“And don’t you think he was glad to break away?”
“Perhaps,” said Millie untruthfully.
“Oh, he was.” The mother was persuaded that Millie never flung a thought in the direction of Wareham, yet, mother-like, would not believe that he could have been attracted by another when her girl was there. Descent such as that ranks with the incredible. Yet if—if Millie were not so entirely heart-whole as she believed, she yearned to offer comfort. She said, with a smile—“Miss Dalrymple has too much of the bearing of a conqueror to please a man not easily subdued.”
The girl’s heart was trembling lest the secret it held should escape. She praised Anne on purpose to be quit of all suspicion of jealousy.
“She is one of the women who has a right to such a bearing. If I were a man, I should fall in love with her a dozen times over.”
Mrs Ravenhill’s momentary suspicion fled.
“He could have stayed if he had wished it, I suppose,” she said cheerfully, and slipped into other talk.
A newspaper had given them moderately late news of their country, and when they met at breakfast, Wareham alluded to it.
“At home, if you miss the Times for a day, you become a hopeless laggard in the world. It is amazing how soon the feeling wears off.”
“By the way, I see the professor mentioned for an appointment,” said Mrs Ravenhill. “Our professor?”