"I've been thinking of you a great deal, of late, and you must forgive me if I speak unreservedly to you. It's because of my affection for you, and my deep interest in your welfare."
She did not see the slight contraction of her daughter's eyebrows, and it was well for her peace of mind that she did not. It argued ill for a sympathetic reception of her carefully formulated appeal.
"I'm sure, my dear mother, that it's very far from my desire to resent anything you say. Why should I? Has any one a better right to speak—er—unreservedly?"
"I've been more than proud of you always," continued Madame Palffy, "more than proud, my dear. You've been a great comfort to me, and, if I do say it, a wonderful success in the Colony. I remember no débutante in ten years who has received so much attention, and the fact that it has not spoiled you shows how worthy of it all you are. And now," she added, with an uneasy smile, "for la grande serieux."
Again that curious drawing together of Miss Palffy's eyebrows.
"Le grand serieux?" she repeated. She detested feeling her way in the dark, and now groped dexterously for a clue. "That's usually taken to mean something quite alien to our present conversation."
"Not at all," said her mother, catching at this opening, "not at all alien, my dear. In fact, Margery, what I want to ask you is this. Er—have you ever thought of marrying?"
"Yes—often," said Margery promptly.
The two words were characteristic of their curious relations, as Madame Palffy realized, with a little inward sigh of despair. They answered her question fully, and they answered it not at all.