"Never mind. Let's see how far you've written." Mrs. Eldridge stretches her fingers out to receive the letter without taking her eyes off a paragraph she is reading in a Daily Mail. She holds the letter till she has finished, then reads it, and gives an immediate verdict. "You can't send that," she says.
"And why not?" asks Marianne, a little nettled at this rather cavalier treatment of her effort. But she knows she has not the courage to rebel, not having a particle of faith in her powers of composition.
"You can't say, 'Your Miss Arkroyd has written to me, and I won't come, and you know perfectly well why.'"
"Why not?"
"My dear!... However, do if you like."
"Well, then—I shall." This was mere bluster, of which Charlotte took no notice.
"And you can't say: 'You know I am not wanted, and both of you will be wishing me somewhere else all the while.' Simply impossible!"
"I cannot see the impossibility. Titus would be in a panic about what I should say next. I hate their rooms, full of people. They always make me nervous."
Charlotte sees that interpretation down to her companion's level is necessary. "Rooms-full have nothing to do with it," she says. "He will think you meant you would be de trop."
"Well, and what does that mean?"