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Updated: June 7, 2025
Frayling did not shrink, but her comely pink and white face, usually so lineless in its healthy matronly plumpness, suddenly took on a look of age and hardness, the one moment of horrid repulsion marking it more deeply than years of those household cares which write themselves on the mind without contracting the heart had done.
Henrietta Frayling withdrew her hands from her muff, unfastened the collar of her sable cape. The change from the shadowed woods to this glaring sheltered stretch of road was oppressive. She felt strangely tired and spent. She trusted Damaris would not perceive her uncomfortable state and proffer sympathy.
Frayling plumped down into a chair to listen, and bounced up again, when all was said, to speak. "Let me send for her mother," he began, showing at once where, in an emergency, he felt that his strength lay. "No, though, I'd better go myself and prepare her," he added on second thought. "We mustn't make a fuss with all the servants about too. They would talk."
After luncheon and a walk with Sir Charles, her courage being higher, she repented in respect of the pearl necklace. Put it on and with results. For that afternoon Henrietta Frayling hungry for activity, hungry for prey, after her prolonged abstention from society very effectively floated into the forefront of the local scene.
Frayling secured some comfort in her life for a few months at least, and taught her husband a little lesson which she ought to have endeavoured to inculcate long before. It was too late then, however, to do him any permanent good; the habit of the slave-driver was formed.
He thought it her duty clearly to throw herself at his feet and beg for mercy and forgiveness; and he waited for her to make some sign of contrition until his patience could hold out no longer, and then he asked his wife: "Has Evadne eh what is her attitude at present?" "She is perfectly cheerful and happy," Mrs. Frayling replied. "She expresses no remorse for her most unjustifiable conduct?"
That those two, her father and Henrietta Frayling, should thus step off together, the small, softly crisp, feminine figure beside the tall, fine-drawn and in a way magnificent masculine one, troubled her. Yet she made no attempt to accompany or to follow them. Her head ached. Her mind and soul ached too.
Mrs. Frayling wailed. "I've said it all along. She's quite mad." "Is there any insanity in the family?" Major Colquhoun asked, looking up suspiciously. "None, none whatever," Mr. Frayling hastened to assure him. "There has never been a case.
Inattentively let drop the volume of poems upon a neighbouring table, to the lively danger of two empty coffee cups. The cups rattled. "Pray be careful," Mrs. Frayling admonished him with some sharpness. The performance had been prolonged. Not without intention had she effaced herself.
"She must be a most deceitful girl. I shall go and talk to her myself," Mr. Frayling concluded. And doubtless, if only he had had a pair of wings to spread, he would presently have appeared sailing over the cathedral into the Close at Morningquest, a portly bird, in a frock coat, tall hat, and a very bad temper. But, poor gentleman! he really was an object for compassion.
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