"My dear boy, you know what Jean is. Elsbeth stayed with us a good deal when we were all girls together--and because she and your dear father were very good friends----"
"Inseparable!" snapped Jean. She was annoyed that the telling of the story was taken from her.
"Oh, they had tastes in common. But we all liked him. I'm quite certain Elsbeth was perfectly heart-whole. Only Jean has the servant-girl habit of pairing off all her friends and acquaintances. I don't say, of course, that if John had never met your dear mother--but she came home from her French school--she'd been away two years, you know--and turned everybody's head. Ravishing she was. I remember her coming-out dance. She wore the first short dress we'd seen--every one wore trains in those days--white gauze and forget-me-nots. She looked like a fairy. All the gentlemen wanted to dance with her, she was so light-footed. Your father fell head over ears! They were engaged in a fortnight. And nobody, in her quiet way, was more pleased than Elsbeth, I'm sure. Why, she was one of the bridesmaids!"
"She never came to stay with them afterwards," said Jean obstinately, "always had an excuse."
"Considering she had to nurse her father, with her mother an invalid already----" Alicia was indignant. "Ten years of sick-nursing that poor girl had!"
"Anyhow, she never came to Dene again till after John died. Then she came, once. When she heard we were all going out to Italy. Stayed a week."
"You! You were only five," cried Jean. The clock struck as she spoke. She jumped up. "Alicia! It's ten o'clock! Where's Parker? Why hasn't Parker brought the biscuits? You really might speak to her! She's always late!"
"Aunt Alice, I say--how much of that is just--Aunt Jean?"
"My dear boy! How should I know? It's all such a long while ago. Jean's no respecter of privacy. I never noticed anything--hate prying--always did."
"She was over thirty before her mother died. She aged quickly--faded somehow. At that visit Jean spoke of--I shall never forget the change in her. She was only twenty-six, two years older than your mother, but Rosemary was a girl beside her, in spite of you and her widow's weeds. And then Alwynne was left on her hands and she absorbed herself in her. She's one of those self-effacing women--But there--she's quite contented, I think. She adores Alwynne. Her letters are cheerful enough. I always kept up with her. I'd like to see her again."