The Countess sat down at the head of the table; one of her fair hands lay among the glasses on the shining white cloth. The other drooped in her lap; she looked up at Susannah, and her eyes were wistful.
"Do you think he has changed?" she asked.
"Into a man—yes."
Lady Lyndwood sighed.
"He has the air—he was never as handsome as Rose."
Miss Chressham laughed shortly.
"He is handsome enough." She moved a silver bowl of roses further on to the table. "Rose, of course, is—" She suddenly broke off, and her manner had an air of distance. "You must be very proud of them, Aunt Agatha."
The Countess shook her delicate head.
"I feel a helpless old woman, my dear, and quite a stranger to both."