"I never thought of that or of any such thing. I was only glad to know that he had good reason for staying away—not glad, of course, for what has happened."
"What about Miss Rivers?"
"Harvey does not say much. Only that she bears up well, and that he cannot possibly get away till after the funeral. Nothing can be settled till then."
"And then—hélas!—we shall all have to be buried alive. Don't look so dismayed; I only mean a figurative burial. What else can life at Westford be?"
"I don't see—" Julia began, and stopped.
"You very soon will see, my dear. Depend upon it, that is to be our future." Francesca sighed audibly again.
"Mother, shall we live in England?" asked Mittie.
"In a horribly triste country place, Mittie, with nothing but muddy lanes and cows and sheep. I never did think I should come to that, but beggars can't be choosers."
"Harvey always speaks of Westford as such a beautiful place."
"There's an ancestral glamour about it for him—not for me! I detest ancestors almost as much as cows."