Wentworth's; she attained an altitude of
admirable unconsciousness and conducted her flirtation (the
poverty of language forces me to the word, but it is over-
flippant) with the curate in a staid, quasi-maternal way. She
called him a delightful boy, and said that she was intensely
interested in all his aims and hopes.
"What does she want?" I asked Dora despairingly. "She can't want
to marry him." I was referring to Trix Queenborough, not to Mrs.
Wentworth.
"Good gracious, no!" answered Dora, irritably. "It's simple
jealousy. She won't let the poor boy alone till he's in love
with her again. It's a horrible shame!"
"Oh, well, he has great recuperative power," said I.
"She'd better be careful, though. It's a very dangerous game.
How do you suppose Lord Newhaven likes it?"
Accident gave me that very day a hint how little Lord Newhaven
liked it, and a glimpse of the risk Miss Trix was running.
Entering the library suddenly, I heard Newhaven's voice raised
above his ordinary tones.
"I won't stand it!" he was declaring. "I never know how she'll
treat me from one minute to the next."
My entrance, of course, stopped the conversation very
abruptly. Newhaven had come to a stand in the middle of the
room, and Lady Queenborough sat on the sofa, a formidable frown
on her brow. Withdrawing myself as rapidly as possible, I argued
the probability of a severe lecture for Miss Trix, ending in a
command to try her noble suitor's patience no longer.
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