scrutable ways of Providence'—that's what they always say, don't they? Still—if you mean that I don't 'tell,' you're quite right. I don't—when I can keep my countenance. Do you? It's always far better not to tell. Besides, if you commit yourself to an opinion, you're committing yourself to gaol."
"What a way of putting it! But it's really true. I should so much like to ask you a question about one of your opinions."
"Why don't you?" asked Fanny, turning her eyes to his.
"Oh lots of reasons: I'm afraid, in the first place; and then, I'm not sure you have one, and then—"
"Say it all—I hate people who hesitate!"
"Well—no. There's a great deal more to say than I want to say. Let's talk about the landscape."
"No. I want to know what the question is which you wished you might ask," insisted Fanny.
"It's about Mr. Brinsley," said Lawrence, plunging.
