“Yes, do. And I’ll tell you what happens with Adrian and that Olga.”
“I hope nothing will happen.”
“Oh, no—but it’s amusing.”
She did not look amused. Something of her ripe-apricot bloom had faded, and there were shadows beneath her brown eyes. Before he left St. Gwenllian, Owen said rather earnestly to Lucilla that he thought Valeria looked tired.
“So do I.”
“Is she ill?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I should hate to think of her being ill.”
“I don’t think she’s ill, Owen.”
Lucilla evidently accepted his solicitude as a natural thing.