"Faint praise isn't supposed to be complimentary," observed Lawrence, laughing too.
"That's true," answered Fanny. "It's just the opposite—the thing with a d— I won't say it on account of Cordelia. She'd all frizzle up with horror if I said it—wouldn't you, dear? There'd positively be nothing left of you—nothing but a dear little withered rose-leaf with a dewdrop in the middle, representing your tears for my sins!"
"I'm afraid so," answered Cordelia, with a little accentuation of her tired smile.
It was not a disagreeable smile in itself, except that it was perpetual and was the expression of patiently and cheerfully borne adversity, rather than of any satisfaction with things in general. For the lives of the three Miss Miners had not been happy. Sometimes Fanny felt a sincere and loving pity for the three, and especially for the eldest. But there were also times when Cordelia's smile exasperated her beyond endurance.
Mr. Brinsley rose to go, rather suddenly, after checking a movement of his hand in the direction of his watch. "You're not going, surely!" cried one or two of the Miss Miners. "You're coming to dinner."
"Stay as you are," suggested Fanny, greatly to Lawrence's annoyance.
"You're awfully kind," answered the Canadian. "But I can't, to-night. I wish I could. I've asked several people to dine with me at the Kebo Valley Club. I'd cut any other engagement, to dine with you—indeed I would. I'm awfully sorry."
Many regrets were expressed that he could not stay, and the leave-taking seemed sudden to Lawrence, who stood looking on, still wondering why he disliked the man so much. At last he heard the front door closed behind him.
"Who is Mr. Brinsley?" he asked of Fanny Trehearne, while the three Miss Miners were settling themselves again.
"Oh—I don't know. I believe he's a Canadian Englishman. He's very agreeable—don't you think so?"