Francis’s expression did not change at this prophecy, but Harry and Sophia exchanged frightful grimaces, indicative of contempt and loathing. Sophia, who had not said a word since the explosion, now got up and slipped out of the room. She nearly cannoned into tea on the landing, which was being carried up in sections by the red-eyed parlourmaid, Lily.

She went down to the shabby room next the Out-Patients’ Department, dialled a number, and waited until a sleepy voice said, ‘Hullo?’

‘Oh, Celia, this is Sophia. Look here, can the boys and I come up and see you? There’s been a frightful fuss about the will.’

‘Yes, of course. Have you been left anything?’

‘What do you think! Harry’s got it all, only there isn’t anything, really.’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘Is there anything to eat in your house? We’re rather hungry.’

‘Only cold potatoes and bacon and eggs, and a sixpenny Lyons’ cake.’

‘Oh, well, we’ll bring something. Goodbye, darling.’

She went upstairs again, to find the elders uneasily settling to the tea table like vultures on to a carcass, while Harry and Francis stood intractably in the background. Uncle Preston was saying—

‘But that is not a reason, Francis. I can quite understand your respecting your father’s wish that no one should be told until after his death. You were quite right, of course, to obey him. But after he was dead, my boy, surely you must have felt a wish to confide in some older person?’

‘I’m sorry. I’ve said I’m sorry …’ said Francis, his voice rising a little towards the end of the sentence. He stood quite still, staring at his uncle.

‘Come and sit down and have your tea, Francis,’ said Auntie Loo. ‘You can help me hand the cups down, if you will, dear.’

Auntie Loo, as the sanest and most comfortable person present, had naturally taken her place in front of that symbol of comfort and sanity, the teapot (at which, incidentally, passionate and lofty souls are far too ready to sniff).

But Sophia said brightly, coming in with her beret swinging from her fingers, ‘I’m frightfully sorry, Auntie Loo; I’m afraid we can’t stay to tea. A girl I know just rang up to say that her mother is expecting us. I thought she might. The mother, I mean. I half promised this girl we’d go when I saw her yesterday. I’m awfully sorry.’

‘Oh dear, what a pity. Never mind; you mustn’t disappoint your friend’s mother,’ replied Auntie Loo placidly, glancing up at Sophia with small but very bright eyes, which were neither placid nor unobservant. ‘And the boys, too?’

‘I’m afraid so. I’m frightfully sorry.’

‘Oh, Sophia! It’s too bad. You can’t go. You must telephone your friend’s mother, and say you’re very sorry, but there are important matters to be discussed here, which must be settled,’ said Aunt Grace. ‘It’s too bad of you children; you’re always running off on your own affairs. We never see anything of you, you naughty ones,’ and she playfully shook Sophia’s bony young arm.