She had done very well.

He, dear, charming man, did the same thing, and did it even better.  That’s to say, he had a beautiful voice and he was happier in his phrases.  He could ignore with the greater ease because he wouldn’t have to keep it up so long.

He kept it up till dinner-time.  Only now and then his kind, keen look at me told me that he was going to have it out with me, and that he was measuring the man with whom he would have to do.

But before dinner they had taken me to my room.  They hoped I wouldn’t mind having Bertie’s room.  The house was full; all the girls were at home, so they had had to give me Bertie’s room.

As I dressed in Bertie’s room (the drawback of it was that it looked bang out on to the Cathedral Tower and was fairly raked by the chimes), with the Cathedral Tower before my eyes and the Cathedral chimes in my ears, and Canon Thesiger’s beautiful voice and Mrs. Thesiger’s beautiful face and the beautiful manners of both of them in my memory, it came over me with renewed conviction that Jevons was impossible; that Viola’s people knew and felt he was impossible; that Viola knew and felt he was impossible herself; and that in the face of all this impossibility I had a chance.  Bruges might back Jevons, but Canterbury would never back him; whereas it was quite evident that Canterbury was backing me.

I was in the drawing-room ten minutes before dinner-time.  They were all there:  the Canon and Mrs. Thesiger and their five unmarried daughters—­Victoria, the eldest, Millicent, the High School teacher, Mildred, the nurse, Viola, the youngest but one, and Norah, the youngest.

They were all there, the whole seven of them.  And they were all silent until I appeared.  As I went down the stairs and through the hall I noticed that the door was open and that no sounds came through it.  I caught sight of Viola standing by the window with her back to her family; the others sat or stood in attitudes averted from her and from each other.

When they heard me they all stirred and began talking.  And as I came into the room I found the girls drawn together (even Viola had turned from her window).

I see them now:  Canon Thesiger standing on the hearthrug, looking handsome; and Mrs. Thesiger beside him, looking handsome, too, in grey silk and a little flushed.  I hadn’t realized in our first meeting how handsome they both were, and how brilliantly unlike.  He was well-built, slender, aquiline, clean-cut and clean-shaven; he had thin, beautiful lips that he held in stiffly; he had dark eyes like his son Reggie’s, and dark hair parted correctly in the middle, hair that waved.  He had tried to depress and subdue it by hard brushing with a wet brush, but it continued to wave in spite of him, and the crests of the waves were silver, which accentuated them.