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dos Castanheiros?”
    Her tone was so unwelcoming that I felt a quick rush of tears sting my eyelids. “I have come here to see my grandmother. I understand from Mr. Darville that she is in poor health.”
    “Oh, Stafford.” What was it I detected in her voice— scorn, dislike, anger? She certainly wasn’t troubling to conceal her low opinion of the man. “Well, Elinor, in the regrettable circumstances of your mother’s elopement, you are fortunate that your grandmother has consented to see you at all. I will present you to her later, when you have settled in.”
    I wanted to rush to my mother’s defense, but I realized that it was useless. The haughty Carlota da Milaveira was clearly in no frame of mind to listen to an appeal for understanding and sympathy.
    “I suppose,” I said hesitantly, “that you and my uncle live here at Castanheiros?”
    “Naturally.”
    “When will I be able to meet him? Is he at home?”
    “My husband is a member of the government, Elinor; he sits in the House of Peers. Today he is to make an important speech on the construction of the new railways, and I should have gone to Lisbon with him. But I remained at Cintra so as to be here when you arrived. It is inconvenient, but no matter.”
    I would have to overlook her deliberately offensive manner, I realized. Keeping my voice even, I inquired, “Will my uncle be home later today? Shall I see him then?”
    “Really, miss, you are very persistent. You will meet the conde when he has an hour to spare for you, and I cannot say when that will be. His time is valuable.”
    I inclined my head. “I have no wish to incommode him— nor you, Tia Carlota. Perhaps I might go to my room now, and then I will not need to trouble you further.”
    Her pale amber eyes flickered, and she turned her head to consult the clock.
    “Luncheon will be at two o’clock today. Normally it is served at one, but I ordered it to be delayed especially on your account. You have almost an hour to ready yourself.” She moved toward the door. “Come, Elinor, I will show you to your room myself. I told Vicencia to have the blue bedroom prepared for your visit. It faces the rear and will be cooler than the front of the house.”
    “Thank you, that is most considerate,” I murmured politely as I followed her. “Who is Vicencia?”
    “Vicencia? Oh, she attends to domestic matters for me. She is not here at present.”
    We crossed the wide expanse of the great hall and began to mount the staircase. Where it divided, rising separately to the upper gallery, Carlota took the left branch. But almost immediately we were halted by an imperious voice behind us, coming from above.
    “Where are you taking the girl? Bring her to me at once. At once, I say.”
    Carlota hesitated, and I sensed that she longed to ignore the command. Then she turned slowly, sighing. I turned too, but I could not see the speaker, who must have been standing in the shadow of a pillar.
    “It is the old lady,” said Carlota wearily. “We had better do as she says.”
    This was not in the least the way I had hopefully pictured my first meeting with my grandmother. I felt tired and travel-stained, and I had eaten nothing since early this morning when, in the ship’s saloon, I had been too pent-up to swallow more than a cup of tea and a morsel of toast. As Carlota and I retraced our steps and started up the opposite stairway, my heart was beating painfully.
    My grandmother stood at the stairhead as motionless as the portraits on the wall behind her, a small slender figure in black crepe. Had I not known differently I might have mistaken Dona Amalia for a much younger woman, for she held herself very upright, with a graceful poise that betrayed no sign of old age. Only as we drew near did I see her lined face and gaunt cheekbones, the skin dry and papery—it was the ghost of a face that must once have been very beautiful. Her hair under a lace cap was silver white and thickly abundant. Her eyes