Lucian was rather surprised.
“On the contrary, I should have thought she’d be the very person to go abroad. She has no children, and plenty of money, and let me tell you that she’s an extremely energetic person, and very fairly capable.”
“I know all that,” said Rose calmly, “but you’ll see, Ford won’t let her go. He won’t be able to go himself, because he’s over the age and he’s got a heart or something, and nothing will induce him to let Di go, if he can’t.”
Lucian looked at her reflectively for an instant before he said: “How very much you do dislike Ford!”
“Yes.”
There was a finality in her tone that admitted of no rejoinder.
The doctor, not for the first time, reflected upon the singular un-complexity of Rose Aviolet’s emotions. Her dislikes, to use no more violent term in describing them, were as whole-hearted as were her affections, once given. Either paled to insignificance before the steady, unswerving flame of her passion for her son.
“I’ll go and see Cecil to-morrow,” the doctor repeated, when he said good-bye to her. “Though I don’t suppose the Aviolets will thank me for interfering with their grandson’s affairs, you know.”
“Oh, them,” said Mrs. Aviolet negligently. “Don’t worry about them—they don’t matter.”