“There are two to make happy,” answered her grandmother, smiling sadly.
The young marchesa flung up her head haughtily.
“He! I do not think of him!”
“Then you do not really blame yourself, for it is he whom you have injured.”
“Oh,” cried Teresa with an angry light in her eyes, “I shall never forgive him!”
Mrs Brodrick took no notice.
“It always comes back to one fact,” she said presently. “I suppose you or I will have to speak to poor Sylvia.”
Teresa sprang up, and began to walk about the room.
“What can we say?” she asked, stopping. “Not everything?”
“No, certainly. You mustn’t come into it. We must tell her that—that we think there has been a mistake. That perhaps she should give him back his word—”