She was wearing a cool muslin dress transparent at the neck. Round her
throat she had a slender chain with a locket to it. She was brown as a
berry, but she looked as though the hot weather dealt gently with her.
As she sat down by me and took Dido's head into her lap, to the great
discomfort of a rabble of jealous dogs who sat round watching her and
whining, it struck me that her eyes were the very colour of the dog's
and as faithful.

"You look cool," I said.

"And you; you have no idea how pink print becomes you. But first we will
have tea. Joan has a sick headache and will have none of me to-day. So
we shall be just our two selves."

As she said it I noticed a line of pain and weariness deepen in her
forehead, and her lips droop ever so slightly. It was something I had
noticed before when Miss Standish had been more than commonly trying. I
looked at my godmother with new interest, having learnt what had
befallen Uncle Luke. She wore her hair in an old-fashioned way which
became her. It was in loops each side of her forehead, displaying her
ears, and was then taken up and plaited at the back of her head. The
fashion was a quarter of a century old but nothing could have been
prettier.

She took Dido's head between her hands and looked down into her eyes.

"She is growing very old, Bawn," she said sadly.

It reminded me of something Maureen had said and had not explained.