"No. But I knew," answered G.J. feebly. He would have expected her to
be a little condescending towards Carlos, to whom in brains she was
infinitely superior. But no! Carlos had mastered her, and she was
grateful to him for mastering her. He had taught her in three weeks
more than she had learnt on two continents in thirty years. She
talked of him precisely as any wee wifie might have talked of the
soldier-spouse. And she called him "Carly"!

Neither of them had touched the champagne. G.J. decided that he would
postpone any attempt to tell her until her cousin arrived; her cousin
might arrive at any moment now.

While the parlour-maid presented potatoes Concepcion deliberately
ignored her and said dryly to G.J.:

"I can't eat any more. I think I ought to run along to Debenham and
Freebody's at once. You might come too, and be sure to bring your good
taste with you."

He was alarmed by her tone.

"Debenham and Freebody's! What for?"

"To order mourning, of course. To have it ready, you know. A
precaution, you know." She laughed.

He saw that she was becoming hysterical: the special liability of
the war-bride for whom the curtain has been lifted and falls
exasperatingly, enragingly, too soon.