I did not urge the point; it would be useless with her, very likely also with Lucinda. I let it go with a shrug.
She sat for a moment in the stately composed silence that so well became her.
“It’s probable that we shall divide our time mainly between London, Dundrannan, and Villa San Carlo in future. It’s even likely that if Godfrey settles matters with Eunice Unthank, as I think he will, he’ll take a lease of Briarmount. That would not be disagreeable to you, would it?”
“Not the least in the world,” I answered, smiling. “I like them both very much.”
She turned to me with a bland and simple sincerity of manner. “The doctor thinks that the air on this coast is too strong for baby.”
I seemed to be hearing an official bulletin—or communiqué, as for some occult reason—or pure love of jargon—they used to call it. There was no question of a reverse at the hands of the enemy; but climatic conditions rendered further operations undesirable; the withdrawal was being effected voluntarily, in perfect order, and without loss. That the enemy was taking possession of the evacuated territory was a circumstance of no military significance whatever—though, to be sure, it might make some little difference to the inhabitants.
“It won’t do to run any risks with that precious boy!” I observed, with an approving smile, and (as I flatter myself) with just the artistic shade of jocosity—as if I were gently chaffing her on a genuine but exaggerated maternal solicitude.
“Well, when the doctor says that, what can one do?” asked Lady Dundrannan.
“Oh, one must follow his advice, of course!” I murmured, with a nod of my head.
The bark of our conversation (another metaphor may well be employed to illustrate her skill) being thus piloted through the shoals of truth into the calm deep waters of humbug, its voyage ended prosperously. “I should never forgive myself, and Waldo would never forgive me, if I took the slightest risk,” Nina concluded, as she rose from the seat.