"
It was adroit flattery; Serena reddened, averted her face, smiled a
little, and kept silence.
That day he did not follow up his advantage. But on taking leave of
Serena early in the afternoon, he looked into her eyes with
expressive steadiness, and again she blushed.
A little later, several ladles were gathered in the drawing-room. On
Thursdays Mrs. Mumbray received her friends; sat as an embodiment of
the domestic virtues and graces. To-day the talk was principally on
that recent addition to Polterham society, Mrs. Denzil Quarrier.
"I haven't seen her yet," said Mrs. Mumbray, with her air of
superiority. "They say she is pretty but rather childish."
"But what is this mystery about the marriage?" inquired a lady who
had just entered, and who threw herself upon the subject with
eagerness. (It was Mrs. Roach, the wife of an alderman.) "Why was it
abroad? She is English, I think?"
"Oh no!" put in Mrs. Tenterden, a large and very positive person.
"She is a Dane--like the Princess of Wales. I have seen her. I
recognized the cast of features at once."
An outcry from three ladies followed. They knew Mrs. Quarrier was
English. They had seen her skating at Bale Water. One of them had
heard her speak--it was pure English.
"I thought every one knew," returned Mrs. Tenterden, with stately
deliberation, "that the Danes have a special gift for languages.
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