
enough to come--because she knows connections of his and yours at
Harchester, a genial pillar of the Church in the form of an Archdeacon,
in whom, as I gather, her dear dead Lord Bishop very much put his trust."
"Tom Verity's father, I suppose," Damaris murmured, her colour rising,
the hint of a cloud too upon her brow.
"And who may Tom Verity be?" Mrs. Frayling, noting both colour and cloud,
alertly asked.
"A distant cousin. He stayed with us in the autumn just before he went
out to India. He passed into the Indian Civil Service from Oxford at the
top of the list."
"Praiseworthy young man."
"Oh! but you would like him, Henrietta," the girl declared. "He is very
clever and very entertaining too when"--
"When?"
"Well, when he doesn't tease too much.


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