“And a palace in a park like the Earl of Somebody or Other’s over across the river?” and she waved her hand toward the Mersey.
“And heaps of fine gowns,” she continued, “silks, and satins, and velvets trimmed with pearls and diamonds and rubies? And I want to be presented at Court and have a house in London.”
“You are modest in your wishes,” he said, between his closed teeth.
She laid her cheek against the tree trunk, and whispered, “How much money did you lose, ’Steban?”
“I lost a trifle that I had laid up for old age.”
“Whose old age?”
“Yours.”
“What about your own?”
“I shall not have any. All our family die young.”
She raised her head to the sky, but could not see it for the thick green thatch above her. “’Steban,” she said, in silvery tones, “men aren’t like women, are they?”