She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. They clapped wildly afterward. “Monsieur would dine! It was very good! And Madame, of course?” with a low bow. She had but to choose. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. Oui, dans la note. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms.
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