Lady Barnstaple raised her eyes and stared at her daughter-in-law. Even in the pink light it was evident that she changed colour. She dropped her eyes suddenly.
“California is a long way off,” she said dryly. “I wonder Cecil consents; but these little separations are always advisable. How long shall you stay?”
“A year, possibly. I am going to take Mary Gifford with me if Mrs. Montgomery will invite her—as of course she will.”
“Oh, do marry her to Randolph Montgomery! It would be an act of charity.”
“How pleased she would be! But I think it can be managed, particularly as Tiny likes her; and Mrs. Montgomery would be sure to fall in love with her and conceive it her mission to modify her voice.”
“Well, I hope she’ll stay in California. I’m sick of her. I’m sick of the rudeness of English people, anyhow.”
“You have cultivated their rudeness with a good deal of energy. It seems to me that most Americans cultivate that attribute more successfully than they cultivate any others of the many English attributes they admire so profoundly,” Lee observed.
“Well, I wish you’d let me alone!” shrieked Lady Barnstaple. “Don’t speak another word to me to-day.”
Lee hastily retreated and sent off a telegram to Tom, then went out in search of the others. She found them by the lake feeding the swans.
“The swans and the peacocks make it all just perfect!” cried Coralie. “I want Ned to sit up all night with me in the crypt to see if there won’t be a ghost, and he won’t do it.”