“No, no, there is no fear of that. Fanny will not change. She will be quite independent when she is twenty-one. Indeed, she is in terror lest Mr Elliot should find out how large her fortune will be.”
“Is Lord Milborough like his sister in character?” asked Wareham carelessly.
She repudiated the notion. “You saw him at Bergen?”
“I saw the surface. He was described to me as indifferent to most things.”
Millie hesitated. “I think he will take trouble to get what he wants. I don’t know whether you will put that down to his credit or not? But I do believe that in his own way he is fond of Fanny, and perhaps—”
She stopped. Wareham would have given a good deal to know whether the “perhaps” had remote connection with Miss Dalrymple. He had time to reflect, for Millie was called upon to provide another cup of tea for the visitor. When she came back he put a leading question.
“Do you often go to Thorpe?”
“Very very seldom. The house is generally full at this season, and just now there is a big party.” She hesitated again, reproached herself, and added, “The Martyns and Lady and Miss Dalrymple are there.”
He looked up quickly, and his eye met hers. Something in it told his secret, and Millie turned pale. The thought was not strange to her, perhaps, although latterly it had withdrawn; it was always standing at hand, ready to step in; but withdrawn it had, and to see it again, and to have it advancing so determinedly that she could never any more treat it as a figment of her imagination, gave her a sharp stab. He, all unconscious of his self-betrayal, thought his remark, “A drifting together of Norwegian travellers!” diplomatic; and he ventured to add, “I have heard that Lady and Miss Dalrymple are not sympathetic.”
“Fanny does not say. I believe they had only just arrived,” murmured Millie.