‘No, but really—’ Should she say anything about the dark red stain under Cedric’s finger-nail? No, she’d meddled enough. She went on quickly: ‘Panty brags about her naughtiness. She’s told me about all her practical jokes. She never calls you grandfather and I happen to know she spells it “farther,” because she showed me a story she had written, and the word occurs frequently. I’m sure Panty’s too fond of you,’ Troy continued, wondering if she spoke the truth, ‘to do anything so silly and unkind.’

‘I’ve loved that child,’ said Sir Henry with the appallingly rich display of sentiment so readily commanded by the Ancreds, ‘as if she was my own. My little Best-Beloved, I’ve always called her. I’ve never made any secret of my preference. After I’m gone,’ he went on to Troy’s embarrassment, ‘she would have known—however.’ He sighed windily. Troy could think of nothing to say and cleaned her palette. The light from the single uncovered window had faded. Sir Henry had switched off the stage lamps and the little theatre was now filled with shadows. A draught somewhere in the borders caused them to move uneasily and a rope-end tapped against the canvas backcloth.

‘Do you know anything about embalming?’ Sir Henry asked in his deepest voice. Troy jumped.

‘No, indeed,’ she said.

‘I have studied the subject,’ said Sir Henry, ‘deeply.’

‘Oddly enough,’ said Troy after a pause, ‘I did look at that queer little book in the drawing-room. The one in the glass case.’

‘Ah, yes. It belonged to my ancestor who rebuilt Ancreton. He himself was embalmed and his fathers before him. It has been the custom with the Ancreds. The family vault,’ he rambled on depressingly, ‘is remarkable for that reason. If I lie there—the Nation may have other wishes: it is not for me to speculate—but if I lie there, it will be after their fashion. I have given explicit directions.’

‘I do wish,’ Troy thought, ‘how I do wish he wouldn’t go on like this.’ She made a small ambiguous murmuring.

‘Ah, well!’ said Sir Henry heavily and began to move away. He paused before mounting the steps up to the stage. Troy thought that he was on the edge of some further confidence, and hoped that it would be of a more cheerful character.

‘What,’ said Sir Henry, ‘is your view on the matter of marriage between first cousins?’

‘I—really, I don’t know,’ Troy replied, furiously collecting her wits. ‘I fancy I’ve heard that modern medical opinion doesn’t condemn it. But I really haven’t the smallest knowledge—’

‘I am against it,’ he said loudly. ‘I cannot approve. Look at the Hapsburgs! The House of Spain! The Romanoffs!’ His voice died away in an inarticulate rumble.

Hoping to divert his attention Troy began: ‘Panty—’