“Ally says she wants to teach music, Miss Frink. You’re always doing nice things for people. Why not let her give a recital here in the house and show the Farrandale folks what she’s made of?”
Miss Frink drew near to his chair, attracted by the interested expression of his face, a vital look she had not before seen.
“You would like that, eh?” she returned indulgently. “You want to give a party? I’ve never given a party,” she added thoughtfully. “I’ve never had the courage.”
“Mr. Ogden and I will back you up.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Ogden, edging nearer the tortured letter, but even then unable to get as close to it as Miss Frink was.
“Mr. Hugh Stanwood Sinclair,” stood out clearly on the envelope, and Ogden could see that its owner was miles away from the consciousness of it.
He slid around Miss Frink’s back. “Excuse me, Mrs. Re—Lumbard, my letter, please.”
Adèle flattened the bent thing quickly. “Oh, pardon me,” she said, and put it in the outstretched hand. Mechanically, and from the force of fixed habit to see everything, especially those things which it was desired she should not see, she glanced at the letter in passing it; but her attention was quickly absorbed in Hugh’s further suggestions regarding publicity for her, and she was divided between hope and fear as to the effect on Miss Frink of his interest.
Miss Frink continued to stand there, looking down absorbedly into the boy’s gay face, and listening quietly. Hugh laughed and joked with Ogden, planning how they would be ushers on the great occasion, and she stood still, watching him.
Adèle started to rise. With a motion of her hand Miss Frink prevented her. “Sit still, Adèle.”