It is the ability of women to be politely insolent and to cover a taunt with ironical courtesy. There were at least a dozen people within range of Mrs. Betty’s aggressive drawl, and Betty Steel had no intention of letting Roxton forget James Murchison’s past.
“And how are the children?”
Her eyes were studying the details of Catherine’s dress with the critical acuteness so trying to a woman.
“The boy is very well, thanks.”
“And the other—a girl, was it not?”
“You need not trouble to remember her.”
“That sounds as though you were disappointed. I remember how you used to read me texts on the divinity of motherhood.”
“The child is dead, Betty, that is all.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I always thought the girl was delicate.”
Canon Stensly’s massive shadow interposed itself between the slighter silhouettes upon the grass.