“Oh!”
Mrs. Blair waited, and the judge dawdled at his toilet. Some compulsion she could not resist, though she tried, distrusting her own weakness, drove Mrs. Blair to speak first, and even then she sought to minimize the effect of her surrender.
“Of course, Will,” she said, “I want to be guided by you in this matter. It’s really quite serious.”
“Oh, well,” he said, “you’re capable of managing it.”
“You said you knew his father, didn’t you?” she asked after a while.
“Slightly; why?”
“I was just wishing that we knew more of the family. You know they have not lived in Macochee long.”
“That’s true,” the judge assented, realizing all that the objection meant.
“And yet,” Mrs. Blair reassured him, though she was trying to reassure herself at the same time, “his father is a minister; that ought to count for something.”
“Yes, it ought, and still you know they say that ministers’ sons are always—”