Of course she had not, the decorative in costume always engaging her attention to the exclusion of the useful. They were already a couple of hundred yards from the house, and he answered her suggestion of returning to fetch one by—
“I am afraid we are already a little late, and if it comes on to rain I can hold mine over you.”
“Of course he hopes that it will rain!” was the inward comment of the innocent creature to whom this assurance was addressed, and upon it followed a feeling of wonder at Camilla’s rash confidence, in trusting her husband to a tête-à-tête with herself.
But Camilla’s belief appeared to be going to be justified; for beyond a gravely cautious warning now and again to his companion to avoid a puddle, or indication of that strip of road which the night’s rain had left driest, Mr. Tancred walked along almost in silence, with the width of the elm avenue between them.
“Perhaps he would think it wrong to make love to me going to church!” thought the wary Bonnybell. “Men have such funny scruples. I must look out for myself going back.”
It was in a hansom while returning from St. Paul’s Cathedral that Tom had first told her that she could turn him round her little finger. There was no sign at present of Edward’s executing or intending to execute a like gyration, but it was always well to be on the safe side, and nothing kept dangerous topics better at bay than a little safe small talk upon unimpeachable subjects.
“You always go to church here, I suppose?”
“Generally. And you?”
There was a slight demur. To talk about her own past and its habits formed no part of Miss Ransome’s scheme; but after a moment’s hesitation she answered—
“I went to church a good deal with the Glanvilles.”