Having skilfully guarded against events which might serve to vary the uneventful, Nina felt able to rejoice in the self-sacrifice of leaving “the beloved country and God’s own peace and quiet there” in favour of the Ritz Hotel.
Morris, within twenty-four hours of her arrival there, disconcerted her by inquiring, with a piercing glance, whether Rosamund was at Porthlew.
Nina raised her eyebrows.
“Of course,” she said easily. “Why should she be anywhere else? She always is at Porthlew.”
“I heard she was in London with the Argents the other day.”
“The other day! What nonsense you talk, Morris. Rosamund spent two or three nights with them just about Easter-time, so as to go down to poor little Frances’ ceremony, whatever it was.”
“What a shame it is to let a little thing like that go and shut herself up for life,” said Morris warmly.
Nina immediately looked pained.
“There are one or two ways of looking at it,” she said slowly. “I don’t like to hear you making sweeping assertions like that, Morris, especially when you know nothing about the matter. It doesn’t matter when you only say it to me, of course, though it’s neither very polite nor very dutiful, but I should dislike it very much if anyone else were to hear you laying down the law as you sometimes do.”
Morris was aware that there were indeed few things that his mother disliked more than to hear him express an independent opinion on any subject whatever, and he consequently said, with a decision of manner that almost bordered upon violence: