Uncle Preston was asking Francis questions about the work at Graby & Bryant’s, so they were having quite a conversation, but over the three females a languid silence hung. They had nothing to say to one another.

The Gardens had no general conversation. Their chief interest in life was the family and its misdoings, and when two or three of them were gathered together and one was absent, they could always criticize the absent one. But when they were all there together, one could not very well start an absorbing discussion about why on earth Grace did not send Angela to a secretarial college or how on earth Maxine managed to get through her income or what in heaven Preston and Looie wanted with a car.

Hence the silence of Maxine, Grace and Angela. Maxine was also rather jealous of Angela’s slimness and curls, and Grace thought Maxine’s hat was too killing for words but did not dare to try and convey this opinion by eyebrow and jerk to Angela.

As for Angela, she was always bored when she was not talking, flirting or dressing herself.

‘Tea’s ready,’ said Sophia, setting down the teapot.

This bald announcement revived them all, and they moved towards the tea table; Aunt Maxine lingered a little to examine the panel over the fireplace, asking Sophia if it opened and receiving the reply that no it did not, it was just nothing; and then she too advanced upon the éclairs and the prawns.

The table was a small, gate-legged one, at which there was only comfortable room for three people, so Sophia, Uncle Preston and Aunt Maxine sat down to it, while the others arranged themselves as near to it as they could. Some sat on the sofa (Angela close to Francis, with many smiles and pattings of the seat next to her) and others on the hard and uncomfortable chairs.

‘I hope everyone likes China tea,’ observed the hostess sternly.

Everyone murmured that they did, though some of them detested it and others had never tasted it.

Sophia poured out Aunt Maxine’s cup and put it down in front of her.

She raised the teapot a second time – and one side of the table collapsed, flinging prawns, éclairs and Aunt Maxine’s tea all over the legs of Uncle Preston!

‘Oh – oh,’ wailed Angela. ‘Oh, all the lovely tea! oh! ’

Uncle Preston sprang to his feet like a wounded faun, dabbing wildly at his trousers and muttering ‘T-t-t-t-’

‘Are you scalded, dear?’

‘Oh, Sophia, what a shame’ – Aunt Grace was on her knees eagerly picking up the prawns. It was with a sense of frustration that Sophia, who had not said one word, observed her carefully place the doubtful prawn on the edge of the green plate in awful isolation from its fellows.

Francis had not said a word either.

The disaster was too terrible. He knew what Sophia must feel. He contented himself by exchanging with her one long, meaning look of mingled sympathy, rage and despair and then knelt down to pick up the éclairs, which were considerably bent.