She had
become a rare product even in the eyes of Miss Treherne, and more
particularly her father, since the matter at the Tanks. Justine Caron was
slyly besieged by the curious, but they went away empty; for Justine, if
very simple and single-minded, was yet too much concerned for both Galt
Roscoe and Mrs. Falchion to give the inquiring the slightest clue. She
knew, indeed, little herself, whatever she may have guessed. As for
Hungerford, he was dumb. He refused to consider the matter. But he
roundly maintained once or twice, without any apparent relevance, that a
woman was like a repeating decimal--you could follow her, but you never
could reach her. He usually added to this: "Minus one, Marmion," meaning
thus to exclude the girl who preferred him to any one else. When I
ventured to suggest that Miss Treherne might also be excepted, he said,
with maddening suggestion: "She lets Mrs. Falchion fool her, doesn't she?
And she isn't quite sure the splendour of a medical professor's position
is superior to that of an author."
In these moments, although I tried to smile on him, I hated him a little.
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