Lady Caroline scowled at the cook. The scowl, as usual, was transformed on the way into what appeared to be an intent and beautiful gravity, and Costanza threw up her hands and took the saints aloud to witness that here was the very picture of the Mother of God.
Lady Caroline asked her crossly what she wanted, and Costanza’s head went on one side with delight at the sheer music of her voice. She said, after waiting a moment in case the music was going to continue, for she didn’t wish to miss any of it, that she wanted orders; she had been to the Signorina’s mother, but in vain.
“She is not my mother,” repudiated Lady Caroline angrily; and her anger sounded like the regretful wail of a melodious orphan.
Costanza poured forth pity. She too, she explained, had no mother—
Lady Caroline int
