Alike they left the court without a stain on their
respective characters.
Not for worlds would she ever dream of worrying Charles by attempting to
reintroduce poor Theresa to his notice. But with Damaris it was
different. The idea that any persons of her acquaintance were at sixes
and sevens, on bad terms, when, with a little good will on their part
and tactful effort upon hers, they might be on pleasant ones was to her
actively afflicting. To drop an old friend, or even one not
conspicuously friendly if bound to you by associations and habit,
appeared to her an offence against corporate humanity, an actual however
fractional lowering of the temperature of universal charity. The loss to
one was a loss to all--in some sort. Therefore did she run to adjust, to
smooth, to palliate.
Charles was away--it so neatly happened--and Theresa Bilson here, not, it
must be owned, altogether without Miss Felicia's connivance. If darling
Damaris still was possessed of a hatchet she must clearly be given, this
opportunity to bury it.
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