Chapter Fourteen.
There had been a slight, a very slight change in Sylvia since the day when Wilbraham so abruptly announced that he was going to England. She was not quite so confident; once or twice Mrs Brodrick had fancied she was not confident at all. Teresa, blinded by art and sunshine, flung off her cares, and enjoyed herself to the full. Mrs Maxwell, growing slightly bored, began to talk of going on to Syracuse. She said it was because Mrs Brodrick looked pale.
“I shall be so sorry to go myself. It’s a delightful place,” she declared, yawning.
“A rare good hole for Greek coins,” said her husband, “and a lot more coming next week. I want to see them.”
She glanced at him pityingly.
“Ten days more?” pleaded Teresa. “Come, that will carry us over Easter and the processions. Think of a procession in the streets of Taormina!” Mrs Maxwell, who liked to see everything, reflected and agreed.
“But I’m very uncomfortable here,” she added. “I should wish you all to know that Peppina is really no good to me at all. See how she’s done my hair to-day. A perfect fright, in spite of the lessons I showered upon her.”
“Our servants are not quite successful. Nina looks as she looked when she had toothache, and I can’t say more! She is prejudiced against Sicily.”
“They might consider us a little,” said Mrs Maxwell. “But your Nina does serve you faithfully. Now, Peppina would not care what happened to me, so long as she clutched the lire. Why don’t I part with her? Oh, she’s so pleasant, I can’t. She makes up for all Jem’s shortcomings, and they’re many. He always stumps about when I’ve a headache.”
“What’s that?” asked Colonel Maxwell.