"
There was a ring of honest human feeling in Henrietta Frayling's
voice for once.
"No, no--I am more justly an object of commiseration than anyone I leave
behind me at St. Augustin."
And again she laughed, not impishly, but with a hardness altogether
astonishing to her auditor.
"Think," she cried, "of my sorry fate!--Not only a wretchedly ailing
husband on my hands, needing attention day and night, but a wretchedly
disconsolate young lover as well. For poor Marshall will be
inconsolable--only too clearly do I foresee that.--Picture what a pair
for one's portion week in and week out!--Whereas you, enviable being, are
sure of the most inspiring society. Everything in this quiet room"--
She indicated the laden writing-table with a quick, flitting gesture.
"So refreshingly removed from the ordinary banal hotel _salon_--is
eloquent of the absorbing, far-reaching pursuits and interests amongst
which you live. Who could ask a higher privilege than to share your
father's work, to be his companion and amanuensis?"--She paused, as
emphasising the point, and then mockingly threw off--"Plus the smart
_beau sabreur_ Carteret, as devoted bodyguard and escort, whenever you
are not on duty.
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