At moments like these the atmosphere in the drawing-room can sometimes be unpleasant, especially for Cordelia. She has no one she can talk with or listen to. If she turns to Edvard, she faces the risk of him doing something foolish in his embarrassment. If she turns the other way, to her aunt and me, then the certainty prevailing here, the monotonous hammerblow of our steady conversation, forms the most disagreeable contrast.