Thomas might himself have gone farther had his mother not returned at that moment from her diplomatic errand.
“I have prevailed upon Mrs. Burney to let you stay to see the certificate,” said she. “Thomas, you will conduct Miss Burney to the drawing-room.”
“I am sure that mamma would wish to see the certificate also,” said Fanny. “I will ask her.”
“There is no need, Miss Burney: we shall all join you later,” said Mrs. Barlowe.
Poor Fanny saw that there was no use trying to evade the attentions of Thomas, and as she walked toward the folding doors by his side she was conscious of a silence in the room and of all eyes being turned upon her—smiles—such knowing smiles—and a smirk from the young lady. Fanny was aware of all, and what she was too short-sighted to see she was able to imagine. She was burning at the thought of all those people gazing at her in silence. It was the most trying moment of her life.
She passed through the door which Thomas opened for her and closed behind her.
“I am glad to have this opportunity, Miss Burney,” said he, when they were alone in the big half-lighted room.
“You must hold your grandfather's certificate in high esteem, sir,” said she. “I suppose so high a place as he reached is but rarely attained by mortals. You will have to guide me to the document: I have very poor eyesight, as you must have noticed.”
“It is a great drawback,” said he. “But we will not talk about grandfather's certificate just yet, if you please: I have something to say to you that will, I hope, interest you even more than that.”
“You surprise me, sir,” said Fanny icily.