She felt rather than saw Damaris’ figure grow rigid.

“Have you ever detected that small weakness in him?  But probably not.  He keeps overflowings for the elder members of his acquaintance, and in the case of the younger ones does exercise some caution.  Ah! yes, I’ve no doubt he seems to you a model of discretion.  Yet, in point of fact, when you’ve known him as long as I, you will have discovered he is a more than sufficiently extensive sieve.”

Then, fearing she had gone rather far, since Damaris remained rigid and silent: 

“Not a malicious sieve,” the lady hastened to add, raising her eyes.  “I don’t imply that for a single instant.  On the contrary I incline to believe that his attitude of universal benevolence is to blame for this inclination to gossip.  It is so great, so all-enclosing, that I can’t help feeling it blunts his sense of right and wrong to some extent.  He is the least censorious of men and therefore—­though it may sound cynical to say so—­I don’t entirely trust his judgment.  He is too ready to make excuses for everyone.—­But, my precious child, what’s the matter?  What makes you look so terrifically solemn and severe?”

And playfully she put her hand under the girl’s chin, drawing the grave face towards her, smilingly studying, then lightly and daintily kissing it.  In the course of this affectionate interlude, the string of pearls round Damaris’ throat, until now hidden by the V-shaped collar of her soft lawn shirt, caught Henrietta’s eye.  Their size, lustre and worth came near extracting a veritable shriek of enquiry and jealous admiration from her.  But with praiseworthy promptitude she stifled her astonishment and now really rampant curiosity.  Damaris but half yielded to her blandishments.  She must cajole more successfully before venturing to request explanation.  Therefore she cried, soothingly, coaxfully: 

“There—­there—­descend from those imposing heights of solemnity, or upon my word you will make me think my poor little visit displeases and bores you.  That would be peculiarly grievous to me, since it is, in all probability, my last.”

“Your last?” Damaris exclaimed.

“Yes, darling child, the fiat, alas! has gone forth.  We are ordered away and start for Cotteret-les-Bains in a day or two.  Dr. Stewart-Walker considers the move imperative on account of General Frayling’s health.  This was only settled yesterday.  Marshall would have rushed here to tell you; but I forbade him.  I felt I must tell you myself.  I confess it is a blow to me.  Our tenancy of the Pavilion expires at the end of the month; but I proposed asking for an extension, and, if that failed, taking up our abode at the hotel for a while.  To me Dr. Stewart-Walker’s orders come as a bitter disappointment, for I counted on remaining until Easter—­remaining just as long as you and Sir Charles and Carteret remained, in fact.”

Here the bloom, far from further extinction, warmed to a lovely blush.  Henrietta’s curiosity craned its naughty neck standing on tiptoe.  But, the blush notwithstanding, Damaris looked at her with such sincerity of quickening affection and of sympathy that she again postponed cross-examination.