Auntie Loo was mopping Uncle Preston and the carpet alternately, while Aunt Maxine slapped Sophia on the back and told her not to look so down in the mouth. Aunt Maxine thought it was rather a joke. Poor Preston’s face! Never should she forget it!

‘Very odd the table suddenly collapsing like that,’ said Uncle Preston when the fragments were all picked up and the company was reseated round the treacherous board. ‘Is one of the legs loose, by any chance?’

‘Must be, damn good thing it wasn’t the side with the cups on,’ said Aunt Maxine, with her mouth full of tea and sandwich.

‘Do try the prawns, dear; they are very good,’ interrupted Auntie Loo, who had observed a sudden look of guilt and alarm upon Sophia’s face. ‘And some bread and butter … how thin it is, Sophia. Do you use one of those saw knives?’

‘I did not see the cause of the disaster,’ pursued Uncle Preston. ‘I confess I was too busy drying myself after my bath – heh! heh! heh! But the leg must be loose, surely? When we have finished tea, Francis, we must inspect it. Nothing like taking these little matters in hand immediately, is there, Looie? We know that at Holmedale, eh? And that reminds me … that stair. The stair with a crack in it … have you—’

‘Do have an éclair, Uncle Preston.’

‘No, thank you. No more. I never take a large tea; I find it does not agree with me. A large breakfast, a light lunch, no tea and a good supper; that is my rule. It has taken me over thirty years to find out what does suit me, but now I flatter myself that I know.’

‘More tea, then? Do.’

‘Half a cup. Half a cup, thank you; no more.’

The danger passed, the breath of the whirlwind died before it swooped; and Sophia’s expression grew less strained.

(And of course no one inspected the table, so none of the relatives found out what Sophia and Francis afterwards did; that the leg was nearly detached from the pull-out flap, and heeled over drunkenly under the least pressure.

Sophia made up her mind that she would have it seen to that very next Monday.)

CHAPTER XIII

It cannot be denied that this incident cast a gloom. To begin with, there were the disagreeable damp patches on Uncle Preston’s knees; there was the shock to the feelings of all, there was the damage to the éclairs, and the surreptitious inspections which everyone gave to their prawns and watercress, in search of stray carpet-hairs or bits of grit, before eating them. Fresh bread and butter must be cut; everyone must be assured several times that the incident would not recur; and though the disaster provided a topic for conversation which lasted almost to the end of the meal and gave eloquence to tongues which might otherwise have been silent, it was not a topic which Sophia, had she been given a choice, would have chosen.