EBZ160H drawing-room when Branston entered

I watched the Rector and Mr. Danvers loitering on the steps as a patient might the gathering18 of surgeons who are to perform some unknown operation. They, too, glanced up at the window as they turned to enter the house, and I drew back. Cousin Monica looked at her watch.

 

“Four minutes only. Shall we go to the drawing-room?”

 

Waiting for a moment to let the gentlemen get by on the way to the study, we, accordingly, went down, and I heard the Rector talk of the dangerous state of Grindleston bridge, and wondered how he could think of such things at a time of sorrow. Everything about those few minutes of suspense19 remains20 fresh in my recollection. I remember how they loitered and came to a halt at the corner of the oak passage leading to the study, and how the Rector patted the marble head and smoothed the inflexible22 tresses of William Pitt, as he listened to Mr. Danvers’ details about the presentment; and then, as they went on, I recollect21 the boisterous23 nose-blowing that suddenly resounded24 from the passage, and which I then referred, and still refer, intuitively to the Rector.

 

We had not been five minutes in the drawing-room when Branston entered, to say that the gentlemen I had mentioned were all assembled in the study.

 

“Come, dear,” said Cousin Monica; and leaning on her arm I reached the study door. I entered, followed by her. The gentlemen arrested their talk and stood up, those who were sitting, and the Rector came forward very gravely, and in low tones, and very kindly25, greeted me. There was nothing emotional in this salutation, for though my father never quarrelled, yet an immense distance separated him from all his neighbours, and I do not think there lived a human being who knew him at more than perhaps a point or two of his character.