For a girl like Muriel to have even the faintest
suspicion hanging over her is simply hateful."
Meanwhile the mysterious Mr. Henshaw seemed in no hurry to make known his
theory, if he had one. Yet he still remained in Branchester, writing all
the morning and going out in the afternoon, usually with a handful of
letters for post. He always nodded affably to Gifford when they met, but
beyond a casual remark on the weather or the events of the day, showed no
disposition to chat.
But now while Gifford was in this unsatisfactory state of mind,
persevering yet baffled in what he had undertaken to do, a very singular
thing came to pass. He strolled out one afternoon, aimlessly, wondering
whether the negative result of his efforts justified his remaining in the
place, and yet loath to leave it, held there as he was by the attraction
of Edith Morriston. He felt he could be making but little way in her
favour seeing how he was failing in what he had undertaken to do for her,
and as he walked he discussed with himself whether it would not be
possible to hit on some more active plan of becoming acquainted with
Henshaw's knowledge and intentions.
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