whether to disperse their various roads, or to remain talking with one another, and watching the house.
This virtually left Frank and Blase Pellet alone. Blase took off his tall Sunday hat, and rubbed his brow with his white handkerchief, as though the heavy hat and the burning sun had left an unpleasant sensation of heat there. It was, however, neither the hat nor the sun that had put him into that access of warmth; it was the sight of Frank Raynor. Of Frank Raynor holding Rosaline's hand in his, holding herself, in fact, and bending over her with what looked like an impulse of affection.
A most disagreeable idea had flashed into Mr. Pellet's head. A dim, indistinct idea, it is true, but none the less entertained. Married man though Frank Raynor was, as the world of Trennach knew, he might not have given up his love for Rosaline! He might be intending to keep that sentiment on; keep her to himself, in short, to laugh and chatter with whenever they should meet,