Yes, verily—­as he reflected—­Henrietta Frayling did keep the ball rolling with truly Anglo-Indian frivolity and persistence, here in the heart of Europe!  And was that altogether wholesome for Damaris?  He delighted to have the beautiful young creature enjoy herself, spread her wings, take her place among the courted and acclaimed.  But he prized her too highly not to be ambitious for her; and would have preferred her social education to be conducted on more dignified and authorized lines, in the great world of London, namely, or Paris.  When all came to all, this was hardly good enough.

No one, he honestly admitted, trumpeted that last truth more loudly than Henrietta—­at times.  Nevertheless she went on and on, making the business of this rather second-rate pleasure-seeking daily of greater importance.  How could Damaris be expected to discriminate, to retain her sense of relative values, in the perpetual scrimmage, the unceasing rush?  Instinct and nobility of nature go an immensely long way as preservatives—­thank God for that—­still, where you have unsophistication, inexperience, a holy ignorance, to deal with, it is unwise to trust exclusively to their saving grace.  Even the finest character is the safer—­so he supposed—­for some moulding and direction in its first contact with the world, if it is to come through the ordeal unscathed and unbesmirched.  And to ask such moulding and direction of Henrietta Frayling was about as useful as asking a humming-bird to draw a water-cart.

He was still fond of Henrietta and derived much silent entertainment from witnessing her manoeuvres.  But he was under no delusion regarding her.  He considered her quite the most selfish woman of his acquaintance, though also one of the most superficially attractive.  Hers was a cold, not a hot selfishness, refined to a sort of exquisiteness and never for an instant fleshly or gross.  But that selfishness, in its singleness of purpose, made her curiously powerful, curiously capable of influencing persons of larger and finer spirit than herself—­witness her ascendency over Charles Verity during a long period of years, and that without ever giving, or even seriously compromising, herself.

Into whoever she fixed her dainty little claws, she did it with an eye to some personal advantage.  And here Carteret owned himself puzzled—­for what advantage could she gain from this close association with Damaris?  The girl’s freshness went, rather mercilessly, to show up her fading.

At times, it is true, watching her pretty alacrity of manner, hearing her caressing speech, he inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, believe her self-forgetful, her affection genuine, guiltless of design or after-thought.  If so, so very much the better!  He was far from grudging her redemption, specially at the hands of Damaris.—­Only were things, in point of fact, working to this commendable issue?  With the best will in the world to think so, he failed to rid himself of some prickings of anxiety and distrust.