“A Campo Santo! Is he going to bury himself, then? What do you mean, Robin?”
“He called it a Campo Santo to Carey. It’s really a wonderful house in Italy, on Como. Casa Felice is the name of it. I know it well.”
“Casa Felice. How delicious! But is it the place for Sir Donald?”
“Why not?”
“For an old, tired man. Casa Felice. Won’t the name seem an irony to him when he’s there?”
“You think an old man can’t be happy anywhere?”
“I can’t imagine being happy old.”
“Why not?”
“Oh!”—she lowered her voice—“if you want to know, look at Mrs. Ulford.”
“Your husk theory again. A question of looks. But you will grow old gracefully—some day in the far future.”