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Updated: August 28, 2024
You could see by Mark's face that he didn't care about Lady Limond. Mamma had turned again to the girl in the white frock who had nursed him. "Are those all, Mark?" "Those are all." She took off her glasses and closed her eyes. Her face was smooth now: her hands were quiet. She had him. She would always have him. But when he went away for a fortnight to stay with the man called St.
Mark didn't look up or say anything. He went on giving the photographs to Mamma, telling her the names. "Dicky Carter. Man called St. John. Man called Bibby Jonas Bibby. Allingham. Peters. Gunning, Stobart Hamilton. Sir George Limond, Colonel Robertson." Photographs of women. Mamma's fingers twitched as she took them, one by one. Women with smooth hair and correct, distinguished faces.
A tall woman in a riding habit and a solar topee, standing very straight, looking very straight at you, under the shadow of the topee. Mamma didn't mind the others so much, but she was afraid of this one. There was danger under the shadow of the topee. "Lady Limond." Mark had stayed with them at Simla. "Oh. Very handsome face." "Very handsome."
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