I suppose he doesn't know
that yet, poor fellow. All she can do is to ignore the signs, and avoid
him as much as possible, and not hurt his feelings. It's a pity."
"What is?"
"That she isn't open to--new impressions,--you know what I mean. He's an
awfully nice young man, so tall and straight,--they would look so well
together."
"Edna, you amaze me!" said Larcher. "How can you want her to be
inconstant? I thought you were full of admiration for her loyalty to
Davenport."
"So I was, when there was a tangible Davenport. As long as we knew he was
alive, and within reach, there was a hope of straightening things out
between them. I'd set my heart on accomplishing that."
"I know you like to play the goddess from the machine," observed Larcher.
"She's prematurely given to match-making," said Aunt Clara, now restored
to her placidity.
"Be good, auntie, or I'll make a match between you and Mr. Kenby,"
threatened Edna. "Well, now that the best we can hope for about Davenport
is that he went away with another man's money--"
"But I've told you the other man morally owed him that much money."
"That won't make it any safer for him to come back to New York. And you
know what's waiting for him if he does come back, unless he's got an
awfully good explanation. And as for Florence's going to him, what chance
is there now of ever finding out where he is? It would either be one of
those impossible countries where there's no extradition, or a place where
he'd always be virtually in hiding.
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