“But I?”
“I beg you not. You would get me a scolding.”
Jenkins was about to take his leave when a burst of laughter from Felicia, coming through the curtains, made him prick up his ears.
“She is not alone, then?”
“No, the Nabob is with her. They are having a sitting for the portrait.”
“And why this mystery? It is a very singular thing.” He commenced to walk backward and forward, evidently very angry, but containing his wrath.
At last he burst forth.
It was an unheard-of impropriety to let a girl thus shut herself in with a man.
He was surprised that one so serious, so devoted as Constance—What did it look like?
The old lady looked at him with stupefaction. As though Felicia were like other girls! And then what danger was there with the Nabob, so staid a man and so ugly? Besides, Jenkins ought to know quite well that Felicia never consulted anybody, that she always had her own way.