He was in the position of an unfortunate person who, having come into controversy with the police, is warned that every word he says may be used in evidence against him. He had been reminded that every detail of the present conversation would be repeated to Sister Cecilia, with embellishments or subtractions as might please the narrator's fancy or suit her purpose.
“A dangerous woman” he called Sister Cecilia in his most gloomy voice, and a parson must perforce fear dangerous women. That is one of the trials of the ministry.
Mrs. Agar laughed in a forced manner.
“Of course,” she said—she had a habit of beginning her remarks with these two words—“of course, we need not think of such questions yet. I am sure all I want is the happiness of the dear children.”
“Umph!” ejaculated Mr. Glynde, who was not always a model of politeness.
“That, I am sure,” continued Mrs. Agar, with a dabbing pocket-handkerchief, “is the dearest wish of us all.”
“When does the boy come home?” inquired the Rector.
“Oh, in a week. I am so longing for him to come. He has to go to town to get some clothes, which will delay his return by one night.”
“Is he doing any good this term?”
Mrs. Agar looked slightly hurt.