“I do not know it,” said Eustacie. “Grandpère said I was not to mourn for him, and I shall not.”
“That may be, but this is a censorious world, my child, and it will be thought very odd if you don’t accord Sylvester’s memory that mark of respect.”
“Well, I shan’t,” said Eustacie simply.
Sir Tristram looked her over in frowning silence.
“You look very cross,” said Eustacie.
“I am not cross,” said Sir Tristram in a somewhat brittle voice, “but I think you should know that while I am prepared to allow you all the freedom possible, I shall expect my wife to pay some slight heed to my wishes.”
Eustacie considered this dispassionately. “Well, I do not think I shall,” she said. “You seem to me to have very stupid wishes—quite absurd, in fact.”
“This argument is singularly pointless,” said Sir Tristram, quelling a strong desire to box her ears. “Perhaps my mother will know better how to persuade you.”
Eustacie pricked up her ears at that. “I did not know you had a mother! Where is she?”
“She is in Bath. When the funeral is over I am going to take you to her, and put you in her care until we can be married.”