“Ah but isn’t there in your case the fact of a daughter?” Vanderbank asked with a slight embarrassment.
Mrs. Brookenham stared. “What good does that do me?”
“Why, didn’t she tell you?”
“Nanda? She told me he doesn’t like her any better than he likes me.”
Vanderbank in his turn showed surprise. “That’s really what she said?”
“She had on her return from your rooms a most unusual fit of frankness, for she generally tells me nothing.”
“Well,” said Vanderbank, “how did she put it?”
Mrs. Brook reflected—recovered it. “‘I like him awfully, but I am not in the least HIS idea.’”
“His idea of what?”
“That’s just what I asked her. Of the proper grandchild for mamma.”