"Really!" Cyril murmured, leaning on the mantel-piece with his
elbow and looking down at her. "Stirling said that, did he? I
should have thought she would have been better where she is, in
the Square."
"Why better in the Square?"
"Oh, I don't know!"
"Neither do I!"
"She's always been here."
"Yes." said Sophia, "she's been here a great deal too long."
"What do YOU suggest?" Cyril asked, with impatience in his voice
against this new anxiety that was being thrust upon him.
"Well," said Sophia, "what should you say to her coming to London
and living with you?"
Cyril started back. Sophia could see that he was genuinely
shocked. "I don't think that would do at all," he said.
"Why?"
"Oh! I don't think it would. London wouldn't suit her. She's not
that sort of woman. I really thought she was quite all right down
here. She wouldn't like London." He shook his head, looking up at
the gas; his eyes had a dangerous glare.
"But supposing she said she did?"
"Look here," Cyril began in a new and brighter tone. "Why don't
you and she keep house together somewhere? That would be the
very--"
He turned his head sharply. There was a noise on the staircase,
and the staircase door opened with its eternal creak.
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