‘She never says so. I am sure she tries to like her.’
Grandmother looked up sharply; she smiled, more as she used to
smile:
She said:
‘I have seen her, you know. She would not be easy to like! But
there it is, my dear, . . . you must take the bad with the good! . . .
Guy is alive and married . . . that is much better than being
dead.’
And then she talked again about my father when he was little.
And I thought:
‘How odd it is, that she did not care for Hugo.’