“I should like to come and see you all again, before I say my first mass,” he said, looking the Doña squarely in the face.
“Oh, yes ... certainly ... but we generally go away in the summer.”
“I was thinking ... the end of September, maybe?”
“Oh, we’ll sure to be back by then,” cut in Dick, always on the alert to take the edge off his wife’s grudging invitations, “Yes, you come to us at the end of September; though, for the sake of the children’s garden, it’s a pity it couldn’t be after your ordination!”
3
The weather was so warm that after dinner they went and sat out upon the lawn; but about half-past nine the elders found it chilly and went indoors.
“What about a walk?” said Concha, getting up.
“Good scheme!” said Rory.
“Are you coming, darling?” she asked Teresa, going up to her and laying her soft cheek against hers.
“No, Puncher, I don’t think so,” she said, smiling up at her; and she was touched to see how she flushed with pleasure at the old, childish pet-name, grown, these last years, so unfamiliar.