“The warders of the Tower are placed there to prevent either catastrophe,” said young Sir Walter Holford. “They have strict orders to admit neither dynamite nor Professor Winter.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“Destructive. If any man can pull down Church and State, there you have him.”
“And he looks so amiable! Once I met him, and he fascinated me with the history of our own village, until I saw it in all its developments.”
“Yes, he can be graphic, when he is not shy,” remarked an old gentleman.
Lady Fanny instantly inveighed against shy men.
“They spoil conversation,” he agreed.
“Their own lives, and other people’s.”
Millie thought of the pink clergyman, and was sorry that her mother had been so precipitate, but could not understand rancour on the part of her friend, whose heart was so kind that she would have expected pity. Going home, Fanny was silent, and Mrs Ravenhill openly wished they had a quiet evening before them instead of two gentlemen to entertain.
She delivered this sentiment as they reached the door. Fanny murmured to herself—“Dear blind woman!” while she went wearily up-stairs. She wanted to be alone, she was afraid that Millie would follow her, but she did not. Each girl was on the defensive, conscious of something in her heart, which she was pressing back, and inclined to avoid the other. Lady Fanny did not come down until the two guests had arrived; her greetings were formal. She swept the room, and discovered that Millie had been at work with dainty touches, which somehow vexed her. As for Mr Elliot, he became hopelessly embarrassed in his attempts to explain what had brought him to London, until Mrs Ravenhill took pity on him and engaged him gently, while Wareham was left to the two girls.