She was not soothed to find that Harry was not there, and Uncle Preston’s new car made her worse still.

‘Shouldn’t have thought a car that size would be of any use to anyone,’ observed Aunt Maxine, stooping with a cigarette drooping out of her mouth, and squinting discontentedly at the inside of the car. ‘I nearly bought Chris Carney’s big tourer just after Christmas. It holds ten, and he was letting it go for two hundred. Pity I let it slip … worst of these little cars, they’re always going wrong.’

Sophia was in the kitchen making the tea, while everyone else was outside examining the car, and presently she was aware that someone was cautiously and patiently trying to insinuate themselves into the kitchen; it was not easy for a plump person to do this when someone else was in the kitchen and the flap table was in use.

‘Auntie Loo! I’m so sorry there’s such a squash – there, that’s better. Do come in. Aren’t you longing for your tea? I am.’

‘I shall be quite ready for it, dear, when you are, but there’s no hurry; they’re all outside looking at our car. Look, Sophia, I’ve brought you this. I thought it was rather pretty, and it will last for a little while, too. Fresh flowers are so expensive, though it’s nice to have them.’

‘Oh, how pretty! It’s lovely. Thank you very much, Auntie Loo. How kind of you.’

‘And here, dear. A little coal, and some salt, and a pair of tweezers. You should always give those, you know, when you go to see someone in a new house for the first time. It’s a funny old custom; I thought it might amuse you.’

Sophia was cross to find tears – those miserable, ready tears which were her bane – rising to her eyes as she bent to kiss Auntie Loo upon her soft wrinkled cheek. The little dark green plant with shining orange berries should go up in her bedroom on the dressing table; she was really pleased with it; it looked as though it had come out of an old Hindu picture.

‘I’m so glad you like it, dear. It’s only a tiny thing … How are you keeping? I expect you’re working very hard at your office, aren’t you? You must get very tired.’

‘I do, rather.’

Sympathy is a dangerous drug. It suddenly occurred to Sophia, as she put the lid on the teapot, that she did work very hard and get very tired and how rarely anyone asked her if she did.

‘You ought to try Mil-koko. That’s very good; your uncle takes it regularly now and his nerves have been much better since he began taking it. You should try it, dear. It’s only one and threepence for quite a large tin, and it’s very economical in use.’

‘Yes, I must try it. Thanks awfully, Auntie Loo.’

And, forgetting Mil-koko as though it had never been, Sophia carried the tea into the sitting room.