ed it in the distance, for she slanted away from it
with a perilous and graceful sweep. She had heard so much about me from
her daughter. She had wanted to make my acquaintance. She was glad of
this opportunity--

(We smiled at each other to show that there was nothing to wince at in
her phrase.)

I said I was glad of it too, and what a charming garden they had.

Wasn't it? And did I know Canterbury? I wished I did. Well--I would know
it now. And if I didn't mind ringing the bell the butler would fetch my
things over from the "Tabard." And so on, charmingly, till the Canon came
in and relieved her.

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 Vio