'You've expected it,' pursued the lady, with bluff good-humour. 'Yes, of
course you have.' She said ''ave,' a weakness happily unshared by her
daughter. 'We don't want it talked about, but I know you can hold your
tongue. Well, it's young Mr. Fisher, of Nokes, Fisher and Co. We haven't
known him long, but he took from the first to Alma, and I have my reasons
for believing that the feeling is _mutial_, though I wouldn't for the world
let Alma hear me say so.'
Young Mr. Fisher. Thomas knew of him; a capable business man, and son of a
worthy father. He kept his teeth close, his eyes down.
'And now,' pursued Mrs. Warbeck, becoming still more genial, 'I'm getting
round to the unpleasant side of the talk, though I don't see that it _need_
be unpleasant. We're old friends, and where's the use of being friendly if
you can't speak your mind, when speak you must? It comes to this: I just
want to ask you quite straightforward, not to be offended or take it ill if
we don't ask you to come here till this business is over and settled. You
see? The fact is, we've told Mr. Fisher he can look in whenever he likes,
and it might happen, you know, that he'd meet you here, and, speaking like
old friends--I think it better not.
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