Auntie Loo was pleased to see him looking happy. She was fond of him. Sophia had discovered this and had amazedly reported it to Francis.

They had never taxed her with it (for another of their precocious qualities was a spidery, delicate, scarcely-daring-to-breathe tact in dealing with the feelings of people they cared for) but perhaps Auntie Loo suspected their amazement. For on one occasion, after Uncle Preston had been more than usually maddening, and had gone out of the room to fetch something, leaving the three young Gardens sullen and quiet, Auntie Loo had said, suddenly but placidly, ‘You mustn’t mind your uncle, my dears. He means kindly, you know…’

‘Of course. Oh yes, Auntie Loo,’ said three voices, polite, breathless, eager. And Auntie Loo added, as though this explained something, ‘I knew him as a young man, you know.’

‘Ghastly he must have been. I expect he played the harp and pressed seaweed,’ said Harry afterwards, when they were alone.

‘I like the harp. It’s my favourite instrument,’ Francis had said firmly.

‘Who was that, dear?’ Auntie Loo now asked, neatly weaving her needle in and out. Uncle Preston loved being asked about things.

‘It was Francis. He just wanted to tell me that he was all right. It was very inconsiderate of him, I think. He should have rung up before; I have been worried about them; quite worried about him and Sophia …’

‘Perhaps he couldn’t get to the telephone, dear. Schoolboys don’t have much time to themselves, you know.’

‘They would surely have given him permission, if he had explained the whole matter … But there, let’s put it out of our minds. Pouf! Away you go!’ and Uncle Preston made the gesture of one who poufs something out of his mind and smiled a martyr’s smile at Auntie Loo. ‘He is all right, and that’s all that matters. We mustn’t expect young people to realize how much older people feel things, must we? It’s only natural. And after supper I can write to Cousin Clara Mumford and tell her that they are all right.’

‘Yes, dear. I am sure she will want to know. Are you ready for supper now, dear?’

‘Just as you like, dear. I am ready if you are … but I think that perhaps I had better just telephone to Maxine to let her know that the children are all right. Yes. Dear me, how chilly the hall is!’And then, as there was no reply from Auntie Loo, who had gone into the kitchen to superintend the preparations for supper and could not hear him – ‘Loo! Loo-ie!’

‘Yes, dear?’ Auntie Loo came placidly out of the kitchen along the corridor and out into the hall. ‘Did you call, dear?’

‘I only said that the hall is very chilly.’

Auntie Loo looked round the hall as a warhorse might look round a battlefield.

‘It is rather, isn’t it, dear? What do you suggest?’

‘Why, an oil stove, of course,’ said Uncle Preston, at once testily and triumphantly. ‘The very thing. An oil stove is cheap, easy to work, gives out an excellent heat, a really fierce heat, and the newest kind do not smell. Yes. What do you say?’