"Ha!" Hunt-Goring laughed. "You inherit your mother's tastes, my child."
He looked across at Daisy. "She always preferred the pretty ones."
"I know better now," said Daisy, without returning his look.
He laughed again and stretched himself. "What became of that handsome cousin of yours who paid you a visit in the old M'war days?"
"Do you mean Blake Grange?" Daisy's voice suddenly sounded so remote and cold that Peggy turned and regarded her in round-eyed astonishment.
"Yes, that was the fellow. He got trapped at Wara along with General
Roscoe and Nick Ratcliffe. What happened to him? Was he killed?"
"No, not then." Slowly Daisy lifted her eyes; slowly she spoke. "He gave his life in England the following year to save some shipwrecked sailors."
"Did he, though? Quite a hero!" Hunt-Goring's eyes met hers and insolently held them. "Were you present at the sacrifice?"
"Yes," she answered him briefly, but there was tragedy in her eyes.
"Ah!" said Hunt-Goring softly. "That made a difference to you."
She did not answer; she leaned her cheek against Peggy's fair head in silence.