“You are a brute always to avoid my visits at Cobble Place,” grumbled Nancy. “Do you realize we haven’t met for years?”
“You’re such a woman of affairs,” said Michael.
“Well, do let’s try to meet next time. I say, don’t you think Maud looks terribly ill since she became a Romanist?”
Michael looked across to where Mrs. Ross was standing.
“I think she’s looking rather well.”
“Absolute destruction of individuality, you know,” said Nancy, shaking her head. “I was awfully sick about that business. However, I must admit that she hasn’t forced her religion down our throats.”
“Did you expect an auto-da-fé in the middle of the lawn?” he asked. She thumped him on the shoulder:
“Silly ass! Don’t you try to rag me.”
They had a jolly talk, but Michael was glad he had not married her at eight years old. He decided that by now he would probably have regretted the step.
Michael managed to get two or three minutes alone with Stella after the ceremony.