"Would your lordship like a bath--breakfast is still at eight. I can
procure you a razor."
When Miltoun entered the breakfast room, his grandmother, with a copy of
the Times in her hands, was seated before a grape fruit, which, with
a shredded wheat biscuit, constituted her first meal. Her appearance
hardly warranted Barbara's description of 'terribly well'; in truth she
looked a little white, as if she had been feeling the heat. But there
was no lack of animation in her little steel-grey eyes, nor of decision
in her manner.
"I see," she said, "that you've taken a line of your own, Eustace. I've
nothing to say against that; in fact, quite the contrary. But remember
this, my dear, however you may change you mustn't wobble. Only one thing
counts in that place, hitting the same nail on the head with the same
hammer all the time. You aren't looking at all well."
Miltoun, bending to kiss her, murmured:
"Thanks, I'm all right."
"Nonsense," replied Lady Casterley. "They don't look after you. Was your
mother in the House?"
"I don't think so."
"Exactly. And what is Barbara about? She ought to be seeing to you."
"Barbara is down with Uncle Dennis."
Lady Casterley set her jaw; then looking her grandson through and
through, said:
"I shall take you down there this very day. I shall have the sea to you.
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