He rang the bell; the servant came, and showed the way to the street door. Mr. Rolfe followed them to the passage only, whence he bowed ceremoniously once more to Lady Bassett as she went out.
As she passed into the street she heard a fearful clatter. It was her counselor tearing back to his interrupted novel like a distracted bullock.
“Well, I don't think much of he,” said Mary Wells.
Lady Bassett was mute to that, and all the journey home very absorbed and taciturn, impregnated with ideas she could not have invented, but was more able to execute than the inventor. She was absorbed in digesting Rolfe's every word, and fixing his map in her mind, and filling in details to his outline; so small-talk stung her: she gave her companion very short answers, especially when she disparaged Mr. Rolfe.
“You couldn't get in a word edgeways,” said Mary Wells.
“I went to hear wisdom, and not to chatter.”
“He doesn't think small beer of hisself, anyhow.”
“How can he, and see other men?”
“Well. I don't think much of him, for my part.”
“I dare say the Queen of Sheba's lady's-maid thought Solomon a silly thing.”