are having a little party, and if Senhor and Senhora O'Farrel would consent to swell our numbers it would add greatly to the success of the evening."
It was gracefully put — even persuasively put — but Kathleen stared at him, as if for the moment she wasn't certain of the reply she ought to make. She could only think that Dona Inez would hardly be likely to share his views. An employee's relatives could hardly contribute to the success of any evening presided over by Dona Inez!
But at last she heard herself say:
"It is very kind of you, senhor
"The kindness will lie in the acceptance of my invitation." He smiled at her. "And nowhere else."
Peggy shared Kathleen's views when the invitation was extended to her, and she immediately decided that they couldn't possibly accept it because she hadn't anything fit to wear.
"Not really fit to wear." She pushed back the hair from her flushed brow. She was making cakes in the tiny kitchen, and although the windows were wide the atmosphere of the small enclosed space was definitely a little unbearable. "And even if we could afford it there isn't time to buy anything new."
Kathleen helped herself to a feathery-light cake from the wire tray, and perched on the edge of the kitchen-table. Already she was feeling more relaxed in this humbler atmosphere, and despite the warmth she was happy to have escaped for a few hours. It wasn't that she was unable to appreciate the beauties and magnificence of the quinfa—on the contrary, she appreciated very keenly the luxury of her surroundings—but there was always the feeling that there was an unbridgeable gulf between herself and her employers. And since the Conde had confessed to her that he was planning to marry soon the gulf had seemed to widen, and she was unhappily certain that in the event of his marriage taking place before Jerry and Joe were ready for school (or the services of an English governess were found to be unnecessary) she would find it quite impossible to remain there.
Just now she wasn't thinking very much about the depleted condition of Peggy's wardrobe, she was thinking about something else. She finished her cake, dusted the crumbs from her fingers and the front of her dress, and then asked as if the matter was not of any very great importance and she was merely suffering from a mild form of curiosity:
"Who is Carmelita Albrantes, Peggy? And have you ever met her?"
Peggy frowned a little. She was mentally trying to decide which of two evening-dresses she possessed—a dull gold taffeta or a somewhat outmoded black net — would make her look less like a rather hard-up English
artits's wife if she did decide they ought to accept the invitation to the Quinta Cereus.
"Carmelita Albrantes?" She knitted her brows, finally dismissing the black because it was at least three years old. "The Albtantes family is remotely connected to the de Chaves family, and their estates run side by side in this corner of Portugal. Papa Albrantes died about six months ago, and Carmelita, who is the only daughter—in fact, I think, she's the heiress to the estates—has been staying with a relative in Lisbon. I've never met her, but I was once presented to her mother who, like Dona Inez, likes to be thought of as a kind of semi-invalid. That's to say, she doesn't mix very much even with her own set, and I think poor Carmelita would have rather a thin time but for this aunt, who takes her about and chaperones her, and so forth."
"And she's very attractive?"
"Who? The aunt, or Carmelita?" Peggy rushed to the oven to rescue a batch of cakes that were beginning to burn. "Rumour has it that she's quite passable—Carmelita, I mean—and some say that the Conde plans to marry her one day. I wouldn't know, because I'm not in on these family matrimonial counsels."
"You mean that if it takes place it will be one of those arranged marriages? The kind of thing they have in Portugal?"
"Again I wouldn't know. But a lot of marriages in
It was gracefully put — even persuasively put — but Kathleen stared at him, as if for the moment she wasn't certain of the reply she ought to make. She could only think that Dona Inez would hardly be likely to share his views. An employee's relatives could hardly contribute to the success of any evening presided over by Dona Inez!
But at last she heard herself say:
"It is very kind of you, senhor
"The kindness will lie in the acceptance of my invitation." He smiled at her. "And nowhere else."
Peggy shared Kathleen's views when the invitation was extended to her, and she immediately decided that they couldn't possibly accept it because she hadn't anything fit to wear.
"Not really fit to wear." She pushed back the hair from her flushed brow. She was making cakes in the tiny kitchen, and although the windows were wide the atmosphere of the small enclosed space was definitely a little unbearable. "And even if we could afford it there isn't time to buy anything new."
Kathleen helped herself to a feathery-light cake from the wire tray, and perched on the edge of the kitchen-table. Already she was feeling more relaxed in this humbler atmosphere, and despite the warmth she was happy to have escaped for a few hours. It wasn't that she was unable to appreciate the beauties and magnificence of the quinfa—on the contrary, she appreciated very keenly the luxury of her surroundings—but there was always the feeling that there was an unbridgeable gulf between herself and her employers. And since the Conde had confessed to her that he was planning to marry soon the gulf had seemed to widen, and she was unhappily certain that in the event of his marriage taking place before Jerry and Joe were ready for school (or the services of an English governess were found to be unnecessary) she would find it quite impossible to remain there.
Just now she wasn't thinking very much about the depleted condition of Peggy's wardrobe, she was thinking about something else. She finished her cake, dusted the crumbs from her fingers and the front of her dress, and then asked as if the matter was not of any very great importance and she was merely suffering from a mild form of curiosity:
"Who is Carmelita Albrantes, Peggy? And have you ever met her?"
Peggy frowned a little. She was mentally trying to decide which of two evening-dresses she possessed—a dull gold taffeta or a somewhat outmoded black net — would make her look less like a rather hard-up English
artits's wife if she did decide they ought to accept the invitation to the Quinta Cereus.
"Carmelita Albrantes?" She knitted her brows, finally dismissing the black because it was at least three years old. "The Albtantes family is remotely connected to the de Chaves family, and their estates run side by side in this corner of Portugal. Papa Albrantes died about six months ago, and Carmelita, who is the only daughter—in fact, I think, she's the heiress to the estates—has been staying with a relative in Lisbon. I've never met her, but I was once presented to her mother who, like Dona Inez, likes to be thought of as a kind of semi-invalid. That's to say, she doesn't mix very much even with her own set, and I think poor Carmelita would have rather a thin time but for this aunt, who takes her about and chaperones her, and so forth."
"And she's very attractive?"
"Who? The aunt, or Carmelita?" Peggy rushed to the oven to rescue a batch of cakes that were beginning to burn. "Rumour has it that she's quite passable—Carmelita, I mean—and some say that the Conde plans to marry her one day. I wouldn't know, because I'm not in on these family matrimonial counsels."
"You mean that if it takes place it will be one of those arranged marriages? The kind of thing they have in Portugal?"
"Again I wouldn't know. But a lot of marriages in
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