"It's first-rate. I don't know how they managed it."
"Yes—it's quite nice. Of course, we shall have to rearrange things. It's all so patchy, isn't it?"
He did not answer. Mrs. Boucicault came back to the drawing-room and gave them tea. It was then, seated, facing her with her back to the light that Anne noticed the too-vivid red of her mother's lips, the tinge of artificial colour on the grey cheeks. Her own eyes hardened a little.
"Is father better?" she asked coldly. "Is there any change? I asked you to write to me, mother, but you never did."
Mrs. Boucicault helped herself daintily to cake.
"There's no change—at least, not for the better. He had Sir Gilbert Foster here to see him. He happened to be in Lucknow, and, of course, I've spared no effort—no expense. Sir Gilbert agreed that there was very little hope. Sometimes I think it would be more merciful if the end came. He is so utterly helpless. He just lies there and broods. Even the official attempt to get at some clue with regard to the man who attacked him doesn't seem to rouse him—and Richard was always so anxious to get square with an enemy, wasn't he? Of course, I go and sit with him every day and tell him our doings. It's very dull for me, but one has to do all one can. Didn't I write? I'm so sorry. I meant to, but we've been so busy——"
"I've no doubt," Anne interposed, with contemptuous bitterness. "Gaya has been quite gay, I hear."
Mrs. Boucicault smiled happily.
"Yes, quite gay. And very upset into the bargain. It's like living on an eruption or a volcano or whatever it is I mean. I suppose you've heard, Tristram? The regiment is just seething with sedition. Poor Richard kept the lid on wonderfully, and now he's gone we're all waiting for the lid to come off with a bang. Colonel Armstrong is a dear, but he's got beautiful democratic ideas, and bullies and distrusts his equals more than any one I ever knew. So we're all waiting. And things have been made so deliciously worse by the advent of Mr. Barclay. You've heard of that, too? He's going to marry Sigrid Fersen in two months. Awful, isn't it?"
Anne turned her eyes to her husband.