Fiona left in the middle of the meal.
The two "men" in the dining room were utterly unmoved by her departure, so Pomona had no choice but to follow Fiona out.
Just as Pomona had said before, discussing serious matters while eating rather ruined one's appetite.
They returned to the kitchen, and Fiona made no attempt to hide her anxiety.
Out of habit, she reached into the pockets of her clothes, but found nothing. Pomona knew what that meant.
"Would you like a cigarette?"
"No." Fiona said irritably, "I thought you were good people."
In other words, because she thought Mr. and Mrs. Smith were bad people, Fiona refused everything they offered?
"I thought you had already accepted that the wizarding world was different from the Muggle world," Pomona said.
"I know it's different!" Fiona paced restlessly around the kitchen. "But I thought that as long as I could live a good life, I could adapt to that difference."
"Haven't you learned your lesson yet?" Pomona said with a cold laugh. "You smuggled yourself from Romania to Britain in pursuit of this so-called 'good life,' but this place isn't what you imagined, is it?"
Fiona glared at her.
"Western Europe isn't heaven. Romania may be backward, but it isn't hell either. How different do you think this manor is from the Romanian countryside?"
Pomona leaned leisurely against the doorframe. "People's perceptions can be strange. Once something has been given a halo, even things that do not suit their tastes can seem delicious. They deceive themselves, and after lying for long enough, they start believing it themselves. Many places in Romania still have no roads, and people rely on horses to pull carts, just as they did in the Middle Ages. That is much the same as the French countryside, but