"Your son," answered the boy. He smiled complacently. ” “Of course,” said Capes, and threw a newly lit cigar into the fire through sheer nervousness. ‘Étes-vous Francais?’ Her eyes, he noted, followed from himself to Hilary and back again, but she did not speak. . . The Night-Cellar XVIII. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. ” “Kate who?” Lucy asked. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced.
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