Frayling's
thinking--betraying much. She scented a situation--some girlish
attachment, budding affair of the heart.
"My father gave Tom Verity letters of introduction, and he wanted us to
know how kindly he had been received in consequence."
"Most proper on his part," Mrs. Frayling said.
She debated discreet questioning, probing--the establishment of herself
in the character of sympathetic confidante. But decided against that. It
might be impolitic, dangerous even, to press the pace. Moreover the young
man, whatever his attractions, might be held a negligible quantity in as
far as any little schemes of her own were concerned at present, long
leave and reappearance upon the home scene being almost certainly years
distant.--And, just there, the hand within the muff became responsive
once more, even urgent in its seeking and pressure, as though appealing
for attention and tenderness.
"Henrietta, I don't want to be selfish, but won't you go on telling me
stories about your Thursday party people?--I interrupted you--but it's
all new, you see, and it interests me so much," Damaris rather
plaintively said.
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