Mrs Brodrick was startled by Teresa, white-faced and shaken, appearing suddenly in her room.
“Granny,” she began breathlessly and flinging herself by her side, “things are going very badly indeed.”
And their eyes met, full of understanding.
“It had to come,” said Mrs Brodrick with a sigh.
“But not this. Nothing so wretched as this! I don’t think I can tell you,” she went on, flinging her head back and staring dismally at her grandmother. Mrs Brodrick met her look without a vestige of the surprise she expected.
“Poor Teresa!” she said, laying her hand on hers. “Has he been making love to you instead of to Sylvia? What has he done?”
There was a certain relief in not having to explain the first miserable discovery, and she told her tale in short gasps which ended in a half-laugh of contempt.
“Nina was so odd in her warnings,” she explained, “that although I did not mind them at the time, when I saw that man glaring I was seized with terror. Something—of course it was a ridiculous fancy—made me think it was Cesare. And, granny,—I shall never forgive myself!—I was frightened, and I suppose he thought I cared for him. But how could he! How could he!”
“It had to come,” Mrs Brodrick repeated, but a perplexed frown gathered on her forehead, for she was trying to think what would come next. “Put yourself out of your thoughts, dear,” she added after a moment’s pause. “It does not much matter what has brought the climax. What matters a great deal is the effect upon—Sylvia. She—she does not see so quickly as some girls would.”
“I know, and I know that I am to blame,” said Donna Teresa very humbly. “I will do anything you think best. Must she be told?” she suggested hesitatingly. “It takes so little to make her happy!”