More than once--many
times, in fact--during the painting of the portrait, she had seen, or had
imagined she could see, signs and tokens of a closer intimacy between
the painter and her father's wife than was warranted by their ostensible
acquaintance. The circumstances were slight enough in themselves, but these
fragile links welded together made a chain which would have been good
enough evidence in a criminal court, skilfully handled by an Old Bailey
lawyer. Sophia Granger racked her brain to account for this suspected
intimacy. When and where had these two been friends, lovers perhaps? Mr.
Austin had been away from England for many years, if his own statement were
to be believed. It must have been abroad, therefore, that Clarissa had
known him--in her school-days. He had been drawing-master, perhaps, in the
seminary at Belforet. What more likely?
Miss Granger cherished the peculiar British idea of all foreign schools,
that they were more or less sinks of iniquity. A flirtation between
drawing-master and pupil would be a small thing in such a pernicious
atmosphere. Even amidst the Arcadian innocence of native academies such
weeds have flourished This flirtation, springing up in foreign soil, would
be of course ten times more desperate, secret, jesuitical in fact, than any
purely English product.
Yes, Miss Granger decided at the end of every silent debate in which she
argued this question with herself--yes, that was the word of the enigma.
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