Except her mother, she instinctively distrusted women in such a matter as that of Wilmet Gaunt, feeling they would want to know more than she could tell them, and not be too tolerant of what they heard.

Casting about, at a loss, she thought suddenly of Mr.Cuthcott.
At dinner that day she fished round carefully.

Felix spoke of him almost warmly.

What Cuthcott could have been doing at Becket, of all places, he could not imagine--the last sort of man one expected to see there; a good fellow, rather desperate, perhaps, as men of his age were apt to get if they had too many women, or no woman, about them.
Which, said Nedda, had Mr.Cuthcott?
Oh! None.

How had he struck Nedda?
And Felix looked at his little daughter with a certain humble curiosity.