Her
plan of carrying Henrietta to other lands was frustrated for the
present by Caroline's illness and she dared not allow things to drift.
There was a smouldering defiance in Henrietta's manner: she was
absorbed yet wary; she seemed to have a grudge against the aunt who
had missed nothing at the dance, who had seen her exits and entrances
with Francis Sales and interrupted their farewell glance, the wave of
Henrietta's gloved hand towards the tall figure standing in the porch
of the Assembly Rooms to see her depart.
There was a certain humour about the situation, and for Rose an
impeding feeling of hypocrisy. Here she was, determined to put
obstacles on the primrose path where she herself once had dallied. It
looked like the envy of age for youth, it looked like inclining to
virtue because the opposite was no longer possible for her, like tardy
loyalty to Christabel; but she must not be hampered by appearances.
Her chief fear was of hardening Henrietta's temper, and she came to
the conclusion that she must appeal to Francis Sales himself. It was
an unpleasant task and, she dimly felt, she hardly knew why, a
dangerous one; and meeting Henrietta that day at meals or in the
hushed quiet of the passages, she felt herself a traitor to the girl.
After all, what right had she to interfere? She had no right, and her
double excuse was her knowledge of Francis Sales' character and her
certainty that Henrietta was chiefly moved by her dramatic instinct.
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