Rose laughed tremulously, and openly put her handkerchief to her eyes.
“Poor lamb, how did he take it?” Henrietta Lucian asked.
“He didn’t cry,” Rose said proudly. “He’s a plucky little fellow, and he’s proud, too. I knew he wouldn’t make a sound, and he didn’t. Even his grandfather said he’d been brave over it. Sir Thomas was fairly decent about the whole thing, I will say. He gave Ces a talking to about truth and all that, but it was very short, and then he gave him six cuts with a little cane and left him. And I didn’t go to him.”
“Very brave of you, and I should think quite right.”
“It was hard,” Rose admitted.
“I’m so sorry for you, about the whole thing. Maurice and I often talk about it. He’s interested, you know. I’m pretty sure he thinks it isn’t little Cecil’s fault, in a way, but more like a congenital misfortune.”
“He’s so brave about other things, it’s difficult to understand. I suppose he’s had a rotten bringing up, poor darling, and that’s my fault as much as any one’s. Don’t you think a marriage like mine is a great mistake?”
“In what way?” Henrietta temporized.
“Marrying into a different class.”
“It’s apt to create difficult situations, I suppose.”