Miss Frink grimaced her glasses off the eyes beneath which were dark shadows, and at once replaced them.
“You certainly help me not to beat about the bush,” she said. “I thought perhaps last night’s experience would make you feel you did not care to stay in Farrandale.”
“After your giving such an expensive advertisement for me?” Adèle smiled.
Miss Frink’s own deep happiness embarrassed her. Hugh’s earnest “Be kind to Ally,” rang in her ears. This adventuress, pale and defiant, seemed to her so pitiful that, in spite of the other’s audacity, she had to summon her customary directness with an effort.
“That wouldn’t be good economy, would it?” added Adèle.
There was a pause; then Miss Frink spoke again: “I must tell you that I have discovered, quite by accident, that you are not the granddaughter of my dear friend. Her son married a lady with a little girl, a little pianist.”
Color stole over Adèle’s pallor.
“Ah, Mr. Ogden is a regular god in the machine, isn’t he?” she said lightly. “Delightful man!”
“My informant was unaware that he was telling me any news,” went on Miss Frink; “but, this being the case, I feel that it would be rather foolish for us to keep up the pose of aunt and niece.”
“Especially,” returned Adèle “since you have found some one with the right of blood to call you ‘Aunt Susanna.’”