‘H’m … I doubt it. I doubt whether that would be wise, Looie. Pettitt’s nephew came to us last Easter, you may remember, and we have had some trouble over him. Complaints about favouritism and overtime … yes. Very irritating. No, I think on the whole that if I could approach Graby & Bryant, it would be better. Much better. Of course it would be only a very small post at first with a nominal salary …’

‘Addressing envelopes, I suppose, at fifteen bob a week. My god … ! and Cissie Montague is going out on a year’s tour in March with a Number One Company of “The Love Liar.” She’d start him at three-fifteen if he showed promise. She’s got a heart of gold, that woman has …’

Uncle Preston informed Aunt Maxine with patience and dignity that in the offices of Graby & Bryant the addressing of envelopes was not entrusted to a junior, and went on, ‘I must talk the matter over with Marriot and see what he thinks. I presume that the next thing to arrange will be the sale of the furniture and the car. Then there will be a little money for the children to go on with, while they are waiting for a purchaser for the practice, and there will of course be additional sums from the practice itself. I shall suggest to Marriot that he should take care of the money and make Harry a small weekly allowance. Undoubtedly that would be best, while we are waiting for probate to be proved.’

‘And where is Francis to live, and what’s he going to live on?’ demanded Aunt Maxine, ‘I suppose they can’t live here, if the stuff’s going to be sold, and he can’t live on fifteen shillings a week anyway, can he?’

‘Some arrangement will have to be made, of course, about Francis,’ snapped Uncle Preston, coughing pointedly as his sister lit another cigarette. ‘I cannot think of everything at once, and I must say that so far I have had to think of everything that has been discussed. You don’t seem to realize, Maxine, how important it is to get the children settled.’

‘Dear, isn’t it time we were thinking of getting along?’ said Auntie Loo, coming out of her corner with her knitting rolled in a neat sausage and stabbed with two steel needles, like a vampire in a German legend. ‘It is nearly a quarter past ten, and I’m sure Grace and Maxine must be tired. We shan’t be home, you know, until well after eleven.’

This broke up the meeting, and everyone discovered that they were too tired to say anything more on the subject of the children’s fate except Aunt Grace, who confided to Auntie Loo on the way downstairs that she had always dreamed of Francis being a writer, a great writer. He used to write really quite clever little stories when he was ten, all about hunters and snakes and elephants, and then he wrote such good letters! Aunt Grace would have liked to be a writer if she had had time. She had always been told that she wrote such good letters, too. Had Looie ever seen any of Francis’s letters?