The crisis in the corner has been sorted out somehow; heads are turning back toward the Pesour. He stands there motionless, hands at his sides, as if he has not moved a muscle during this little contretemps . "Sir Isaac is grown so reclusive of late, one can’t but wonder what it is he’s trying to hide from us!" Mr. Threader remarks, in a clearly audible aside to one of the Goldsmiths. "I daresay all his secrets shall be discovered in a few minutes’ time; he can hide from Lord Privy Seal but not from this ." Nodding at the furnace.