“But Mrs. Tancred has?”
“Has what?” He had lost sight of her queries in a dreamy enjoyment of her prettiness.
“Has a special chair?”
“Has she?”
“Hasn’t she?”
Both were smiling; he at the inquiring turn of her mind, she at his vagueness. Both looked at the lately vacated seat, and Bonnybell said with hesitating solicitude—
“I hope it was not anything annoying that took Mrs. Tancred away.”
He shook his head. “It often happens. The village and the parson are perfectly conscienceless in their calls upon her.”
There was what sounded like a regretful and rather affectionate admiration in his voice. Was it possible that he could like his old Gorgon? It was, at all events, safer to go upon the supposition that he did, and to shape one’s remarks accordingly.
“Mrs. Glanville spoke with the deepest admiration of Mrs. Tancred’s work,” the girl said in a very respectful tone, and executing her piece of embroidery upon Felicity’s real utterance with the deftest speed and readiness.