Ronder, looking at her, was aware that it was her own fault that it was so. She was incompetent, utterly incompetent. He had, as he had promised, given her some work to do during these last weeks, some copying, some arranging of letters, and she had mismanaged it all. She was a muddle- headed, ill-educated, careless, conceited and self-opinionated woman, and it did not make it any the pleasanter for Ronder to be aware, as he now was, that Brandon had been quite right to dismiss her from her Library post which she had retained far too long.
She looked across the room at him with an expression of mingled obstinacy and false humility. Her eyes were nearly closed.
"Good-afternoon, Canon Ronder," she said. "It is very good of you to see me. I shall not detain you very long."
"Well, what is it, Miss Milton?" he said, looking over his shoulder at her. "I am very busy, as a matter of fact. All these Jubilee affairs-- however, if I can help you."
"You can help me, sir. It is a most serious matter, and I need your advice."
"Well, sit down there and tell me about it."
The sun was beating into the room. He went across and pulled down the blind, partly because it was hot and partly because Miss Milton was less unpleasant in shadow.
Miss Milton seemed to find it hard to begin. She gulped in her throat and rubbed her silk gloves nervously against one another.
"I daresay I've done wrong in this matter," she began--"many would think so. But I haven't come here to excuse myself. If I've done wrong, there are others who have done more wrong--yes, indeed."
"Please come to the point," said Ronder impatiently.