A lift of the voice was observable--"Gerald, who,
naturally, is quite at home at Marlborough House..." "Gerald, with that
charming old-world courtesy of his..." "Dear Lady Scales told me that of
her two sons, Gerald should have been the baronet. Poor Sir Matthew
suffers from hay-fever to that extent.... But Gerald is a splendid young
man. Darling Melot is, I need not tell you, fully appreciated at Winkley."
This was the seat of Sir Matthew, in Essex.
Sanchia, for her part, having regained the throne of her serenity--from
which Vicky had toppled her of late--by means of Philippa, was able to
contemplate this singular parent of hers with the interest due to a
curious object, and some internal amusement. She was too far removed from
her to be moved, too much estranged to be hurt. She wondered at herself
for feeling so little of what, in the days of babyhood, she had firmly
held to be the devout opinion. She found that, from a child, she had
always judged her mother, and was sure now that her mother knew it. She
remembered how hopeless she had always known it to be, to explain any
attitude of mind she may have exhibited and been blamed for. So now,
though it was abundantly clear to her what was hoped of her, and though
she could see perfectly well that the chance of her doing it was so risky
that she must be handled like a heavy fish on a light line, she made no
effort whatever to show why what was to be hoped for was absurdly
impossible.
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