‘Tricked by the threat of scandal,’ my father bellowed when he first received the news. ‘We have lost him now, my dear,’ and for once he did not stamp his foot but wept into his handkerchief.
‘The passion will fade soon enough,’ I murmured.
‘Too late, too late,’ he sighed.
‘Does my brother gaze at the moon when he is holding his wife in his arms?’
‘It may be an excellent plan when he is tired of her.’ Papa spoke in a cold voice but when I looked at him again, he was still weeping.