Beatrice stood up, feeling a little uneasy. She fancied that perhaps she ought not to be here; she remembered now the servant's slight air of unwillingness to let her in. There was a footfall in the hall, and the sound of talking; and as Mr. Morris's hasty step came up the passage, the door was pushed abruptly open, and Ralph was looking into the room, with one or two others beyond him.
"I did not know," he began, and flushed a little, smiling and making as if to close the door. But Cromwell's face, with its long upper lip and close-set grey eyes, appeared over his shoulder, and Ralph turned round, almost deprecatingly.
"I beg your pardon, sir; this is Mistress Atherton, and her woman."
Cromwell came forward into the room, with a kind of keen smile, in his rich dress and chain.
"Mistress Beatrice Atherton?" he said with a questioning deference; and Ralph introduced them to one another. Beatrice was conscious of a good deal of awkwardness. It was uncomfortable to be caught here, as if she had come to spy out something. She felt herself flushing as she explained that she had had no idea who was there.
"There is nothing to ask pardon for, Mistress," he said. "I knew you were a friend of Mr. Torridon. He has told me everything."
Ralph seemed strangely ill-at-ease, Beatrice thought, as Cromwell congratulated them both with a very kindly air, and then turned towards the hall again.
Then Beatrice saw a tall ecclesiastic, clean-shaven, with a strangely insignificant but kindly face, with square drooping lip and narrow hazel eyes, come forward in his prelate's dress; and at the sight of him her eyes grew hard and her lips tight.
"My lord," said Cromwell, "this is Mistress Beatrice Torridon."
The prelate put out his hand, smiling faintly, with the ring uppermost to be kissed. Beatrice stood perfectly still. She could see Ralph at an angle looking at her imploringly.
"You know my Lord of Canterbury," said Cromwell, in an explanatory voice.
"I know my Lord of Canterbury," said Beatrice.
There was a dead silence for a moment, and then a faint whimper from the maid.
Cranmer dropped his hand, but still smiled, turning to Ralph.
"We must be gone, Mr. Torridon. Master Cromwell has very kindly--"