She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. The day is already half over. She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces. " With this assurance, and at the reiterated request of Thames, the little girl reluctantly withdrew. She despises me, I suppose. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind.
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