“You mean that you are not decided whether you ought to bring into the house with Vere a girl who is not as Vere is?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to advise you?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t do that, Hermione.”
She looked at him almost as if she were startled.
“Why not? I always rely—”
“No, no. This is not a man’s business, my business.”
He spoke with an odd brusqueness, and there were traces of agitation in his face. Hermione did not at all understand what feeling was prompting him, but again, as on the previous evening, she felt as if there were a barrier between them—very slight, perhaps, very shadowy, but definite nevertheless. There was no longer complete frankness in their relations. At moments her friend seemed to be subtly dominated by some secret irritation, or anxiety, which she did not comprehend. She had been aware of it yesterday. She was aware of it now. After his last exclamation she said nothing.
“You are going to this girl now?” he asked.