Miss Frink regarded her composed companion in silence. Not with her could she exchange words concerning her heart-warming miracle.
“A few days ago,” she said, “I obtained the refusal for you of a room at the Coopers’: cousins of Leonard’s. If you decide to stay in Farrandale, he will take you over there to-day and introduce you. Mrs. Cooper is ready for you to take possession at any minute. They have a very good piano.”
“I thought,” said Adèle, with unabashed eyes, “that I should like to go to the Duanes’. I hear they have such a pleasant garden, and I believe they are poor and might like a paying guest.”
Miss Frink regarded her incredulously. Was there, then, no limit to her audacity?
“Colonel Duane was very nice to me last evening,” added Adèle. “Such a courtly old gentleman.”
“They keep no maid and would not take any one,” said Miss Frink briefly.
“I shouldn’t be any trouble, for I would help Miss Duane like one of the family.”
Miss Frink felt a sort of horror of the smooth, fair speaker. She had been prepared to be very kind to the poor woman who had blundered so pitifully, but her own assurances to Hugh came back to her: the occurrence was no tragedy to Mrs. Lumbard, evidently to her while there was life, there was hope. To suggest going to the Duanes’! The image of Millicent rose before Miss Frink as the antithesis of all that Adèle represented.
The latter smiled now, wan, but still unembarrassed.
“If you are thinking that it will be awkward for me to meet Hugh, you are mistaken. He hasn’t lived all his life in a small town. He knows his way about. No man ever thought less of a woman for caring a lot for him, and Hugh and I will always be pals. I don’t think any the less of him for coming into your house under false colors. He carried his point.”