He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. It was too good to be true. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. I don’t want to stop your singing. Don't be afraid. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. The particulars of her engagement were very clear in her memory.
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