"Never mind, Ernestine," her mother interrupted, and went on rapidly to say that Paris in June was intolerable and that the weather this year was worse than ever.
Ernestine looked sulky at being checked, and sat pulling up her long silk mitts with an offended air. She was dressed entirely in white, with a care which contrasted strongly with her mother's toilette. When she had finished studying Crayven, which took some time, she transferred her attention to her own dress and her fluffy, beplumed hat, reflected in a mirror opposite, and a ray of pleasure appeared in her small face.
Teresa watched her with amusement, shadowed by a certain commiseration for Nina. The girl was so absolutely her father's daughter, except for her sharpness, which was Nina's quality somehow translated into unpleasantness.
Ernestine, to Teresa, summed up all the difficulties of Nina's marriage. She was frail physically, and mentally morbid. There was almost no relation between the child and her mother, except one of conflict. Whatever affection Ernestine had was given to her father, and she had said once:
"When I'm grown up, I shall be exactly like Papa. He does have the best time. Mamma is always working and worrying, and Papa just enjoys himself. I shall be good-looking, too, like
