"Thank you, yes," said Percival.
"I supposed it was right to show them in here to write it—wasn't it?" she asked after a pause. "He said he knew you very well."
"Quite right, certainly."
"A very pleasant-spoken young gentleman, ain't he?" said Miss Bryant, setting down a salt-cellar.
"Very," said Percival.
"Coming to play the High Church organ, he tells me," Lydia continued, as if the instrument in question were somehow saturated with ritualism.
"Yes—at St. Sylvester's."
Lydia looked at him, but he was gazing into the fire. She went out, came back with a dish, shook her curl out of the way, and tried again: "I suppose we're to thank you for recommending the lodgings—ain't we, Mr. Thorne? I'm sure ma's much obliged to you. And I'm glad"—this with a bashful glance—"that you felt you could. It seems as if we'd given satisfaction."
"Certainly," said Percival. "But you mustn't thank me in this case, Miss Bryant. I really didn't know what sort of lodgings my friend wanted. But of course I'm glad Mr. Lisle is coming here."
"And ain't you glad Miss Lisle is coming too, Mr. Thorne?" said Lydia very archly. But she watched him, lynx-eyed.