“Sick of what?”
“This.”
“I suppose it’s pretty difficult at home now?”
“Oh, well, you know it’s never been the same since Pepa died.”
This time it was Arnold that winced; he could not yet bear to hear Pepa mentioned.
“It’s made the Doña a fanatic,” Concha continued, “and she never was that before, you know. Who was it? Teresa, or some one, said that English ivy had grown round Peter’s rock, and birds had made their nest in it ... before. But now she’s absolutely rampantly Catholic ... you know, she wants to dedicate the house to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and have little squares of stuff embroidered with it nailed on all the doors....”
“Good Lord!”
“But, of course, Dad won’t hear of it.”
“Well, I don’t quite see what it’s got to do with him—if it makes her happier,” and his voice became suddenly aggressive.
“And she’d do anything on earth to prevent either of us marrying a Protestant ... after all, what do-o-oes it all matter? Lord, what fools these mortals be!”