"It isn't right," said Constance, "to be so rude to that poor doctor. After all, there was nothing insulting in what he said. An old friend of your father's."
"That man, anybody's friend! Oh! what a superb Tartuffe!"
And Felicia, hardly able to contain herself, twisted her wrath into irony, mimicked Jenkins, the affected gestures, the hand on the heart; then, puffing out her cheeks, said in a hoarse, whistling voice, full of false effusiveness:
"We must be kind, we must be humane. To do good without hope of reward!—that is the secret."
Constance laughed, in spite of herself, till the tears ran down her cheeks, the resemblance was so perfect.
"Never mind, you were too harsh—you will end by driving him away."
"Oh! indeed!" said a shake of the girl's head.
In truth, he continued to come to the house, always affable and sweet, dissembling his passion, which was visible only when he became jealous of new-comers, overwhelming with attentions the ex-ballet-dancer, to whom his pleasant manners were gratifying in spite of everything, and who recognized in him a man of her own time, of the time when men paid their respects to women by kissing their hand, with a complimentary remark as to their appearance.
One morning, Jenkins, having looked in during his round of visits, found Constance alone and unoccupied in the reception room.