I only
know I know it. But whatever we do we must be careful not to let
Elma and the young man get thrown together again. I should say myself
it wouldn't be a bad plan if we were to send her away somewhere for
the rest of the summer, but I can tell you better about all this
to-morrow."
Elma, for her part, had come home from Chetwood Court more full
than ever of Cyril Waring. He looked so handsome and so manly that
afternoon at the Holkers'. Elma hoped she'd be asked out where he
was going to be again.
She sat long in her own bedroom, thinking it over with herself,
while the candle burnt down in its socket very low, and the house
was still, and the rain pattered hard on the roof overhead, and her
father and mother were discussing her by themselves downstairs in
the drawing-room.
She sat long on her chair without caring to begin undressing. She
sat and mused with her hands crossed on her lap. She sat and thought,
and her thoughts were all about Cyril Waring.
For more than an hour she sat there dreamily, and told herself over,
one by one, in long order, the afternoon's events from beginning
to the end of them. She repeated every word Cyril had spoken
in her ear. She remembered every glance, every look he had darted
at her.
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