ris could not tell. It certainly tended
to complicate the future; and for that she was sorry. She would have
liked to see the road clear before her--anyhow for a time--complications
having been over numerous lately. They were worrying. They made her feel
unsettled, unnatural. In any case she trusted she shouldn't suffer again
from those odious yet alluring feelings which put her to such shame this
morning.--But--unpleasant thought--weren't they, perhaps, an integral
part of the whole agitating business of "caring in _that_ way?"

Her eyes rested in wide meditative enquiry upon Henrietta, Henrietta
sitting up in all her finished elegance upon the faded blue sofa and so
diligently making company conversation. Somehow, thus viewing her, it
was extremely difficult to suppose Henrietta had ever experienced
excited feelings. Yet--the wonder of it!--she'd actually been married
three times.

Then, wearily, Damaris made a return upon herself. Yes--she was glad,
although it might seem ungrateful, disloyal, the man with the blue eyes
had gone away. For his going put off the necessity of knowing her own
mind, excused her from making out exactly how she regarded him, thus
relegating the day of fateful decision to a dim distance. Henrietta
accused him of being a sieve.--Damaris grew heated in strenuous denial.
That was a calumny which she didn't and wouldn't credit. Still you could
never be quite sure about men--so she went back on the old, sad,
disquieting lesson. Their way of looking at things, their angle of
admitted obligation is so bewilderingly different!--Oh! how thankful she
was Aunt Felicia would soon be here. Everything would grow simpler,
easier to understand and to manage, more as it used to be, with dear Aunt
Felicia here on the spot.

At this point she realized that Mrs. Frayling was finishing a sentence to
the beginning of which she had not paid the smallest attention. That was
disgracefully rude.

"So I am to go home then, dearest child, and break it to Marshall that he
stands no chance--my poor Marshall, who has no delightful presents with
which to plead his cause!"

"Mr. Wace?--Plead his cause? What cause? I am so sorry,
Henrietta--forgive me. It's too dreadful, but I am afraid I wasn't quite
listening"--this with most engaging confusion.

"Yes--his cause. I should have supposed his state of mind had been
transparently evident for many a long day."

"But indeed--Henrietta, you must be mistaken. I don't know