“Ah! it was not much. It was that no man knew what might come next; that matters were very strange and dismaying—and—and that he wanted this paper copied quickly, for fear—”
The girl stopped again, abruptly.
“I know what you feel, Mrs. Beatrice,” said Ralph gently. “I know how you love Master More, and how terrified we may become for our friends.”
“What do you think yourself, Mr. Torridon,” she said suddenly, almost interrupting him.
He looked at her doubtfully a moment, and half wished that Margaret would come back.
“That is a wide question,” he said.
“Well, you know what I mean,” she said coolly, completely herself again. She was sitting back in her chair now, drawing the paper serenely to and fro between her fingers; and he could see the firelight on her chin and brows, and those steady eyes watching him. He had an impulse of confidence.
“I do think changes are coming,” he said. “I suppose we all do.”
“And you approve?”
“Oh! how can I say off-hand?—But I think changes are needed.”