He watched his movements. He was ready at any moment to fling open his
door and spring upon Rowcliffe with ardor and enthusiasm. It was as if
he wanted to prove to him how heartily he forgave him for being Mrs.
Rowcliffe's husband. There was a robust innocence about him that
ignored the doctor's irony.
Mary had her own use for Mr. Grierson. His handsome figure, assiduous
but restrained, the perfect image of integrity in adoration, was the
very thing she wanted for her drawing-room. She knew that its presence
there had the effect of heightening her own sensual attraction. It
served as a reminder to Rowcliffe that his wife was a woman of charm,
a fact which for some time he appeared to have forgotten. She could
play off her adorer against her husband, while the candid purity
of young Grierson's homage renewed her exquisite sense of her own
goodness.
And then the Curate really was a cousin of Lord Northfleet's and Mrs.
Rowcliffe had calculated that to have him in her pocket would increase
prodigiously her social value. And it did. And Mrs. Rowcliffe's social
value, when observed by Grierson, increased his adoration.
And when Rowcliffe told her that young Grierson's Platonic friendship
wasn't good for him, she made wide eyes at him and said, "Poor boy! He
must have _some_ amusement."
She didn't suppose the curate could be much amused by calling at the
Vicarage. Young Grierson had confided to her that he couldn't "make
her sister out.
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