“Ah he’s not ridiculous, mamma—he’s very unhappy. He thinks now Lady Fanny probably won’t go, but he feels that may be after all only the worse for him.”
“She WILL go,” Mrs. Brook answered with one of her roundabout approaches to decision. “He IS too great an idiot. She was here an hour ago, and if ever a woman was packed—!”
“Well,” Nanda objected, “but doesn’t she spend her time in packing and unpacking?”
This enquiry, however, scarce pulled up her mother. “No—though she HAS, no doubt, hitherto wasted plenty of labour. She has now a dozen boxes—I could see them there in her wonderful eyes—just waiting to be called for. So if you’re counting on her not going, my dear—!” Mrs. Brook gave a head-shake that was the warning of wisdom.
“Oh I don’t care what she does!” Nanda replied. “What I meant just now was that Mr. Longdon couldn’t understand why, with so much to make them so, they couldn’t be decently happy.”
“And did he wish you to explain?”
“I tried to, but I didn’t make it any better. He doesn’t like them. He doesn’t even care for Tish.”
“He told you so—right out?”
“Oh,” Nanda said, “of course I asked him. I didn’t press him, because I never do—!”
“You never do?” Mrs. Brook broke in as with the glimpse of a new light.