She was not of a philosophic turn of mind, and had attached no deep meaning to Stephen's jest--"If young people will reveal their ankles, they'll soon have no ankles to reveal." To Cecilia the extinction of the race seemed threatened; in reality her species of the race alone was vanishing, which to her, of course, was very much the same disaster.

With her eyes on Stephen's boots she thought: 'How shall I prevent what I've heard from coming to Bianca's ears?
I know how she would take it! How shall I prevent Thyme's hearing?
I'm sure I don't know what the effect would be on her! I must speak to Stephen.

He's so fond of Hilary.' And, turning away from Stephen's boots, she mused: 'Of course it's nonsense.

Hilary's much too--too nice, too fastidious, to be more than just interested; but he's so kind he might easily put himself in a false position.

And--it's ugly nonsense! B.can be so disagreeable; even now she's not--on terms with him!' And suddenly the thought of Mr.Purcey leaped into her mind--Mr.Purcey, who, as Mrs.Tallents Smallpeace had declared, was not even conscious that there was a problem of the poor.
To think of him seemed somehow at that moment comforting, like rolling oneself in a blanket against a draught.