‘But she was born in sixty-nine—that makes her twenty-one. Quite time, I should say.’
‘Oh, we couldn’t put it off any longer. I mean—her father has such a horror of early debuts. He simply would not hear of her coming before.’
‘Doesn’t want her to marry in India, I dare say—the only one,’ purred Mrs. Morgan.
‘Oh, I don’t know. It isn’t such a bad place. I was brought out there to marry, and I married. I’ve found it very satisfactory.’
‘You always did say exactly what you thought, Helena,’ said Mrs. Morgan excusingly.
‘I haven’t much patience with people who bring their daughters out to give them the chance they never would have in England, and then go about devoutly hoping they won’t marry in India,’ I said. ‘I shall be very pleased if Cecily does as well as your girls have done.’
‘Mary in the Indian Civil and Jessie in the Imperial Service Troops,’ sighed Mrs. Morgan complacently. ‘And both, my dear, within a year. It WAS a blow.’
‘Oh, it must have been!’ I said civilly.
There was no use in bandying words with Emily Morgan.
‘There is nothing in the world like the satisfaction and pleasure one takes in one’s daughters,’ Mrs. Morgan went on limpidly. ‘And one can be in such CLOSE sympathy with one’s girls. I have never regretted having no sons.’