At times there was something both dour and ungracious about Concha—a complete identification of herself with the unbecoming rôles she chose to act.
Teresa found herself wondering if, after all, she herself had not more justification with regard to her than recently she had come to fear.
CHAPTER VII
1
By the middle of March, Concha’s engagement had become an accepted fact: Dick and Rory’s uncle, Colonel Dundas of Drumsheugh, had exchanged letters; the marriage was fixed for the beginning of July; wedding presents had already begun to drift in.
Even the Doña began to be hypnotised by the inevitable, and to find a little balm in the joys of the trousseau.
In Parker’s sewing-room little scenes like this would take place: “No, Concha, I won’t allow you to have them so low. You might as well be stark naked.”
Then Parker would giggle, and Concha, after a good-natured “Good Lord!” would say, “I tell you, Doña, they’re always worn like that now.”