“It’s much better for her,” she thought bitterly, “she hasn’t the fear for his soul to keep her awake.”
Lady Cust saw that she had noticed the photographs, and a dozen invisible spears flew out to guard her grief. Then she remembered having heard that the Doña had lost a daughter: “But that’s not the same as one’s eldest son—besides, she has grandchildren.”
Aloud she said, “One good thing about having no daughter, I always feel, is that one is saved having a wedding in the house. It must mean such endless organising and worry, and what with servants being so difficult nowadays.... But this is such a perfect house for a wedding—so gay! We are so shut in with trees. Dear old Rory, I’m so fond of him; he’s my only nephew, and ... er ... Concha is such a pretty thing.”
It was clear that at this point the Doña was expected to praise Rory; but she merely gave a vague, courteous smile.
“I have heard so much about you all from my Guy,” continued Lady Cust; “he is so devoted to you all, and you have been so good to him.”
“Oh! we are all very fond of Guy,” said the Doña stiffly.
“Well, it’s very nice of you to say so—he’s a dear old thing,” she paused, “and your other daughter, Teresa, she’s tremendously clever, isn’t she? I should so love to get to know her, but I’m afraid she’d despise me—I’m such a fool!” and she gave her rippling laugh.
The Doña, again, only smiled conventionally.
“Well, it’s all ...” and Lady Cust gave a little sigh. “You see, Rory was my only sister’s only child, and she died when he was seven, so he has been almost like my own son. I wonder ... don’t you think it’s ... it’s a little sudden?”