But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. I suppose you will think me very unsisterly and cold-hearted, but there are circumstances in connexion with my sister’s latest exploit which are intensely irritating both to my husband and to myself. She’s got a great imagination. But she had spent nearly half of it, and had no conception of how such a sum could be made good again. Then he did give way a bit. “You will have some tea?” she asked. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand.
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