Mrs Brodrick glanced at her.
“He has never said it.”
“It’s on the tip of his tongue. Oh, there are the letters. Have you read them?”
“Teresa!”
“You might—you may! But I didn’t like the marchesa doing it.”
“Ah, the marchesa seems to have often stepped off the path,” said Mrs Brodrick quietly. But her hand shook.
“It was for the good of my soul,” explained Teresa indifferently, “and it did not much matter, because she could not understand English. What’s this?” she added, taking a letter out of a long envelope, and turning it over.
“It looks as if it came from a lawyer.” Her grandmother’s face changed. She saw that Teresa was staring blankly at the sheet, and she was instantly frightened, for, to her, lawyer’s letters invariably preceded some loss of income. Presently Teresa looked up still blankly.
“I think,” she said, drawing a deep breath—“I think there must be some mistake.”
“Lawyers don’t often make mistakes,” said Mrs Brodrick gravely, after a momentary silence in which she braced herself. Teresa was staring at her now, and frowning.