She went on knitting, but her fingers worked with a decision that was oddly unlike the smooth and contemplative sweep of Lady Otway's plump hand.

Now and then she looked swiftly at her mother, then at her aunt.

Mrs.Hilbery held a book in her hand, and was on her way, as Katharine guessed, to the library, where another paragraph was to be added to that varied assortment of paragraphs, the Life of Richard Alardyce.

Normally, Katharine would have hurried her mother downstairs, and seen that no excuse for distraction came her way.
Her attitude towards the poet's life, however, had changed with other changes; and she was content to forget all about her scheme of hours.
Mrs.Hilbery was secretly delighted.

Her relief at finding herself excused manifested itself in a series of sidelong glances of sly humor in her daughter's direction, and the indulgence put her in the best of spirits.