“There is really no reason on earth why you should be so alarmed at the man’s waiting a few minutes, mamma,” said Gwendolen, remonstrantly, as Mrs. Davilow, having prepared the writing materials, looked toward her expectantly. “Servants expect nothing else than to wait. It is not to be supposed that I must write on the instant.” “No, dear,” said Mrs. Davilow, in the tone of one corrected, turning to sit down and take up a bit of work that lay at hand; “he can wait another quarter of an hour, if you like.” It was very simple speech and action on her part, but it was what might have been subtly calculated. Gwendolen felt a contradictory desire to be hastened: hurry would save her from deliberate choice. “I did not mean him to wait long enough for that needlework to be finished,” she said, lifting her hands to stroke the backward curves of her hair, while she rose from her seat and stood still. “But if you don’t feel able to decide?” said Mrs. Davilow, sympathizingly. “I _must_ decide,” said Gwendolen, walking to the writing-table and seating herself. All the while there was a busy under-current in her, like the thought of a man who keeps up a dialogue while he is considering how he can slip away. Why should she not let him come? It bound her to nothing. He had been to Leubronn after her: of course he meant a direct unmistakable renewal of the suit which before had been only implied. What then? She could reject him. Why was she to deny herself the freedom of doing this—which she would like to do? “If Mr. Grandcourt has only just returned from Leubronn,” said Mrs. Davilow, observing that Gwendolen leaned back in her chair after taking the pen in her hand—“I wonder whether he has heard of our misfortunes?” “That could make no difference to a man in his position,” said Gwendolen, rather contemptuously, “It would to some men,” said Mrs. Davilow. “They would not like to take a wife from a family in a state of beggary almost, as we are. Here we are at Offendene with a great shell over us, as usual. But just imagine his finding us at Sawyer’s Cottage. Most men are afraid of being bored or taxed by a wife’s family. If Mr. Grandcourt did know, I think it a strong proof of his attachment to you.”