Whether she really felt glad or sorry Henrietta's expert opinion confirmed her own suspicions, Damaris could not tell. It certainly tended to complicate the future; and for that she was sorry. She would have liked to see the road clear before her--anyhow for a time--complications having been over numerous lately. They were worrying. They made her feel unsettled, unnatural. In any case she trusted she shouldn't suffer again from those odious yet alluring feelings which put her to such shame this morning.--But--unpleasant thought--weren't they, perhaps, an integral part of the whole agitating business of "caring in _that_ way?" Her eyes rested in wide meditative enquiry upon Henrietta, Henrietta sitting up in all her finished elegance upon the faded blue sofa and so diligently making company conversation. Somehow, thus viewing her, it was extremely difficult to suppose Henrietta had ever experienced excited feelings. Yet--the wonder of it!--she'd actually been married three times. Then, wearily, Damaris made a return upon herself. Yes--she was glad, although it might seem ungrateful, disloyal, the man with the blue eyes had gone away. For his going put off the necessity of knowing her own mind, excused her from making out exactly how she regarded him, thus relegating the day of fateful decision to a dim distance. Henrietta accused him of being a sieve.--Damaris grew heated in strenuous denial. That was a calumny which she didn't and wouldn't credit. Still you could never be quite sure about men--so she went back on the old, sad, disquieting lesson. Their way of looking at things, their angle of admitted obligation is so bewilderingly different!--Oh! how thankful she was Aunt Felicia would soon be here. Everything would grow simpler, easier to understand and to manage, more as it used to be, with dear Aunt Felicia here on the spot. At this point she realized that Mrs. Frayling was finishing a sentence to the beginning of which she had not paid the smallest attention. That was disgracefully rude. "So I am to go home then, dearest child, and break it to Marshall that he stands no chance--my poor Marshall, who has no delightful presents with which to plead his cause!" "Mr. Wace?--Plead his cause? What cause? I am so sorry, Henrietta--forgive me. It's too dreadful, but I am afraid I wasn't quite listening"--this with most engaging confusion. "Yes--his cause. I should have supposed his state of mind had been transparently evident for many a long day." "But indeed--Henrietta, you must be mistaken. I don't know what you mean"--the other interposed smitten by the liveliest distress and alarm. The elder lady waved aside her outcry with admirable playfulness and determination.