“No. I expect Mr. Benton this morning.”
“I didn’t know he was back from Paris. I’m so glad he’s coming,” replied the girl. “He’ll stay all the afternoon, of course?”
“I hope so. Go at once and get back as soon as you can, dear. Choose me some nice new books, won’t you?”
Louise Lambert, Benton’s adopted daughter, turned from the leaded window. In the strong morning light she looked extremely charming, but upon her countenance there was a deep, thoughtful expression, as though she were entirely preoccupied.
“I’ve been thinking of Hugh Henfrey,” the woman remarked suddenly. “I wonder why he never writes to you?” she added, watching the girl’s face.
Louise’s cheeks reddened slightly, as she replied with affected carelessness:
“If he doesn’t care to write, I shall trouble no longer.”
“He’s still abroad, is he not? The last I heard of him was that he was at Monte Carlo with that Ranscomb girl.”
Mention of Dorise Ranscomb caused the girl’s cheeks to colour more deeply.
“Yes,” she said, “I heard that also.”