‘Keeping it dark, were they?’

‘Apparently. Very odd I consider it. Very secretive, when we all take such an interest in them. It appears that Angela rang up Francis at his place of business (a most unnecessary thing to do, I consider, but then Grace has brought Angela up, as we all know, in a peculiar way, and she seems to have no control over her at all … and Francis, too, in such a very minor position, almost an office boy, heh! heh! heh! they must have thought it very odd for him to receive a telephone call from a young lady) yes, well, Francis told Angela that he and Harry are going off next week with this young Morales.’

‘The devil they are. To live with him, d’you mean?’

‘I gathered so from Grace, who of course rang me up and told me all she knew the moment she heard of it from Angela. Why, I asked myself immediately, why had Sophia not informed me of this? and I rang up her office at once. At once. But she was out. After some delay, I was told that she was out. Yes.’

‘Well, Harry and Francis ought to have a damn good time coming to them. The boy’s rich. What’s Sophia going to do? I’ll bet she’s laughing on the other side of her face.’

‘I cannot say at all, Maxine. I am completely in the dark. I must say that I think it is too bad of the children not to have informed me of this decision. I should naturally have liked to talk it over with Marriot, and to have given it every consideration. And then, of course, there is the question of money …’

‘Harry seems to be running through his pretty rapidly. I don’t blame him, mind you.’

Uncle Preston gave a kind of exhalation of the breath which expressed worry, reproof, distress and a few more emotions, and was preparing for a comfortable discussion of Harry and money when Aunt Maxine’s first guest arrived, and he was most reluctantly obliged to ring off.

Aunt Maxine, after a brief prophetic glance into the future in which she saw Harry and Francis in the dock and Sophia on a corner in Piccadilly (for Aunt Maxine’s views on women were sturdy and old-fashioned) went out to slap her guest on the back. As she did so, she admired her own reflection in a mirror, and it struck her that Sophia would probably not make a success of Piccadilly. Too thin.

As Uncle Preston replaced the receiver and turned to go back to his Evening News, Auntie Loo came into the hall in her coat and hat.

‘Are you going out, Looie? Cannot the girl fetch what is necessary?’ said Uncle Preston, fretfully. He liked to know that Auntie Loo was in the house when he was. He might not want her for anything, but then again, he might.

‘Just for a few minutes, dear. I won’t be long.’