“Well, I don’t think I am,” said Val contentiously.
“Lucilla, do you like Owen?”
“Yes. I’m very sorry for him, too.”
“Why?” Valeria could not believe that Owen would be in the least grateful for Lucilla’s sorrow. It might even be difficult to induce him to believe that anyone could be sufficiently officious to indulge in such an emotion on his behalf.
“I think his shell-shock has affected him much more than he realizes,” Lucilla said. “I think his nerves are on edge, very often. He’d be a difficult person to live with, Val.”
Valeria remained thoughtful.
She knew that Lucilla’s judgments, if rarely put into words, were extraordinarily clear-cut and definite, and as such they carried conviction to her own intuitive, emotional impulses of like and dislike.
“Father likes Owen so much. Wouldn’t he be pleased if one ever did?” Val said elliptically.
“Very pleased, I should think.”
“Of course, that isn’t really a reason for doing it.”