I felt ready to sink into the sofa.
"Ah, I am not surprised," put in her brother. "From Mr. Mendoza's name and appearance I should take him to be a Sephardi like the Mendozas of Highbury. They pronounce quite differently from us, Fanny."
I commended him to the grace of the Virgin.
"That is so," I admitted. "And I found it not at all easy to follow your services."
"Are you an English Sephardi or a native Sephardi?" asked Martin.
"A native!" I replied readily. "I was born there." Where "there" was I had no idea.
"Do you know," said Fanny, looking so sweetly into my face, "I should like to see your country. Spain has always seemed to me so romantic, and I dote on Spanish olives."
I was delighted to find I had spoken the truth as to my nativity.
"I shall be charmed to escort you," I said, smiling.
She smiled in response.