But in spite of her chance
she never found out. He knew Mrs. Churchley had thrown him over and
he knew his daughter rejoiced in it, but he appeared not to have
divined the relation between the two facts. It was strange that one
of the matters he was clearest about--Adela's secret triumph--should
have been just the thing which from this time on justified less and
less such a confidence. She was too sorry for him to be consistently
glad. She watched his attempts to wind himself up on the subject of
shorthorns and drainage, and she favoured to the utmost of her
ability his intermittent disposition to make a figure in orchids.
She wondered whether they mightn't have a few people at Brinton; but
when she mentioned the idea he asked what in the world there would be
to attract them. It was a confoundedly stupid house, he remarked--
with all respect to HER cleverness. Beatrice and Muriel were
mystified; the prospect of going out immensely had faded so utterly
away. They were apparently not to go out at all. Colonel Chart was
aimless and bored; he paced up and down and went back to smoking,
which was bad for him, and looked drearily out of windows as if on
the bare chance that something might arrive. Did he expect Mrs.
Churchley to arrive, did he expect her to relent on finding she
couldn't live without him? It was Adela's belief that she gave no
sign. But the girl thought it really remarkable of her not to have
betrayed her ingenious young visitor.
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